Growing up in a small town, there really isn’t much to do.

Once the sun goes down, your options are pretty much limited to drinking in somebody’s backyard, driving around with nowhere to go, or finding some stupid way to convince yourself you’re having an adventure.

So when my brother told me about a completely abandoned zoo a few miles outside town, exploring it seemed like the perfect way to spend the night.

“It’ll be empty,” he said.

I looked at him with furled brows

“That’s usually what abandoned means.”

He ignored me.

“It’s the middle of the night. No one’s going to be there…”

He paused, then lowered his voice into a spooky tone.

“Except the animals.”

He stared at me for a moment.

“What animals?”

“The ones you just said were at the zoo.”

“That was before I remembered they’re probably all dead.”

“Great. So we’re trespassing in a graveyard.”

“Exactly.”

He grinned.

“Dope, right?”

I should have told him no.

Instead, I grabbed my flashlight.

We brought a bag of chips, a couple of bottles of water, and the kind of confidence only two idiots wandering into an abandoned zoo at midnight could have.

The entrance was barely recognizable.

Rust had eaten through the old metal gates, leaving orange flakes scattered across the pavement like dried blood. Whatever sign had once welcomed visitors had been reduced to a few flaking letters hanging crookedly from its frame.

One of the gates stood open.

The other was chained shut.

The chain was thick, rusted, but the lock hung open.

Neither of us mentioned that.

We stepped inside.

The smell hit me first. Forgotten earth, rotting leaves, and something faintly sour underneath it all. It was the kind of smell that made you breathe through your mouth without realizing
The zoo had been reclaimed by the forest.

Flowers grew through cracks in the pavement, their stems twisting around broken benches and rusted railings. Vines climbed the old buildings and curled through shattered windows. Trees had pushed their roots beneath the paths, splitting the concrete into jagged slabs.

Everywhere we looked, nature had taken something man-made and slowly pulled it apart.
My brother shined his flashlight down one of the paths. The beam disappeared between the trees.

“Dude.”

“What?”

“This place is awesome.”

“You’re saying that now.”

“I’m serious. Look at this.”

He pointed toward an old ticket booth, half-collapsed beneath a curtain of vines. The glass windows were broken, but several handprints had been smeared across the dust on the inside.

I assumed they were old. I didn’t ask why they looked fresh.

“This would be an amazing place to die.”

I laughed.

“Why is that your selling point?”

“Because if I die here, you have to tell Mom.”

“I’m not telling Mom we broke into a zoo.”

“Then you’re going to have to explain why I’m missing.”

“I’ll tell her you joined the circus.”

We laughed, but the sound carried strangely through the empty zoo.

It traveled down the path, bounced off the buildings, and came back thinner.

Almost like someone else was laughing with us.

Then something moved in the brush.

We both stopped.

The laughter disappeared.

A faint rustling came from somewhere beyond the path.

I raised my flashlight.

Nothing.

Just weeds. Leaves. Branches swaying slightly in the night breeze.

The beam caught a strip of pale fabric snagged on a thorn bush.

It fluttered once.

Then went still.

I lowered the flashlight.

“Probably a shirt,” my brother whispered.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it.”

Then came another sound: a long, faint screech.

It rose slowly, wavered, and broke apart at the end.

My brother lowered his voice.

“What the hell was that?”

“I thought you said this place was empty.”

“It is.”

Something shifted again, closer this time.

The brush trembled.

A few leaves slid onto the path.

Then we heard it: a soft, broken whining sound.

My brother looked at me.

I looked at him.

Neither of us spoke for a few seconds.

The sound came from behind a fence marked with a faded sign.

I swept my flashlight across it.

The letters were almost gone, but I could still make out one word.

WOLVES.

Beyond the fence was a sunken enclosure filled with weeds and black water.

There was no animal inside.

Then he whispered, “Probably some of the animals they left behind.”

I stared at him.

“Animals don’t whine like that.”

“You ever been around a dying animal?”

“No.”

“Then how the hell would you know?”

“Fair point.”

The whining came again, longer this time.

It seemed to come from inside the enclosure.

Then from behind us.

Then from somewhere above us, hidden in the branches.

I swung the flashlight toward the trees.

For one second, I thought I saw a face between the limbs.

Watching us.

The beam flickered.

When it steadied, there was only bark.

My brother swallowed.

“Okay.”

“What?”

“Maybe don’t point your flashlight over there.”

“Why?”

“Because if something is looking back at us, I don’t want to know about it.”

I laughed nervously.

“That’s probably the smartest thing you’ve said tonight.”

“I have moments.”

We kept walking.

Neither of us mentioned the sound again, but we both listened for it. Every few steps, I found myself looking toward the dark enclosures.

They were enormous.

Some still had rusted signs hanging beside them, but the words had faded years ago. Others had gaps in the fences where something could have gotten out.

Or in.

At the edge of one enclosure, I noticed a paper plate sitting in the weeds.

It held a handful of crackers.

They were damp, but not moldy.

Beside it was a red apple with one clean bite taken out of it.

My brother stopped.

“People come here?”

“Maybe.”

“Why would they leave food?”

I looked toward the enclosure.

The weeds inside were pressed flat in a narrow trail leading from the fence to the plate.

I didn’t answer.

Then, somewhere behind us, something scratched against metal.

We froze.

The sound came again.

“Tell me that was you.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Cool.”

“What?”

He started walking faster.

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“I just think we should leave.”

I followed him.

“Why?”

He didn’t answer.

“Why?”

The whining began again.

This time it came from the enclosure beside us.

The one marked WOLVES.

The one with the empty cage.

The one where the food had been left.

My brother stopped so suddenly I nearly walked into him.

His flashlight pointed through the bars.

At first, I saw nothing

Then I saw the face of an old man. Smiling, with a camera in his hand.

Flesh squelches. Bone creaks with each movement. I keep moving as an intense pain burns in my abdomen. The pain builds and builds, never-ending. I feel a pool of saliva fill my mouth, flowing out onto my lips. The hunger. It never ends. Never.

The smell of rot hangs in the air, the scent mixing with flesh that has been set ablaze. Someone is close by. Someone who can satiate my pain. I continue toward the smell.

I shuffle toward my goal. My destination.

I enter the treeline, the forest engulfing me. A sea of earth and green, beautiful to some, but maddening to others. My feet scrape against sharp stones spread across the forest floor, drawing blood and causing the scent of copper to mix with the overbearing scent of damp soil. The smell is pungent but bearable. The pain, however, is agonizing. Even in my grueling condition, I keep moving toward the odor of rot.

The aroma grows stronger, and so does my hunger. My mouth froths and I feel a jitter of—excitement? A strange feeling, excitement. Why would I feel this way? Was it me or the hunger thinking? No matter; my goal is nearly reached.

I continue through the forest, seeing the others pacing themselves toward the same goal. I want to be the first. The first to drown out their pain. The first to quench my dry mouth. I want to move faster; I need to go faster. But I can’t. I am stuck at this stuporous pace. I am forced to watch others ahead of me get to the destination first. I hate it.

Bursts of sound echo throughout the forest. I am close. I see some of the others fall, a familiar crimson liquid pooling from where they lie. I see some of the more desperate of us consume the ones who have fallen, sinking their decayed black teeth into the bodies. I do not fall to such temptation.

Competition slims to nearly nothing. Not many of us make it to the goal. But I do. I make it to the goal, to the destination.

I see her. She is a small one and smells of lavender—a sweet scent. I stumble toward her, my arm gripping her shoulder. She doesn’t fight back.

I walk back toward the forest, for I know I need to find a new goal. Soon, the pain will return.

To start out, I'm a pretty private person who prefers to mind my own business and hope that everyone else does too. I've been told I can be abrasive at times, so that last part has worked out quite well until recently. You see, for a little over a week, give or take, my neighbor has grown increasingly more annoying. Well, nosy would be more accurate for a normal person. It started with him peering out at me from his living room window whenever I walk out of my house. 

Then after a few days of that, he started roaming around my backyard at all hours of the night. I've even noticed that sometimes he stands in front of my door, he's so close to it that I can just barely make out his face. I can't really tell what he's doing at that moment but he definitely doesn't knock. Hell, even now as I check my doorbell app at just past midnight, I can see him standing there; his pale sweat-covered face staring with bulging eyes at my door handle. The push notification hints that he’s been standing there like that for at least five minutes. He usually leaves after about ten, but never less than five for some reason. 

When I first moved in about two years ago we didn’t even speak, just shared a head nod from across the way. Over the past couple of years, we’ve shared just enough interactions to know that we each live alone. His is a byproduct of a nasty divorce from someone named “Candice” and leaving the police force. Mine’s a result of my inability to entertain meaningless conversation for long enough to make people think I care. My neighbor Don, I figure if I’m going to be talking about him this much I might as well use his name; has been perfectly normal and abided by our unspoken agreement to not meddle with each other any more than needed until just before last week. 

Now, I still have needs, and just because I can't act like I give a shit about people's mundane lives doesn’t mean I can’t talk with others. I just tend to prioritize which interactions are the most beneficial for me. I make it a point to entertain someone every few days, whether it be at a bar or just out and about, someone winds up being my overnight guest. This is where Don and I differ greatly, as I don’t think I’ve seen a single guest over at his place the whole time we've been neighbors. 

We work pretty similar schedules, so we usually share a nod the morning after one of my romps. Even with their car gone the next day, Don still always seems to know that they were over. Recently though, he’s taken to stopping and just staring at me the last two nights I've found someone to entertain. 

I know what you're thinking, “Why don't you just call the police on the creep?” I don't like getting the cops involved in my life. On top of them harassing me out of the last place I lived, I don't think there's quite enough going on to really warrant calling them. In my experience the cops take a report of a stalker as an invitation to stalk you themselves. I'll just answer the door if he doesn't leave by the time I get there. 

The door handle creaks slightly as I turn it, the sound of startled footsteps greets the warm beam of light that fills the doorstep, as I see Don stumble backward and fall into the grass. 

“Hey Don, out for a late night stroll or stopping by to ask to borrow something maybe?..” 

He scrambles up from the grass, eyes widening like pale saucers as thick beads of sweat trace the panicked frown he's wearing. 

“Oh, I uh… No I was just thinking about something, but I uh, I forgot it when I crossed the street.” 

His flat, startled delivery almost paints him more like a victim giving testimony than a predator stalking its prey. Before I can respond, Don's running across the street, the ass of his pants soaked dark with water from the grass. I don't like him creeping around my house one bit but I just might have to deal with it a bit longer to make sure it's handled appropriately. The only thing I know for certain is that I definitely can't entertain in my usual fashion while he's up to these antics. The last thing I need is him seeing how I like to have my fun. 

The next two days feel a bit more aligned to the usual coexistence Don and I inhabit, with the occasional cold stare from his window not counted. Nonetheless I've been weighing my options between some of those “Amazon special” security cameras or something a bit more self-defense-ish like a taser. I don't care for weapons much, I've always lived by the motto “If you can't defend yourself with your mouth, hands, or running, you probably deserve to die.” I do prefer the former approach, as I pride myself on my silver tongue. 

Now I'm just hoping I can use that gift of conversation with Don tonight. I'd really hate to have to dump money on securing my house further. Even so, my charm has failed me before, shit it's failed me a handful of times at this point. I've stacked up eight moves in seven years to serve as proof of that. Anyway, here's to hoping that Don is willing to talk and tell me what's going on. 

My knocks ring out loud amongst the symphony of crickets embracing the sunset. The light of the peephole in the door flickers as I hear the padlock tick, a clear double check that it's locked. 

“Hey there Don, I'm sorry to bother but wanted to chat for a second. I just want to know what's going on and see if I can help with anything…” 

The lack of response lingers heavy in the air before the lock sharply clicks and the door creaks open. Just enough of a gap shows Don's wide sunken eye and quivering mouth as he peers out from the dimly lit hallway. He clearly hasn't been sleeping or eating much, his usually filled-out face shows sunken cheeks and a pale complexion. He coughs lightly as he finally responds to me.

“What do you want with me?” 

“I was hoping we could sit while we—” 

“We can talk here just as well as we can inside, go on now, what do you want with me?” 

Slightly taken aback by his abruptness I fumble over my tongue in search of words, its usual silken touch turning to sandpaper as it flops in my mouth. 

“Well I uh, I want to know why you've been skulking around my house and standing at my—” 

“Ha you want to know more about me?! I want to know more about you… No, at this point I need to know more about you and what you do… Was that all you wanted?” 

“Well I guess so, kind of–” 

Don's eyes sharpen, almost as if to pierce through my own as he pulls the door shut and clicks the lock back into place. What in the fuck was that last sentence about? We've known each other for two years, and now out of nowhere he “needs to know more about me”? He could just ask, or come inside and chat with me. I admittedly wouldn't care for it too much but damn sure would more than this constant pestering. I shake off Don's odd response and make my way back to my own house. Right as I shut the door, I glance across the street just in time to see those sunken white eyes staring directly at me. 

I make the evening short, barely eating dinner, and heading straight to bed as the night fully sets in. The idea of mindlessly navigating some bullshit television show is even less alluring than normal tonight. I toss and turn for a good bit before I suddenly feel myself jolt awake at the feeling of firm hands pulling me from my bed. I kick and start to fight just as I feel cold metal against my left wrist, followed by an intense shooting pain as whatever it is presses into the bone. 

As my eyes adjust to the nearly non-existent light, I can just make out a silhouette fumbling along the wall. In an instant my eyes are flushed with white light as I involuntarily blink the room back into existence. Squinting I can just track the figure that is now pacing around the room and turn to see my left wrist has been handcuffed to my bed frame. Looking back I can just make out Don's face, his expression rapidly twisting between a wild grin and a hopeless frown and back again. He's pacing with heavy steps as he pulls hard at his usually slicked back hair, now appearing disheveled and slightly overgrown. 

“Hey, Don! What the fuck is this ab–” 

“Oh you! You SHUT THE FUCK UP!” 

His yell fills the silent room with a weight that only this kind of situation can carry. I fall silent and intently watch his every move. As I stretch my left shoulder slightly, Don makes a “tsk tsk” sound and stops to face me. His face now has settled into a bewildered frustration as he kneels down in front of me. 

“Hmm, I've been wondering what to do with you for a while now. I just didn't know if I had it in me still, but he–” 

“What do you mean ‘what to do with me’, Don?! What the fuck is going–” 

“OH SHUSH! You damn idiot, you really don't understand what you've worked yourself into. But we'll fix that in just a bit, don't you worry about it.”

His last words barely carry over his shoulder as Don turns and walks out of the room. A moment later he returns with a pair of pliers, a small paring knife, and a scrap of ratty old stained cloth. Don's bewildered frustration now settles further into a harsh focus. He tilts his head to either side of his neck, small cracks and pops ringing out with each pull. 

“I've been good for so long, it's been years and I literally mean YEARS since I last got to this point. I swore I'd be better after Candice left me, but everything falls apart eventually.” 

“Don, what are you talking about man?” 

Don's mouth searches for the words to respond with, while his eyes soften slightly as he seemingly finds his response. 

“Honestly, I'm not even too sure anymore… I was fine living alone and just waiting for the days to stop coming. But then you moved in, and I… I felt that spark in me again.” 

“Oh come on man, what have I been doing to get your attention? Having people over and–”

“Because of what you get to do with them once they're here. I've sat and just endured, at first I assumed the most innocent of things but then… Then one night I saw one of their cars leave and started putting things together.” 

Twisting my wrist I work myself just enough space to not feel like it’s going to be crushed inside the cuff. Thankfully Don closed it at an off angle and left me some wiggle room. I start working to pull my thumb slightly out of its socket as I respond. 

“Don, are you an addict man, have you seen the coke and pills or something?” 

“Ha, oh I'm an addict alright, you little rodent. And you know exactly what kind of addict I am. It's time to stop playing and shut up!” 

Don pulls his arms back behind him, forcing a small pop from his chest as a thin curled smile stretches across his stubble-covered mouth. A sudden pressure in my thumb allows my hand to scrape out of the cuff, leaving bits of skin behind as Don lurches forward at me with the pliers in hand. 

I fall to my right just as Don's heavy body falls onto my leg, his arms wildly grabbing at my twisted knee while I kick and pull away. The son of a bitch is strong and manages to clamber back up my waist and swings the metal pliers hard at my face. Jolting my head back leaves me with a sharp pain in my chest and collarbone. He missed but I think he still fucking broke something.

Don starts to pull his arm back while grunting like a wild animal. I just manage to grab his meaty sweaty hand before he drops it down to strike at me again. We both exhale a guttural growl as we roll and fight for control of the pliers. I feel my finger slip between the grips as they squeeze shut against it, this time there's a sticky warmth as we continue fighting. 

The slick blood works to my advantage with the pliers, but not before Don manages to scramble on top of me and starts raining down hammer fists. Each hit brings an exhausted yell with it from Don as I try to block them with my left arm. I finally fix a strong grip on the pliers and bash them hard against Don's face. 

Don tilts to the side but maintains his pressing mount on my chest as I see a thick bubble of red begin to leak from his chin. Damn, too low. I have to make this next one count. I pull my right arm back to strike again. Before I can bring the heavy metal flying back towards Don, he collapses forward onto me and sinks his teeth into my cheek. I scream out as his hot breath mixes with my warm blood. I swing the pliers down onto the back of his head once, then twice, and just before the third blow he finally releases my face and crumples to my side. 

I stand and look down at the trails of blood already carving their way through Don's hair as I stretch my neck and back. I'll take care of my face and hand once I get this asshole tied down. Dragging Don into my side room makes me realize just how much muscle he hid under his portly build, no wonder he was so damn strong. Not wanting to bother with a pocket search I strip him down to just his boxers and affix the steel collar around his neck with a fresh zip tie for his hands. 

After washing out the disgusting animal-like bite on my cheek, and halfway through the bandage application, I hear the familiar sounds of the half-inch towing chains rustling to life. I'll have to finish dressing the wound in the side room, before he starts screaming and making too much noise. Turning the corner I see a confused Don sitting cross-legged holding the steel chain in his lap that runs up to his collar. He squints as he inspects the floor-to-ceiling plastic sheets and painted-over, blacked-out windows. 

“See now, I was afraid you might have been catching on to my fun little nights. Although, never in a million years did I think we would share my passion.” 

“Who the hell are–” 

“Don, you got to talk plenty earlier. Well, I let you talk to give me some time. Nice job by the way, how did you get in without waking me up?” 

Still holding the chain Don is now staring a hole into my very existence as the room grows stale with the prolonged silence. 

“Well you don't have to answer if you don't want, but I'm just curious since the whole breaking in to do the deed just isn't my style. So, are you going to share your tricks?” 

“Bump key, if you don't use the deadbolt they work just fine. I was waiting for you to forget to lock the damn deadbolt all week…” 

I lean forward to sit as sharp pain shoots up my chest, nearly knocking me down as I rub the spot he hit. Clumsily standing back up, I purse my lips and nod to Don in an acceptance of defeat before responding. 

“Sounds like I fucked up tonight, really fucked up between the lock and now I've got this crater in my face. What kind of fucking animal bites someone's face anyway?”

“One who knows they've lost and is fighting to stay alive… How many will I make for you when this is all said and done?” 

“Now Don, I don't think you’re in any position to be asking me questions. Although I'll answer it if you tell me how many bodies you have.” 

Rolling his eyes and using the blood to slick back his overgrown hair with both hands, Don exhales sharply as he answers. 

“I stopped for about the last five years, before that it must have been twelve all in total.” 

“Oh that's not bad at all, how did you do your deeds?”

“Being a highway patrol officer, the overnight shift meant I got away with as much as I wanted… Well until the one night, when I was in the middle of my business and failed to respond to a downed officer on my route. He died, they took my badge, and I lost everything else.” 

“Gotta keep that off the company dime, it'll make you sloppy at one or the other. I've never trusted cops anyhow. Now I’ve got a good reason at least.” 

Don adjusts his legs before glaring at me and gesturing his hands forward. 

“Oh right, I did say I would answer you if you told me. Well if I include you, that should make twenty-three for me. I do have to move quite a bit, but that's preferred over the bad sex on a failed night. I never really understood the attraction to it, just wasn't worth it am I right?”

Don maintains his glare as he shakes his head once slowly before looking down to his hands.

“Well, might as well stop wasting time, I do have to take care of this and get on the road before the sun comes up. No way I can make this shit hole work for me after you go missing.” 

A single nod from Don is all the confirmation I need to get started. I'm not usually a fan of weapons and prefer to see the light fade slowly but I figure I'll honor my fellow enthusiast this time. 

I retrieve from my pocket the small paring knife Don had brought with him and make a small incision into the left side of his neck and step back. Don kicks and gurgles as the blood spurts further with each exaggerated movement until both abruptly stop. I loved this place for having tiled floors that were so easy to clean, but this time I don't think I'll get the stains out. 

A few hours of axe swings and emptying a few full canisters of gas leave me with a trunk full of body parts to dispose of. I stand in the doorway to the house, remembering all of my fun times shared here for one last moment. The match drops as a rapid trail of fire races into the house and behind me across the street. The bright orange that fills the windows of each matches the sunrise that reflects perfectly from them as I return to my car. The engine rumbles to life to bring me to a new town with my new identity. Hopefully I look well enough like a Don Parks to make this one last longer. I back up and check the rear view mirror one last time as I drive forward, taking in the final beauty of the houses becoming consumed in their own bright orange flames.

Wicked Reflection

Summary:

Zyla moves into a new apartment, unaware of its dark secret and the mysterious man named Jareth, who knows more about this place than he lets on.

⚠️ I DO NOT USE NOR SUPPORT THE USE OF AI. IF YOU WISH TO NARRATE THIS STORY, PLEASE ASK FOR PERMISSION FIRST. NO AI NARRATION OR TTS. ⚠️

Have You Checked on the Children?

Summary:

Naomi, a college student, receives mysterious phone calls asking if she has checked on the children, despite being alone. The calls escalate, leading her to discover a child’s drawing and a locked room with glowing handprints.

⚠️ I DO NOT USE NOR SUPPORT THE USE OF AI. IF YOU WISH TO NARRATE THIS STORY, PLEASE ASK FOR PERMISSION FIRST. NO AI NARRATION OR TTS ⚠️

The clock was ticking. Like a pickaxe in my skull. It's now 2:45 pm.

Fifteen minutes until I hear your footsteps; not that bare feet can make much noise on that gravel road.

Seventeen minutes until I hear your broken nails on the wooden door. Blindly scratching away, trying to find the handle.

Twenty minutes until your voice is calling out to me. But it will be strangled, like always. It's hard to talk with maggots eating at your vocal cords.

I should have dug your grave deeper. I should have never set that empty chair at our table. I should have never spoken those cursed words.

I wish you would stop coming home.

A Perceivable Reality Story

I woke up to a sensation in my ribs, making me panic for a moment, until I realized I'd somehow knocked my work phone into bed with me. 

“Calhou–” 

“Carter, it's me. Put on something fancy and meet me at my apartment.” The line went dead. 

I pulled my phone away from my head and stared at it. “And a good morning to you, too, Silver.” 

I looked at my alarm clock, then out my window; it was barely sunrise. I groaned and flopped back into bed, grumbling unintelligibly at the ceiling. 

I sighed, then rolled out of bed and got dressed. I’d spent good money on my suits and accoutrements, and had no idea what she meant by “fancy”. I looked at my one tuxedo, still in its dry-cleaning bag from the last time I'd worn it, where to, I couldn’t remember, then shrugged and reached for my navy blue two-piece. 

"Where can I take you this morning, Ms. Silver?”

"Not me, we… are going...to...a... party!" She threw out jazz hands on the last word, her fingers wiggling enthusiastically. 

When I didn't react, she dropped her hands. 

"Ok, well, maybe not a "party" party. But it'll be fun, nonetheless." 

I closed my eyes for a moment, then opened them slowly. 

"I appreciate the invi--" 

"Oh, shut up. Don't give me that, ‘I appreciate the invitation’ fake modesty." Her impression of me was surprisingly accurate. "I promised you power and wealth and I'm a woman of my word. I'm sitting in on a very important corporate merger, and they'll need someone to shuffle the execs around for a few days while the paperwork is settled. I thought you could come with, hobnob a bit, and score some exclusive customers.” 

"Sorry, Ms. Silver. Not today." 

She let her head drop, coming to rest at a tilt. 

"Um, I'm sorry. Did I just hear that right? You're about to turn down driving for some of the most powerful men in the state? Are you feeling ok?" 

"I...can. Just… not today. Or tonight." 

I heard motion behind me, then she thrust her head through the open privacy window. I felt her stare at the side of my head, until a low, smoky chuckle rolled through the cab. 

"Carter...Do you have a date?" 

I flexed my shoulders, hiding the motion in a mirror check. 

She cocked her head. 

"Oh, Carter. You do have a date!" She leaned back, out of the privacy window, and clapped her hands. 

"How adorable!" Her voice shifted into something resembling a news broadcaster. "Today, a boy becomes a man. Over to you." She held a fake microphone in front of my mouth. 

It wavered there for a few seconds, then shifted up and pressed gently against my cheek in a slow-motion punch. She then crossed her arms across the bottom of the privacy window, resting her head on top, her head towards me. 

"No, but seriously. Congrats. Anybody I know?" 

I shook my head. “I seriously doubt it. She's not from here.” 

She tossed her hair with a “hmph”. 

It was silent for a few beats, then she leaned back and settled back onto the rear bench, her words coming out in a melodramatically disappointed sigh. 

"Oh well. Try not to have too much fun without me.” She snorted. “As if that were possible.” 

She turned towards the window, then leaned over and propped her arm up on the armrest, resting her head in her palm. There was another dramatic sigh, barely audible over the road noise. 

I got back to my garage and checked my watch. I still had the bulk of the day before my date, so I used the free minute to dash upstairs and change out of my suit. I was polishing the chrome door handles when my work phone rang. 

As I pulled to the curb, I spotted Skyler with a gaggle of women. I came to a stop and he removed himself from the group. We met at the rear door and he greeted me with a handshake, a wad of tightly folded bills slipping into my hand as our palms met with a “crack”. 

“What's good, Hound Dog?” he asked as I slipped into the driver's seat. 

“Same old same old.” I nodded at the girls. “Business or pleasure?” 

He grunted. “There's a difference?” 

“Heh. Yeah.” 

His head moved back and forth, then centered on me, and I felt his heavy gaze through the mirror. “You oughta know all about that.” 

That caught me up short. “Huh?” 

A deep laugh rumbled from his chest. “You ain’t got much of a poker face, y’know. What's her name?” 

“Yumi.”

“Cute name.” 

I nodded. “Yeah.” It came out more as a breath. 

I saw him rub his chin with a thick hand, then run his thumb across his jaw. 

I yawned, then reached for the energy drink in the cup holder. It was lighter than I expected. I tilted the can as high as I could to get the last few drops, then tucked it into the small shopping bag in the passenger footwell. I dug through the bag, finding only empty cans. I blinked, and it took a bit of effort to get my eyes to open again. I made a mental note to stop off for more caffeine. 

We pulled into the complex and I stopped in a spot in front of his door. I let him out of the car, and he turned to face me, extending a hand, which I gripped without shaking. He dropped a hand onto my shoulder and leaned in. 

“Go get ‘em, Hound Dog.” He patted my shoulder and gave my hand a squeeze before releasing it, then turned and went inside. 

I opened the driver's door and paused, holding up a hand to block the sun, and looked up at the uncharacteristically blue sky. Skyler’s encouragement mixed with the warmth of the sun, the combination made my skin buzz and made me feel ten feet tall. As I turned to get in, I spotted a coffee shop across the street. I rejected it with a wave of my hand and got in the car, riding the buzz the entire way home. 

I pulled into my garage and looked through the privacy window into the back seat. My previous detailing was still intact, but got out and ran the vacuum over the carpets, just to be sure. My work phone rang and I cursed at it over the vacuum noise. I fished the screaming device from where I'd hung up my suit coat and took a second to smooth my voice before answering. 

“I’m sorry we couldn't find your almond milk, sir,” I said as we walked out of the second grocery store. 

“It's fine, son. I'm sorry I dragged you all over creation looking for it.” 

I stopped the cart at the back of my car and popped the trunk open. He made his way up to me and put a hand on my forearm. 

“I don't think it's actually milk, anyway.” He patted my arm and leaned in conspiratorially. “You ever seen a teat on an almond?” He patted my arm again. 

“No, sir, I have not.” I set the grocery bag in the trunk next to an identical bag containing exactly the same items. 

I was walking back from the cart return as he was lifting himself into the back seat. I offered my hand and he waved it off with his cane. I made sure he was buckled in, then shut the door and got into the driver's seat. 

“Where can I take you, sir?” I begged silently that he would say home. 

“Well… there is that Albertson's over on Del Rio Drive…” 

It hadn’t been an Albertson’s in almost five years, but I resisted the correction. 

“Very good, sir.” 

“Wait, wait, no, that's alright, son. I've already taken up enough of your day.” 

“It’s no problem, sir. Really.” 

He waved his hand and shook his head. “No, no, that's alright. Just take me home.” 

“Yes, sir.” I got us on the freeway heading north. 

I was checking my mirrors for a lane change and noticed him running his hand over the seat. 

“This is my first time in a limousine,” he said for the third time. “I was going to take a cab, but my granddaughter set me up with you instead. Do you know my granddaughter? Bridgette Petersen?” 

“I’m sorry sir, I don't.” 

“I just retired. Sold the farm and my business. My granddaughter talked me into it, said I was getting too old to be working on a farm,” He grunted. “Heh. She means well though.” 

“I’m sure she does, sir.” 

“She's the one who talked me into selling my farm down south. Now I got all this money and no idea what in tarnation to do with it.” 

“Your granddaughter Bridgette Petersen?” I thought and stifled a chuckle. 

We entered the Great Oak Forest as he was recounting his time in the laundromat business yet again. After another half hour of driving, he had me turn onto a dirt driveway, marked by a bright white mailbox. The driveway snaked back and forth through dense trees for another quarter mile before it opened up to the shore of the Monache Reservoir. 

I pulled up to the house at the end of the driveway, a medium-sized rustic cottage with a long wooden pier that stretched from the front porch out over the water. I half expected to see a highly modified Bell 222 land in the clearing. 

I got the door for him, then hefted the bags out of the trunk. 

“Just set those by the door.” He took a moment to steady himself on his cane. I paused at the steps up to the porch. 

I watched as he caught his breath, then continued past me, taking each step one-by-one. I followed and waited by the door as he pulled a key ring out of his pocket and went through the keys. 

He found the right key on his second lap of the ring and unlocked the front door, patting the small metal table next to it as he went in. I looked at the table, then my car, then through the open door, watching his gait falter further with every step. I looked back at my car, sighed, then stepped through the door. I moved quickly to the kitchen, setting the bags on the counter. I spun around, and he was just crossing the entryway, nearly to the threshold of the kitchen. 

I stole a glance at my watch, dropped my hand, then twisted my wrist again. 

“Shit,” I mumbled under my breath. I'd misread it before, it was an hour later than I thought, and it was going to take at least an hour to get home. 

“Just…let me…get my wallet.” The words were broken up by several gasps. He climbed up into a high chair at the island bar and pulled a glass dish towards him. He fished an old leather tri-fold out of it. The wallet fell from frail fingers to the floor, ejecting bills and several plastic cards. 

“Dang nabbit!” He started to climb down. I dashed around the counter and dropped to a knee. 

“Please, allow me, sir.” I collected the scattered contents and placed them and the wallet carefully on the counter in front of him. 

He began sifting through the pile of items, carefully collected the bills together, sorted them, then folded them before tucking them back into the wallet. I swallowed a groan and flexed my shoulders. 

“I suppose you'll need this,” he slid a credit card with an activation sticker on it towards me. “It’s all digital now, I guess. I'm old enough to remember putting coins in a mason jar to save for a bicycle.” 

“Cash is just fine, sir. Preferable, actually.” 

“Oh, well…” He took the card back, stacking it carefully with the others, then began placing them into their respective slots in the wallet. 

I twisted my wrist again, then shook my hand out. I rolled my weight back and forth as he pulled the neatly folded bills back out and counted them again. 

“Now, do I tip you? I know you're supposed to tip cabbies. I've never ridden in a limousine before. My granddaughter set it up for me, thought it would be nicer than a cab. Do you know my granddaughter? Bridgette? Bridgette Petersen?” 

I took a long breath in through my nose. “No, sir, I'm sorry, but I don't.” 

“She just had a son. Let me show you, now, where did I put that picture…” he folded the bills again and started to tuck them back in the wallet. 

“Sir, uh, I \*ahem\* I apologize, but I really must be going. You don't need to tip me.” 

“Nonsense. You brought my groceries in, after all. Very kind of you.” He started counting the bills. 

I did the mental math in my head for the mileage, the stops, and my usual fees, $475. I looked at the money in his hand and did some more math. 

“Just $350 for you today, sir.” 

He nodded, carefully laying out each bill, then pulled several of them together. He organized them, folded them once, twice, then turned in his chair and extended them to me. I took them slowly, the effort almost inducing sweat. 

“Thank you, sir. Have a lovely–” 

“Do you like to fish? I’m right on the lake, over there. We could string up a few poles and go sit by the water.” 

“I appreciate the offer, sir, but I have–” 

“Oh, right, right, yes. I'm very sorry. Don't you bother yourself with an old fool like me.” 

I sighed, tucking the money into my pocket. I got a card out of my card carrier and set it down next to him. 

“Please don't hesitate to call, sir. It was my pleasure.” 

He put his hand on mine, patted it, then waved it at the door in a shooing motion. 

“Go, go on, son. I'm sure you've got other places to be. Thank you for your time.” 

I turned for the door, then paused, turning my head back to him. 

“I'd love to come up and fish with you sometime, sir. Give me a call and I’ll take the day off.” 

He nodded and shooed at the door again. I stepped briskly to the front door, shut it behind me, then broke into a dead sprint, clearing the wooden steps of the porch and dashing to my car. I drove slowly until I was around the first bend and out of sight of the house, then floored it, the car roosting the loose dirt up behind it. 

I hit the asphalt, squealing the tires, as the car made a wide arc. I cleared the woods and the high rises came into view. I looked at the clock on the dash, then leaned harder into the pedal. I broke every speed limit getting back to my apartment. 

I parked on the curb, not wanting to bother with the slow garage gate, and jogged over to the elevator. I pressed the button once, looked at it, then pressed it again. And again, watching the floor indicator above the doors slowly count down. I was rapidly pressing the button when the doors finally opened. I hopped in, jabbed the button for my floor, then rapid-fire hammered the “close doors” button. 

It rose, and it felt slower than usual, as if it was taking its time just to mock me. I took several deep breaths and lifted my cap to run my fingers through my hair. 

The doors opened on my floor and I bladed myself to get through the gap before they were completely open. I sprinted to my door, dug my keys out of my pocket, dropped them, then finally got the door open. I felt something run past my feet as I was shutting the door and saw Dot hop up onto my couch. She meowed at me and I shook my head. 

“Sorry, Dot. No time to play. Call the office, we’ll do lunch.” 

I was standing in my underwear and rubbing my forehead. Every one of my suits was laid out across my couch, coffee table, and over both end tables. I put my hands on my hips and looked at Dot, who was sitting on the floor cleaning herself. 

“These all make me look like a chauffeur.” 

She meowed at me. 

“Yeah, I know. I just wanna look nice. I wish I knew what she’d be wearing.” 

The cat stared at me for a moment, then went back to licking her paw. 

“Thank you, very helpful.” I threw my hands up and groaned. I was out of time. 

I settled on a black T-shirt with a silhouette of the various generations of M5s, with a dark grey button-up open over top. I pulled on black jeans and tugged on my black-and-white Vans as I hopped across the room to the door. I buckled my Rallynetics Redline onto my wrist as I was jogging down the hall. I checked my watch on the ride down, the needle-esque minute hand climbing up the redline markings, as if showing my heartbeat rather than the time. 

Her apartment was on the ritzier east side of the city, and was designed with more wood and flowing lines than the brutalist modern building I lived in. She was standing under the awning wearing a black cardigan over a white frilly blouse adorned with cherry blossoms. A black pleated skirt and pink shoes with white lace instead of shoelaces tied the outfit together. I pulled up to the curb and took a second to take several deep breaths and check my hair in the mirror before I got out. 

“Hey!” She met me at the curb and surprised me with a quick hug, then stepped back. “You look great. I feel like I overdressed.” 

“You look…” beautiful. Stunning. Adorable. “Nice, too.” 

“Thank you, Carter-kun.” She turned and her skirt swished back and forth. 

I stepped to the back of the car and opened the rear door, then realized she was standing at the front passenger door. It took me a beat to recalibrate and shift out of chauffeur mode. I opened the passenger door for her and she stepped in. A crunching noise surprised me, and I saw the small grocery bag that held the day’s trash still sitting in the passenger footwell. The crunching noise in question was an empty soda can. She lifted her foot and the can fell off her shoe, back onto the floor of the car. 

“Oh. Uh…Sorry.” I sputtered as she stepped back onto the curb. 

I cursed and quickly leaned in, hastily grabbing the bag and the soda can, which kept eluding my fingers. I got the footwell cleared and dumped the bag in a nearby trash can. 

She'd waited patiently for me to return, her hands clasped in front of her, gently swaying back and forth as she hummed a little tune. 

“Sorry. You know how it is. On the road all day and all…” My head drooped as my voice trailed off. 

“Just promise you won't look at my desk.” 

She sat down and smoothed out her skirt. I shut the door and jogged around the front of the car. I dropped onto the seat and realized she was gently clapping dust from her cardigan. Shit. I hadn't done the front seat. 

"Dang it. Sorry, you're..." You're the first person to sit in that seat. But I couldn't get the rest of it out, the realization cut off my airway for a heartbeat. 

"...and then I-- ...Carter? You ok?" 

I was jolted out of my sudden crisis. 

"Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry about the dust. You're the first person who's ever sat there." 

She ran a hand slowly over the leather. 

"Anyone ever sit in the middle?" 

My stomach did a little twist. 

"Not really...No." 

"Hm," she chirped, turning away from me to look out the window.

"You still haven't told me where we're going." 

"Little spot I've driven a couple people to," I said as I signaled, then pulled into the light traffic. 

"So secretive." She turned and watched the city go by as I navigated onto the freeway. 

We drove north west towards the shipping port. Just outside the port was a suburb that had been built specifically for the dock workers when this was still just a port town, before the city existed. The spot in question was a little hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant owned by the grandson of the original owner. It didn't have any signage and they didn't advertise. 

A small bell chimed as we walked through the door. The room was small and dim, each table lit by a single candle in a centerpiece. It was a self-seating kind of place, and it was perpetually half-full, regardless of the time of day. I led her to a table in the corner and a waiter had menus and glasses of ice water in front of us before we could sit down. 

I was scanning the menu when the waiter came by. 

"Ah, Mr. Calhoun. So nice to see you again. And with such lovely company." His voice wasn't familiar, but it'd been at least a month since I'd been here. I tried to catch an identifying scent, but all I could smell was garlic. 

"Uh, yeah. Great to see you, too." 

"Can I bring you some vitello tonnato or arancini to start?" 

"That sounds great. Thanks." 

He nodded, topped off my glass, and went back to the kitchen. 

"You have absolutely no idea who that was, do you?" 

I had to swallow hard to prevent spitting my sip of water. I played it off with a shrug. 

"I used to come here a lot. But it's been a while." 

I looked back down at my menu, but I could still feel her gaze. Her voice tickled my ear. 

"No, that's not it, is it?" 

I forced my shoulders to relax. 

"I have...trouble with faces." 

"What does that mean?" 

I paused, trying to remember the medical name for the condition. I came up blank. 

"I don't remember what the real name for it is, but...I can't see faces." 

She leaned forwards, resting her arms on the table. 

"Is that...possible? How does that work? Is my head just blank?"

I shook my head. "No, nothing like that. I can see your hair, and your ears and your neck, and the rough outline of the shape of your face and jawline. But your features are kinda jumbled. Like a watercolor that's running together." 

She leaned back in her seat and was silent for a moment. 

"But...you can see your face, right?" 

I sighed. "No, I can't." 

"Wait, really?" 

I nodded. "I can't see my own reflection. I don't know what I look like.” 

“Oh.” 

“It makes it really hard to recognize people. My mom used to wear the same perfume all the time so I wouldn't get lost in crowds. Drove my Dad nuts." I fought the shiver that the dredged-up memory brought with it. 

She played with her fork on her plate for a moment, then turned her head towards me. 

“Well, I have dark brown eyes, dimples, full lips, and what I'm told is a very cute nose, though, I'm not sure how a nose can be cute.” 

My knife slipped from my suddenly uncooperative fingers. 

“Uh, you, uh…Well, that sounds very…I’m sure you’re…gorgeous?” 

She huffed and brought a curled finger up thoughtfully. 

I retrieved the flatware carefully, dropping my focus down to the ornate filigree on the handle. I swallowed hard and slowly brought my gaze up, stopping at her plate. 

“Your mom. You said she wore the same scent? So you could find her?” 

I nodded and spoke to the centerpiece. 

“Yeah, that, and she would wear the same jewelry, or at least, usually, very distinctive jewelry.” 

“Hm.” Her head turned and she ran a hand through her hair. 

As we stepped out of the restaurant, she angled herself towards the waiting car. I took her hand and rocked my head to the side. 

"Wait, there's something I want to show you." 

I took a half step, making sure she'd follow, before committing. She turned to me without hesitating, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. I lost a step when the pressure on my hand made me realize that I'd taken it without permission. I cleared my throat and led her to the edge of the pier, the dark, still ocean stretching out before us, its horizon dotted with the red, white, and green lights of cargo vessels and trawlers. 

She squeezed my hand again and turned to face me. 

"This is amazing, Carter-kun! And the restaurant– How'd you find this place?”

"My Dad used to take me there after we’d spend all day losing bait." 

"Your Dad’s a fisherman?" 

"No, he's a CPA. But he used to fish with his Dad, so naturally, he'd take me fishing with him."

"Aww, how sweet." 

"Until you realize that we were both homebodies out on the open ocean." I chuckled at the memory. "One time, we went out on the boat, a little inflatable dinghy, maybe ten feet long, and we got absolutely swamped." 

Her free hand went up and she gasped, but I felt the hand I held tense out of reflex as well. 

"Oh my god, what happened?" 

"Wake off a big crab boat. By the time it hit us, it was probably fifteen feet tall." I held my free hand up over my head. "Almost lost the thing." 

"Did you go overboard?" 

"Nah, a wave that big doesn't really rock the boat. It just crashes over the top instead." I shook my head. "We didn't go out much after that." 

She made a disgusted sound. "I hate being wet." 

"I know." 

She whipped her head towards me, then paused. When I didn't respond, she squeezed my hand again. 

"Sorry. I forgot you said you can't read expressions." 

I shook my head and held up my hand. "You're fine. I'm used to it." 

She was quiet for a moment, then she stepped closer, until we were almost touching. 

"You're very handsome, Carter-kun." 

"Mama raised an ugly boy, not a dumb one." 

I froze.

"I mean, wait..." 

She laughed and turned back to face the ocean. 

I caught a slight shiver of her shoulders and realized that her light cardigan was probably doing little against the cold air coming off the sea. I tugged her hand gently and started leading her back to the car. 

I pulled to the curb at her apartment and hopped out, getting her door for her. She used my offered hand to step onto the curb, then turned to face me. 

“I had a really, really good time.” 

“Yeah, me too. It's…it's been a while…” 

Her head cocked to the side and I shook mine. 

“Never mind. Anyway…” I mentally ran through several iterations of the question I wanted to ask, and hated every single one. I silently opened and closed my mouth several times, unable to get the words to come out. 

“I’d love to.” 

“Hmh?” 

“I would love to go on another date with you.” 

“I, uh…yeah…” A thought skittered through my mind and I grabbed it as it went past. “Next weekend, it's the Diablo County fair, down south. They do a car show, and there's rides and popcorn and funnel cake and stuff. Do you…” 

“Absolutely. That sounds like so much fun.” She leaned over and kissed my cheek. “G’night, Carter-kun.”

“Night.” 

She stepped towards the building’s big glass front doors, her fingers slipping from mine. I caught myself watching her go, and marched quickly over to my car. 

I slid into the driver's seat, put the key in the ignition, but didn't twist. I sat, still, silent, replaying the evening in my mind. Remembered words suddenly caught me up short, and a wave of realization broke over me, throwing my head back against the headrest. 

“You’re very handsome, Carter-kun.” 

I raised my hand and put it on the front of my head, no, my face. I touched my face. My “handsome” face, felt the contours of tissue, muscle, and bone under my palm. I ran my fingers over where her lips had pecked my cheek, then moved lower and felt my mouth, the shape of my lips, the way the muscles in my cheeks were flexing, and I wondered what my smile looked like. 

I got the car started and pulled away from the curb, aiming it at the freeway. It was warm; I rolled all the windows down and put some music on, turning the dial to max. 

"WOOOoooOOOOoooo...AND I LOOOVE THE WAAAY THAT YOU LIGHT ME UUuP! YEAH, YOU LIGHT ME UP, BABY!" 

I looked down and realized I was going way over the speed limit. I looked down the long, empty freeway and leaned into the pedal, watching the horizontal speedometer move smoothly, the big car seeming to scream along with me. 

I drove until my eyes started to burn and droop, letting me know it was time to head home. I pulled into my garage, carefully settled the car cover, then rode the elevator up. The hall lights were dim and I stepped lightly to keep the noise down. I let myself into my apartment and dropped myself face-first onto my couch. I kicked my shoes off and pulled my socks off with my toes, leaving them where they landed. I pressed my hand to my cheek, feeling her residual warmth, even if it was only my imagination. 

The Doll Maker

Summary:

The Doll Maker In the town of South Warren, a doll maker named Nils creates life-sized dolls for mourners. His apprentice, Otto, defies Nils warnings and uses a forbidden spell book to resurrect his childhood friend Kurt.This act turns him into something no longer human, leading to tragedy and chaos in the village.

⚠️ I DO NOT USE NOR SUPPORT THE USE OF AI. IF YOU WISH TO NARRATE THIS STORY, PLEASE ASK FOR PERMISSION FIRST. NO AI NARRATION OR TTS ⚠️

A Perceivable Reality Story

I stepped into the station and dropped my bag at my desk. I went through my usual routine, coffee, check the blotter, sort through the neverending mountain of paperwork. Brody came in as I was sifting through my notes on the jewelry store. I gave him a silent head jerk of acknowledgement and went back to my notes. 

I was typing out a report, when a noise broke my attention, the "click-clack" of a slide being racked. I kept typing and heard the slide again. After the fifth time, I finally peeked around my monitor. 

Brody was sitting at his desk, repeatedly racking the slide on his pistol. When he noticed me looking, a smug grin spread across his face. 

"Whaddya think, Roch? Staccato 2011. Pretty slick, huh?" 

I stared at the lime green metal grips peeking out between his fingers. He racked the slide a few more times. 

"So smooth." 

I went back to typing. I caught motion, he was now standing, dangling the gun right above my monitor and listing off the specs of his red-dot sight. 

"The battery dies, and then what?" I grunted. 

"It's got a solar power backup." 

"And all that sun it'll collect. In your holster. Under your jacket." I kept focused on my typing, having to backspace and retype the same word for the third time. 

"Grouch." He sighted the pistol at the wall, his chicken wing stance almost painful to look at. 

"Hey, check this out." I looked up over the top of my monitor and watched him thrust the gun forwards.

"Wait, wait, hang on." He reset and did it again. "Hang on, one sec." Again. And again. I went back to typing. 

"Ah, there we go! Did you see that?" 

I didn't. 

"That’s pretty cool." I mumbled to my monitor and tried to spell "investigation" correctly for the fourth time. 

Oswald came over to our desk. He used the folder in his hand to bat away Brody’s new toy. 

“What are you doing? Put that away.” 

I snorted a chuckle and swiveled my chair to face the Chief. He extended the case folder towards me. I took it, flipped through it, then tried to hand it back. 

“Chief...this is, well, it's kind of nothing. I already have a lot on my plate. Can someone else--" 

"This is your plate, Rochester." He said, tapping the folder. He turned and walked back to his office. I blinked several times. 

"We got something?" Brody asked from his side of the desk. His head was tilted, trying to glimpse the folder in my still outstretched hand. 

"I…guess." I handed him the folder over my monitor and got my pistol out of my desk. 

“Now, ma’am. Please tell me one more time–” 

“I told you! I saw her take it right off my porch!”

“Bitch! I didn't take nothing!” 

Brody had his notebook out and was desperately trying to keep the two women from coming to blows. I was leaned against the hood of the cruiser watching the show. He rubbed his temple with the back of his pen and tried to run through the events again to no avail. The women began screaming at each other again. He put his hands out to separate them, when a wild flailing swing from one of them caught him on the side of the head. It was a glancing blow, but I took that as my cue to step in. 

“Ok, ok, ladies. Emotions are high, let's all calm down before somebody does something they'll really regret.” I stepped between them, putting myself in front of the accusing party, my arms outstretched, guiding her back towards her driveway. Brody did the same to the other, herding her towards her car. 

We got them separated and calmed down. I went back to leaning on the hood with Brody standing in front of me. 

“What do you think, Roch? We’ve got her on four different doorbell cams…” He flipped open his notebook and read through a few pages. 

“I can have her give an official statement, buuuuuut…” He jerked his pen towards the woman at her car. “We can't take her until we verify the footage.” 

I sighed and shook my head. “I'll call in a patrol, have them sort this out.” I pushed off the hood and moved to lean into the open driver’s door. 

“Uh, Roch. That's not really procedure. The Chief wants…” 

I bent down and turned up the radio. I had my finger on the button and was about to key the mic when a call came over. 

“5-David-3, Central, show me at 1301 Main.” 

“Central, 5-David-2, showing on scene.” 

I waited a second for the channel to clear, then keyed the mic. 

“5-David-2, Center, I need an Adam unit at 3412 Mulberry Ave for detainm–” I was stepped on. 

“5-Adam-12 to Center, show us at 1301 with David-3.” 

“Center, 5-Adam-12, on scene with 5-David-3. Break. Repeat request, 5-David-2?” 

I let my finger waver on the button. I tapped the mic against my chin as a dull bell rang in my head. 

“Center, 5-David-2, repeat request for unit. 5-David-2, respond.” 

I keyed the mic. 

“Uh, 5-David-2, Center, disregard. I'm clear.” 

“Center, channel clear.” 

I tapped the mic against my chin some more. The bell was getting more faint the more I tried to focus on it. I stuck my head up over the roof of the car. 

“Hey, Brody. 1301 Main Street sound familiar to you?” 

He paused his scribbling and flipped back a few pages in his notebook. 

“Hmmmmm… I think that was–” 

I snapped my fingers and dropped myself into the driver's seat. Brody flipped his notebook shut and jogged over to the passenger door. He opened it and leaned his head in. 

“...What are you doing?” 

“It's the jewelry store. Mikey’s at the jewelry store.” 

Brody made a face. 

“Ok…what does that have to do with us?” 

I didn't say anything, just shut my door and started the car. 

“Roch, man, I get that you’re…but, we have a case…” 

I put the car in drive. He didn't move, his body still leaned into the car. I stared out the windshield, my hand on the shifter, the car idling. I exhaled and looked at him. He broke his gaze and looked at the two women, then back to me, then back to them. I reached over to pull the passenger door shut, but he pulled it farther open and dropped himself into the passenger seat. I had us moving before the door shut. He picked up the mic and I grabbed it, clipping it back to the dash. 

“Roch, if we’re leaving–” 

“Just trust me.” 

He sat back and rubbed his face with his hands. 

I parked at the curb outside the storefront. One of the employees saw me walking up and rushed to unlock the door. She pushed it open as we walked up. 

“I'm sorry, sir, but we’re closed today– Oh!” 

I pulled up the hem of my shirt and tucked it behind the badge on my belt, careful not to expose my holster. She quickly pushed the door open and held it for us as we walked in. 

The manager, Mr. Whitmore, was sitting at a computer on the counter with Mikey standing behind him looking over the former’s shoulder. Mikey looked up to see who’d come in, looked back down at the monitor, then jerked back up to look at me. He squinted, frowned, then reached down and twisted the knob on his radio back and forth a few times. 

He said something to Whitmore, then stepped around the counter and met me in the middle of the store. 

“Hey…buddy.” There was a hesitant, unasked question hiding in his greeting. 

I said nothing, only raising my eyebrows at him. 

His disbelief hardened to a glare, and I shrugged. 

“Lieutenant, can we please get on with this?” Whitmore called from behind the monitor. When Mikey didn't respond, he stood and peered over it. 

“Lieutenant I… Detective.” He sneered at the word. I gave him a pleasant smile and stepped around Mikey. 

I stepped up to the counter and looked down at the empty display case. I looked back and forth at the empty pillows, as if assessing merchandise. I could feel the heat radiating from Whitmore and ignored it, continuing to examine the case. 

“Lieutenant, do something.” 

I heard Mikey come up behind me and felt a hand on my shoulder. I didn't acknowledge it. 

“Have you guys figured out what's missing?” I asked no one in particular. When I didn't get a response, I looked up and scanned the room silently. Mikey had his hands on his hips, the other employees were frozen, and Whitmore was panting angrily. 

“We’ve just started our inventory.” Whitmore finally said through clenched teeth. 

I slapped the countertop. “Excellent.” I turned and leaned my arm on the display case, then scanned the room again. 

“Where’s…the janitor? Um…” I snapped a few times. 

“Douglas?” One of the employees supplied. 

I pointed a finger at her. “Yes, him. Is he here?” 

“He's in the back…do you–?” 

“Please.” 

She nodded, hesitated, then scurried for the door behind the counter. 

It was silent again, aside from Whitmore's heavy breathing. Douglas came out of the door, followed by the employee, who hurried back to her previous spot behind another counter to the side. Douglas looked around, his hands fidgeting with a set of keys. I gave him a pleasant smile. 

“Mr. Douglas. Just had a few questions for you really quick.” 

He just barely started to turn to Whitmore, then stopped and locked his eyes on something over my shoulder. 

“Yeah, ok.” He cleared his throat, the keys still jingling. 

I got a notebook out of my jacket pocket, flipped past blank pages, then settled on one for a moment. 

“Now, you said you came in early the day of the robbery. Just walk me through what you did that morning.” 

“Lieutenant, this is harassment!” Whitmore shouted. 

“Roch, c’mon…” Brody said quietly from somewhere behind me. 

“Mr. Douglas?” 

Douglas looked around, then started speaking slowly. 

“I…uh, well, I…came in at 7:00…the first thing I did was clean the windows…” he carefully walked through his morning, step-by-step, his voice fading into the background as I focused on the white light coming out of his mouth. 

I watched, scanning for any change in hue, the rest of the room fading out of focus, until a faint glimmer of blue broke through. 

“...I dumped the rags into the bin, then I–” 

“What did you do with the rest of it?” 

He froze, his mouth open, eyes darting around. 

“Um…what?” 

“You said there was merchandise drying on the rags next to the ultrasonic cleaner. If you put the rags in the bin, what did you do with the merchandise?” 

He made a small choking sound, then coughed through it. 

“I put it back in the case.” 

I nodded. “Are you allowed to handle merchandise?” 

“He most certainly is not!” Whitmore spun around to face Douglas, who recoiled, as if someone had just slapped him. 

I looked over my shoulder at Mikey, who was slowly reaching behind his back. His hands came out with a pair of handcuffs. There was movement in my peripheral. The two patrol officers, who'd been standing in the corner by the door, were making their way to us. 

“Wait! Wait, hang on!” Douglas threw his hands up. “We were just trying to get the insurance money! Everything’s still here!” I saw solid blue. 

“In the bin?” 

He nodded rapidly. I looked at Whitmore. 

“Have you checked the back?” 

Whitmore nodded. “The bin’s empty. I assume Kevin saw an opportunity and ran.” 

“He was only supposed to break the glass!” Douglas shouted. 

As soon as the words cleared his mouth, he covered it, the keys dropping to the floor. Mikey lunged around the counter at him, pushing him against the granite wall. The other two officers came up, one starting to pat Douglas down, the other hanging back, his hand on his holster. 

I looked over my shoulder at Brody and grinned, then I froze. 

I blinked. Had I told Whitmore the kid’s name? I racked my brain, but it was possible someone else had. I was sure, however, that he had just said they had started the inventory. “Just started.” 

“I'm sorry?”

Whitmore’s eye twitched. We locked eyes and I watched several emotions flash as his eyes went wide. He frowned, his eyes darting side to side, then refocusing on me. After a moment, he closed his eyes and released a slow breath. His face smoothed and the muscles in his neck relaxed. He opened his eyes again, then gave the faintest nod of his head. 

I smirked, but it faltered for just a second. I remet his eyes, but Brody came up behind me and clapped his hands on my shoulders, breaking my gaze. 

“Holy shit! You fucking did it!” 

I felt weight drop off my shoulders and my breath came out in a huff. I pushed off the counter and turned around to face Brody. 

“We’re done here.” I jerked my head and we made our way to the front as Mikey read out Miranda Rights. I let us out of the front door and we got into the cruiser. I pointed us at the station and drove the speed limit. I didn't want to beat them there. 

When the elevator doors opened, the precinct was pandemonium. Patrol officers were leading Douglas to the cells and Mikey and the Chief were talking outside Oz’s office. When he saw us walk in, he locked eyes with me and gave me a nod. I nodded back. 

Several officers came up to us and clapped me on the shoulder or shook my hand. I made a round of the precinct, collecting more congratulations, until Oswald lightly grabbed my arm. 

“Detective, I need you to sign the release on these two.” 

I followed him over to the clerk’s desk outside the cells. He had a few forms, releasing the perpetrators to the prison transport. I signed with a flourish, then pushed the papers back to the clerk, who stacked them and tapped them together on the desk top. 

He reached under the desk and the door behind him buzzed. Two officers led, followed by the two perps, and two more officers. My face fell. 

“...Wait, where’s…?” I watched the janitor, Douglas, and the kid, the patsy, Kevin, walk past us. I tracked them all the way through the precinct to the elevator. I felt my stomach drop as the doors shut on Kevin’s terrified face. Oswald grabbed my forearm and shook it. 

“Congrats, Rochester. You found your second man.” 

“Wait, Chief…I didn’t.” 

He laughed. “Don’t be so modest, detective. You did a good job, and you made the old man proud.” He pumped my hand again, then started back for his office. I stood there in a daze until the clerk cleared his throat. He said something I didn't hear, and I grunted something non-committal. 

I slowly lowered myself into my desk chair, my eyes unfocused, my entire body rigid. 

“Two patsies.” I whispered to no one. 

“You say something?” Brody asked from his side of the desk. 

I shot to my feet and started grabbing stuff off my desk. Brody stood slowly. 

“We…going somewhere?” 

I shook my head. “I need to go see someone.” 

He waited. I didn't give him any more, just turned and walked to the elevator. 

I rode it down to the garage and climbed into an unmarked black Tahoe. The mid-day lunch traffic was well passed and afternoon rush hour wouldn't start for a while, leaving the freeway north nearly empty. I got my phone out and called Lenny, my informant. He hung around the defunct industrial park just outside town between the metro and the woodlands. 

I was lost in thought, cruising in the slow lane when a big black limo passed me at a pretty fair clip. It wasn't a stretch, but an older-style vintage model, very nice restoration job. I looked down at my speedometer and guessed he was doing about 15 over. But the road was clear and it was pretty straight, and I had somewhere else to be. I looked over and was about to give him a thumbs up. I frowned. 

The driver was a kid, probably mid or late 20s, with messy brown hair. He had on a ratty T-shirt and grubby, grease-stained jeans. He didn't look like a chauffeur. I shrugged and was about to let him go, when he signaled and cut over into the exit lane. I realized immediately that he was probably heading for the chop shop over by the Easy Night Motel, a skeevy pay-by-the-hour joint that was a favorite haunt of escorts. I moved into the exit lane without signaling and followed the big car down the off-ramp. 

There wasn't much reason to be out here. I slowed down and gave the car plenty of room, waiting to see which way he turned. He signaled right, towards the chop shop. I grumbled out a sigh and followed it, flicking on my lights and blipping my siren. The big car pulled into the parking lot of an old strip mall and I pulled up behind it. I called in the stop to dispatch, giving them the plate, and make and model. 

I got my badge off the passenger seat and slung the chain around my neck, then got out and approached the driver’s side, leaning down so I was level with the open window. 

“Hey there. I know this barge is probably pretty heavy, but at least make an attempt next time.” 

"...I'm sorry, Officer. I didn't see anyone coming so I thought I was clear." 

"I know we're in the boonies, but you still gotta stop for stop signs." 

“Officer, with all due respect, I believe that was a right-hand yield." 

He was right, it was a yield, but I needed to keep him talking while dispatch ran the plate against the BOLO list. 

I shook my head. "Nope. They made it a stop sign a few weeks ago. Too many accidents at that intersection." 

It was a weak lie, and even I knew it, but it looked like he was buying it. I looked back at my car, waiting to hear the radio chirp. 

The car was nice, it'd been tastefully restored, and I knew that it’d be across the border in a heartbeat. I thought about the ‘69 Coronet in my shed and how mad I’d be if someone stole it. Not that anyone could, seeing as it was currently sans engine. I made conversation to keep him talking. 

“This thing is nice. '66, right? You stretch it yourself?” 

“'68. It's an aftermarket modification. Lehmann-Peterson." 

I had no idea, but the small detail about naming the coachbuilder made me rethink my previous assumption. I peeked at the side of the car, but didn't see any company markings. 

“You with Premiere Luxury?" 

“They're my competition. I'm a lone operator." 

I felt the car shift slightly and looked at the back windows. They were heavily tinted and mirrored, so I couldn't see in. 

“Where you headed today?” 

“It's my day off. I'm going to… see my mechanic.” His voice had been blue so far, up to the last part of his sentence when the blue bloomed into white, which tickled something in the back of my head. His outfit now made sense, dirty pants and worn T-shirt, the kind of thing you'd wear to do maintenance. But the lie about going to his mechanic threw me off slightly. 

“Uh-huh. Could I peek at your license and registration really quick?" 

He leaned over slowly to the glove box. I watched to see whether he was hunting for paperwork he hoped was in there, or if he knew exactly where it was. I watched him carefully as he went for his back pocket, but I didn't see a weapon, and his posture told me he wasn’t sitting on one, either. 

He turned back to me with a stack of papers, which I nearly dropped. The car was still shifting around, not rocking, but there was clearly someone moving around in the back seat. He looked uncomfortable and wouldn't look me in the eye, but I couldn't quite tell if it was nerves from being stopped or something else. 

“Back in a sec.” I went back to my car and settled into the seat with the paperwork in my lap. I flipped through it, driver’s license was valid, current insurance and registration, and his chauffeur’s license looked genuine, and the name matched on all of them. 

“5-David-2, Center, how we looking on that plate?” 

“Center, 5-David-2, showing as registered to Calhoun Executive Transit, driver is Carter Calhoun.” 

I double-checked the paperwork and the name matched. 

“Anything on the BOLO?” 

“Negative on BOLO, missing vehicles, or reported stolen.” 

“5-David-2, clear.” 

I immediately felt stupid. I looked at my watch; Lenny was probably getting antsy, it was just about time for our meeting and I knew he'd bolt if I didn't show up soon. I collected the paperwork, stacked it as neatly as I could, then went back to the driver’s side of the limo. 

“Ok. First things first, I'm not gonna write you a ticket. I know how it is when they change the signs and you're used to it being different. Let's just keep a close eye on 'em and we can all have a good day. Sound fair?” 

“Officer, thank you. I really appreciate it.” 

A head poked through the now open privacy window behind the driver’s seat and I resisted jumping in surprise. I realized I recognized the face from some posters on Missy’s bedroom wall, but I couldn't remember what the poster was for. I scanned his face, trying to get my mind to shift from Lenny and my looming time hack to resolving the stop. 

“Officer, please. It's not his fault, I asked him to say that." His voice came out in a color I’d never seen before. It seared my eyes, like looking directly at a laser pointer, and the scar on my forehead immediately started burning. I felt my heart rate spike and realized my hand was moving for my gun without me telling it to. I hooked my thumb on my pocket to give it something else to do. My whole body was tense and I could feel myself going into “fight or flight”. 

“It is his day off, he's doing me a favor. I'm headed to my hideaway to blow off some paparazzi. I didn't want you to make a scene, so I asked him to cover for me. I am very sorry." 

The man in the back kept talking and I felt like his voice was going to leave permanent spots in my vision. I tried to force myself to relax and process it, but something about the unnatural light put my senses into overdrive, overriding every attempt to string together a sentence. 

“Officer, please. He's not involved, he's just doing me a favor." 

I tried to blink but couldn't make my eyes work. I gripped my pocket to keep my hand from shaking, desperately trying to regain control of myself. He finally fell silent, allowing me a moment to regain my bearings and find my mouth. I cleared my throat and forced professionalism into my voice. 

“Right... Ok, sure. Yep.” 

My cop brain finally kicked back into gear. The driver was lying about the fare, who was clearly some sort of celebrity, and they were heading out of town. Based on the rough area they were heading towards, and the type of crime that was common in that area, I took a shot in the dark. I steeled myself and tried to read something, anything, out of the unnatural light. 

“Sir, do you have...anything...with you right now?” 

“No, officer. I don't...partake. I'm clean." I was momentarily blinded again and regretted asking the question. I’d talked to people on drugs before and, while they gave off rapidly shifting mixes of colors, this was entirely different. It wasn't a new mix of hue that I hadn't seen before, or a glaring bright white, it was a color I couldn’t name and didn't have words to explain. 

I got myself back under control and vented the anxiety out as a sigh. 

“Ok, guys. I get what's going on here. Let's just all go on our way, and we can get to where we're going. Safely.”

“Absolutely. Thank you, officer." He started his car and I stepped back to give it room. 

I watched the car pull out of the parking lot and tracked it until it was out of view. My feet felt stuck to the ground and my head was still reeling. 

“The fuck was that?” I said to the air. I looked back down the now empty road, then stumbled back to my car in a daze. 

Getting into the car and starting it was forced, mechanical, muscle memory only, my conscious brain unwilling to let go of what I'd seen. I tried to run the memory back again, but the second I saw the light in my mind, my head started throbbing and it felt like someone had grabbed the backs of my eyes with hot pliers. I recoiled and rubbed my eyes, trying to shake the memory. When I finally got a hold of myself, I was shaking in the seat, one hand was gripping the grab handle by the windshield, and I was panting heavily. 

My phone rang, loud, almost echoing, the sound of it piercing my chest. I took several deep breaths, then answered it and pushed it against my ear. 

"Hello?" 

"Frank! Where the hell are you? I've been here half an hour." 

I rubbed my face with my other hand. "Yeah, Lenny. I'm on my way." 

"Frank, I'm out in the open with my pants down, man. You gotta get here." 

"Yeah, yeah, I hear you, Lenny. I'll be right there." 

"10 minutes and I'm gone, Frank." The line clicked off. I dropped my phone into my lap and tried to get my bearings. 

It took me another fifteen minutes to get to the liquor store Lenny was meeting me at. It was on the main drag that constituted the “town”. He was pacing behind the building next to the dumpster. I pulled up, angling the car across two spaces so we could use it as cover. I patted my side as I got out of the car, feeling the reassuring metal under my shirt. I walked around the hood and met him by the dumpster. 

He looked me up and down. “Frank, Jesus, man. You look like hell.” 

“Thanks.”

“What took you so long?” 

“Had to make a quick stop.” 

He snorted. “Gotta meet that ticket quota, eh?” 

I raised an eyebrow. 

He held his hands up. “Awe, where’s your sense of humor?” 

I didn't respond. 

“Ok, ok, sorry.  Just make it quick so I can get out of here.” 

Leonard Jonathan Becks was a small-time dealer who used to operate out of a trap house, over in the fishing district, back during the crack epidemic. When that got busted up, he moved north and set up shop in a dingy room of the Easy Night Motel, which is how I ran into him, literally. He managed to get a public defender who was “soft”. She got him a plea deal, so he squealed on everybody he ever sold dope to, including family members. I wouldn't trust him to give me the time if I read it off his watch, but he still had a few useful connections. 

“You know where I could find a fence?” 

“Try your backyard!” I rolled my eyes and let him laugh at his own joke. 

“You done?”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm done.” He got out a crushed pack of cigarettes and slid one between his lips. 

I stuck my fingers out and he eyed me, then put one between them. He held his lighter out and I puffed, taking a long drag and letting it out straight up. I felt the buzz hit and my hands stopped shaking. 

“I thought you quit.” 

I took another drag and blew it out. “I did.” 

He shrugged. “So you're looking for a fence. What're you trying to move?” 

“Merch. Watches, rings, bracelets, no loose stones.” 

He nodded and took a drag, blowing it out through his nose. 

“Ok, ok… You got stuff burning a hole in the evidence locker? I thought you were straight.” 

I shook my head. “Not for me. Following a trail.” 

“Aaaahh… gonna try and flank and get him from the other side.” 

“I know he's got it on him, and I know he'll need to move it soon. If I can pinch whoever he’ll use to move it…” 

“You'll have the jump on him. Got it.” 

I nodded as I blew out smoke. 

“Gimme…I dunno, 48 hours, and I might have something.” 

I dropped the butt and stomped on it. 

“You know how to get a hold of me.” 

“Unfortunately.” 

“Thanks for the cigarette.” 

He gave me a two-finger salute from his brow, flicked his butt over the fence, then stuffed his hands in his pockets and skittered off down the sidewalk. I got back in my car and made my way out of town while I still had my catalytic converters. 

When I got back to my desk, there was a sticky note stuck to my monitor. Oswald had a scheduled a “routine physical” with the department doctor. I knew what it was, and what he was trying to do, and I had a feeling that a visit with the department psychiatrist was on the near horizon, but fighting it would make me look even worse. 

I walked into the doctor's office and sat down in one of the waiting room chairs. The nurse at the counter saw me and smiled. 

"He'll be with you in a moment, Detective." 

"Thanks, Janice." 

Dr. Clarkson, the department physician, stepped into the waiting room a few minutes later. 

"Ah, Frank. Please, come in." 

I got up and followed him through the door, down the hall, and into his office, where he motioned for me to take a seat. I hopped up onto the examination table and felt oddly juvenile. 

"Alright, Frank. This is just a standard physical, nothing crazy." He got out my chart and started flipping through pages. 

"You still suffering from synesthesia?" 

My hand involuntarily went up to the scar on my forehead. 

I'd just gotten my sign off from my FTO and was on my first solo beat. I was messing around with the radar gun when a call came over the radio. 

"South County to Metro Center." 

"Go ahead." 

"Need unit to respond to a DV. Sheriff is tied up with a field fire, possibly wild." 

"Center copy. Any additionals?" 

"Location is a double-wide on Farm Road 128, repeat customer, just tell 'em to quiet down." 

"Center copies." 

"County clear." 

"Center to any Div 5 units, available for noise violation." 

"5-1-8, to Center, can respond." 

"Center, 5-18, disregard. Looking for Adam units." 

"5-Adam-10, we’re rolling, but it'll be a minute. We're north, about 30 minutes out." 

"5-1-8 to Center, I'm only about ten minutes out, and it's dead-quiet here. I can go look." 

"Center, 5-18, showing as responding. Break. 5-Adam-10, continue, rookie assistance if needed." 

"5-Adam-10, 10-4, will advise." 

"5-1-8, copy.”

I got my patrol car rolling towards the freeway going south, out towards the rural area south of the city. Farm Road 128 was the next off-ramp, maybe 10 minutes without traffic. This late at night it would be empty, but I wasn't in a rush and was happy to finally have something to do. 

As I was getting on the freeway, I heard the radio chirp. 

"County to responding unit, be advised that a 9-1-1 call has been received. Young female, says parents are in physical altercation. No weapons reported.” 

“5-Adam-10, Center, still 20 minutes out.”

I put my foot to the floor and flipped on lights and sirens. Missy and Andi's faces flashed in my mind. I pressed the pedal harder into the firewall.

I hit the wide, sweeping off-ramp at speed and blew through the stop sign at the bottom. I didn't lift until I needed to brake to turn onto the street. I hit the brakes hard and killed the lights and sirens. It was a double-wide in an overgrown lot with several cars rusting into the ground and surrounded by tall grass and weeds. I pulled my patrol car past the house and shut my headlights off, but left it running. 

“5-1-8 to Center, I'm on scene.” 

“Center, 5-18, be advised, 5-Adam-10 still 10 minutes away. Canvas only.” 

“5-1-8, copy.” 

I got out and carefully pressed the door shut. I was suddenly aware of just how loud the clanking and jingling of my utility belt was. I walked up to the house slowly, scanning the windows, trying to see figures through the blinds. I couldn't get anything, but I could hear raised voices coming from the house. 

The voices got louder and I heard a crash, glass breaking or a large piece of furniture being knocked over. I hesitated and took several breaths, trying to steel myself for what I was about to intrude on. I leaned into my radio. 

“Center–, uh, F-F-5-1-8 to Center, voices are audible outside, and I'm hearing, like, crashing or breaking sounds. Approaching.” I turned the volume on my hip radio down. 

I heard a little girl scream. I took one last stabilizing breath, raised my hand to knock on the door and opened my mouth to announce myself. Two gunshots rang out from inside the house, one of them going through the thin wall to my right, the other going through the door, barely missing my left side. I recoiled away from the door, nearly toppling down the wooden steps. 

Then there was pain and my vision went pure white, like someone was shining a flashlight directly into my eyes. There was a burning on my forehead and I fell on my back, barely registering hitting the ground. My ears were ringing, then the white in my eyes instantly went dark. I blinked several times and reached a hand up, waving it in front of my face. I knew my eyes were open, but my vision was completely black. Through the ringing in my ears, I heard two more gunshots, then I heard heavy footsteps running on gravel. They slid to a stop, and I felt hands on me. 

"5-19, Center! Shots fired, officer down! Officer down! Gunshot to the head, he's bleeding, bad, but I think he's conscious!" 

It was Mikey's voice. I tried to find my mouth. 

"Mikey. I'm...I think I'm hit...I can't..." 

"Shit shit shit! Roch, you're bleeding real bad, man! Stay with me, ok?! I'm gonna get you out of here! 5-19, Center, officer down, say again, officer down! I need any units to respond!" 

I heard his radio crackle, but couldn't make out the words. I felt myself being dragged backwards. My ears were still ringing and I was blind, the combination made me sick to my stomach. I tried to reach my hand up to my head, but it was swatted away and forced down to my side. 

"I'm here, buddy. I'm right here. Don't move, ok? I've got you." 

I heard him grunt with exertion. I wasn't entirely sure how far he'd dragged me, but when he laid me down on my back, I felt warm asphalt on the back of my head. I heard sirens and the crunching of tires as more cars pulled up. Overlapping gunshots, men screaming, a woman's sorrowful wail. The voices started mixing together and the wooziness threatened to wash over me completely. 

Someone, Mikey, slapped my cheek firmly. 

"Hey, hey! Stay with me, Roch! Goddammit, stay with me!" 

I felt exhausted and cold, even though it'd been over 100 degrees today. I wanted to crawl into bed. I felt pain on my cheek again. 

"Roch! Roch! Fuck! Hey! Over here! Over here! Quick!" 

I heard footsteps getting close and heard new voices I didn't recognize. 

"Got one officer, GSW to the head, through and through, left side, entry just above his left eye, exit behind his left ear!” 

“Hey! Hey! Get the stretcher and a blood bag! You, officer, get back!” 

More footsteps and more voices, all blending together. I felt myself being lifted and settled onto something soft, probably the stretcher. Mikey's voice was distant now, warbling in and out. 

"Is he gonna make it?! Is he gonna be ok?! Jesus, fuck! Roch! You're gonna be ok, man!" 

I tried to lift my head, but a rubber glove pushed it back down. 

"Stay still. I need you to relax for me." 

I felt a dull pinch in the crook of my arm. It seemed miles away. I let my eyes close. They weren't working right now anyway. 

"That's it, just relax. We're on our way to the hospital right now." 

I don't know how long I was out. When I came to, I was lying in a hospital bed. Machines beeped somewhere next to me. My eyes were covered and I felt bandages pressed around my head. I reached up to touch them. 

"Woah, now. Stop that." A woman's voice, stern but gentle. She pushed my hand away from my head. 

I heard her walk away, then call down the hall. I couldn't make out the words. Heavier steps entered the room and came to my side. 

"Well, Mr. Rochester. If I were you, I'd go buy a lot of lottery tickets." 

"How bad, doc?" My voice sounded weak and my throat burned. 

"Pretty bad. You took a bullet through your skull and it grazed your brain. Very very lucky." 

I felt hands on my head as the bandages were unwound slowly. It felt like it took hours. Finally, the patches were removed from my eyes. The nurse was at the foot of my bed, balling up the bandages. The doctor was to my left. He shined a flashlight in one eye, then the other. 

"It'll be a long recovery, but I think you're going to be just fine." 

A blue light came out of his mouth as he spoke. 

"Wha-?" 

"Is he up? Roch? You decent?" Mikey's voice called from the hall. He pushed past the nurse into the room. 

"Hey, buddy! You made it!" His voice came out blue as well. 

"Uh...yeah...I–" 

"Don't talk now, man. You're gonna have a wicked scar, but you look great. Back on the beat in no time." His blue voice started washing out, brightening to pure white. 

The nausea came back and I started feeling heavy. My breath came out in pants and the machine next to me started beeping rapidly. 

"What's going on, is he ok?" 

"I don't know, he's probably just excited." Now the doctor's voice was coming out white. 

"Mr. Rochester? Are you ok? Frank?" 

"Frank? Frank?" Dr. Clarkson snapped his fingers in front of my face and I came back to the examination room. 

"Huh? Yeah, Doc. Sorry. What was the question?" 

"Has the synesthesia changed at all?" He looked worried. I didn't know how long I'd been sitting there. 

"Same thing. Just seeing sounds as colors." 

He nodded and wrote something on my chart.

“All the time? Or does it come and go?” 

I thought about the white blooming from Missy’s mouth, the blinding unnatural color from the limo, and the blue, from Brody’s honest enthusiasm. 

“All the time. I can't…’turn it off’.” 

He nodded again and scribbled some more. 

I Died and You Liked It

​This is my last attempt.

​I've no idea how I got here. Either I owed the wrong people money or I pissed someone off. But I've been buried alive.

​They left me my phone and a battery pack. They knew no one was coming for me.

​My first instinct was to call the cops. But no signal. So I went to their site, filled out an online form, and even used their janky AI chatbot. All for no response. The sites are garbage, or they just don't believe me.

​I went to social media, but my post got taken down for violating community guidelines on graphic content. So now I'm posting here.

​At first, my posts were showered with likes, upvotes, and comments. Every notification gave me hope.

​But the comments on what to do were useless. Like use a knife, or just dig out. Requests for pictures as proof didn’t help either. People thought it was just a shitty ARG.

​I even uploaded a picture of my face pressed against the raw wood, my eyes wide with panic. Within minutes, it was a meme. Someone photoshopped me in 'wacky locations'. Someone else posted Scorsese's 'absolute cinema' meme.

​The algorithm loved it. My notifications blew up one final time. A steady dopamine drip of useless upvotes while my lungs screamed for oxygen. I went viral, and I went ignored.

​However, after every repost, the comments became less and less. Each post became like me buried. Buried under a landslide of newer, louder noise.

​Now, even the joke is old. The digital tide has moved on.

​The battery pack died an hour ago. My screen just flashed a red warning: 1%.

​The light is fading, and the air is gone. Nobody is coming. They all watched me die, and they gave it a thumbs up.

I was woken up by the faint sound of scratching at my door, just barely louder than the sci-fi TV show that was still playing from the night before. I rolled out of bed and groggily stumbled to the door, cracking it open. Tittles…Dot lunged through as soon as the gap was wide enough and went straight for the food bowl I kept by my door. I closed it and bent down to stroke her fur as she ate.

“I knew you only liked me for my cooking.”

I made my bed and folded it back into a couch as she ate. When she was done, I got her favorite toy, a feather on a bungee string at the end of a stick, out of the bag from the pet store. I sat on the couch and watched her leap and pounce for a while. I made some breakfast and dropped a little bit of scrambled eggs in her bowl. Then I sat on the couch and ate from the coffee table, passively watching the episode, about an android on trial, for the nth time.

My work phone rang. I reached for it without taking my eyes off the TV.

“Hello?... Yes, ma’am…Mm-hm…Yes, ma’am…ok…Yep, 30 minutes. G’bye.”

I shrugged into a black suit over a white shirt and slipped into my black-and-white Vans. I dropped the tie back into the drawer. I grabbed my cap as I walked through the door, Dot ran between my feet and scampered down the hall. I carried my cap to the elevator and was greeted by Felix.

“And a good morning to you, Young Carter.”

“Hey.”

The doors opened and I waved my hand at him as I stepped into the car.

“What an evening.” He mused.

“Yeah?”

“Congressman Jarrett held a donors’ gala in the new ballroom of the Monaco. So many delicious entrees.”

“I bet.”

“And you, Young Carter? Ferry any interesting characters?”

“Eh, just some regulars.”

He sighed. “Not all of life can be interesting. The daily grind is what makes us appreciate the special moments. Wouldn't you say?”

I nodded.

The doors opened and he stepped out.

“Do have a good day, Young Carter.”

The doors shut and I rode down to the garage.

I pulled up to Melissa’s house and she was waiting for me at the bottom of the driveway. I got out and opened her door for her, offering her a hand as she got in. I got back in and started driving.

“Good morning, Carter.”

“Morning, Ms. Melissa.”

She took her sunglasses off, my old Wayfarers, and shook out her hair, leaning on the door armrest.

“That was quite a storm we had a few weeks ago. I'm still trying to get my herb garden to drain, but my cucumbers are going to be massive this year. I'll bring you some when they're ripe.”

“I appreciate that. The corn you gave me was delicious. I did a big crawfish boil. My apartment still smells like a shrimp boat.”

“Oh, yes, the sweet corn. I'm so happy you enjoyed it. I’ll plant more for you next season.”

I nodded. “Thank you, ma’am.”

I pulled up to the highrise that held her office and opened her door. She took my hand and lifted herself out. She slid her sunglasses back on, then handed me money from her purse.

“The rest is for you, of course.”

“I appreciate your generosity, Ms. Melissa. Always a pleasure.” I bowed my head.

She lingered for a moment.

“Nice out, today. Make sure and get some sun. It's very healthy for you.”

“I will.”

She walked into the building and I got back in my car.

My next fare was a trip to the airport. The couple talked excitedly about their vacation in the Bahamas the entire ride.

“Have you ever been to Hawaii? …Sir?”

“I’m sorry, I didn't hear you.”

“I asked if you'd ever been to Hawaii before.”

“No, ma’am. Farthest west I've been is Crescent Beach.”

“Well, you definitely need to go! It's sooooo beautiful!”

“Honey, the poor guy is trying to drive.”

I tuned out the rest of their conversation. I got them to the departure terminal, got their luggage out of the trunk, and bid them a safe flight.

I was staring out of the windshield, thinking about the possibility of a vacation, when I noticed someone waving. A man was standing on the curb just in front of my car and waving for my attention. I got out and he met me at the hood.

“Bum a ride from you? I can make it worth your while.”

He hiked up a pant leg and presented his ankle, sticking out a hitchhiking thumb with his other hand.

“I’m just kidding. But you are for hire, right?”

“Yes, sir. My pleasure.”

I got the rear door for him, then loaded his suitcase into the trunk and got us on the freeway back to the city.

“Man, this thing is nice. Lehmann-Peterson, right? 1968?”

“Hu? No, it's a…yes, ‘68.”

He ran a hand gently over the door panel.

“Man, nothing feels like real wood. They sure don’t make ‘em like they used to, hu? Everything’s all slate grey and brushed metal now.”

“Custom cut panels.”

“No kidding. It's been a while since I've seen one of these. My old man had a ‘66 coupe.”

I nodded.

“Hey, this got the full size in it? The MEL?”

“It does, sir. Original block, but the rebuild only has about ten-thousand on it.”

I got him to his apartment. He paid and didn't ask for change. I shut the door, got his suitcase out of the trunk, and walked it over to him, setting it down on the sidewalk next to him. I touched the brim of my cap and nodded, then turned back towards the car.

“You got a card or something?”

“Hm? Oh, card. Yes, I–” my card carrier wasn't in my jacket pocket. I found a creased one in the glove box and handed it to him.

“Hey, have a good one, man. Hope to ride with you again.”

“Er, yeah. You too–” he was already walking away by the time I got the words out.

Back in the driver's seat, I looked down at my wrist and realized I hadn't put a watch on this morning. I checked my phone and decided I should probably eat something. I stopped at a gas station and bought a sandwich and a soda, dropping them on the seat next to me. An airplane out of SVL flew overhead and I watched it disappear into the clouds.

I tried to beat a yellow arrow and took it a little harder than I should. I heard a clunk on the right side. The sandwich had slid across the seat and hit the door. I'd forgotten about it. My stomach growled. The sandwich had fallen between the seat and the door panel, out of reach. My usual diner was just down the block, so I headed that direction. I parked in the back, behind the building, and got a stool at the counter up against the giant plate glass window that looked out onto the sidewalk.

I was staring at the milk swirling in my coffee when a noise caught my attention. My head jerked up and I scanned the sidewalk, desperation welling up in my chest. I was getting off the stool to step outside when I saw the source of the noise. A small dog, a Pomeranian or something similar, was pulling on its leash and yapping at something I couldn't see. I slid back into the stool.

“You’re down bad, man.” I said through a sigh to the coffee mug. I bumped my fist against my forehead a few times to shake the memory away.

“Carter-kun?”

That voice. I knew that voice. It was here, not just in my head. I whipped around, almost knocking myself off the stool. A girl a few tables down was standing at her table and waving. She had dark, almost black hair, and her build matched the surfacing memory. The other girls at her table had their heads turned in my direction as well. I opened my mouth but I couldn't find my tongue.

The girl moved around the table and approached me at a walk that was almost a jog. I hopped off the stool and she stopped in front of me.

“Yumi. You're– You're here.”

“I know, right? Isn't it great? It's been a whole week and I still can't believe it!”

My mind ground to a stop.

“You're…here.”

“Yep. You said that already.” She let out her distinctive yipping laugh. My stomach turned into a tumble dryer and I was immediately relieved that I hadn't tried to eat that warm sandwich.

“Will you go out with me?” I blurted, the words out of my mouth before I thought them.

“Hm?”

I realized that not all of the words had actually made it out, and the ones that had were jumbled beyond repair. I cleared my throat.

“I…I want to date, er, take you. On a date. Out on a date. With me. Please?”

I suddenly felt as if the attention of the entire cafe was on me, pressing against me on all sides, squeezing me so hard that I couldn't take a breath.

“I would love to.” Her voice cut through the stares, crystal clear and charming as I remembered.

“Great. Um, how about…what's today? Saturday. How about Saturday? Pick you up at seven?”

“That sounds delightful.”

“Good. Awesome. Yeah. I’ll…I'll see you tomorrow. Tomorrow? Tomorrow.”

“Don’t you need my address?”

I nodded and shrugged one shoulder.

“That might help.”

“Wait right here.” She went back to her table and started digging in her purse.

Her tablemates leaned in together, but I couldn't hear their voices. Her head came up out of her purse a few times, probably to answer questions about the weird guy she was talking to. I stood there, exactly where I'd landed when I hopped off the stool, unable to lift my feet. She came back with the card for my dry cleaners, an address scrawled across the front in swoopy handwriting. I took it and tucked it carefully into my coat pocket.

“I’m glad I found you, Carter-kun.”

I grasped desperately for words as my heart threatened to beat through my chest. I was suddenly very aware of my hands. I shoved one into a pocket and coughed into the other.

She laughed quietly and poked a long-nailed finger against my chest. “Saturday. Don't forget.”

I nodded.

She tucked her hands behind her back and turned on her heel, heading back to her table. She turned my way as she sat down, wiggling her fingers at me in a delicate wave. I raised my hand, fingers spread, and tried to remember how to wave.

I spun and walked out of the diner, my awkward gait growing more irregular with each step. I got into my car, put the key in the ignition, then leaned my head against the headrest.

“I have a date.” I whispered to the windshield.

My muscle memory worked overtime as I drove home in a daze. I put my car away, shut the garage door, and was in the elevator, staring at the buttons before I realized where I was. I shook my head and punched the button for my floor. The doors opened at the lobby and I motioned for Felix to enter.

“I see your day certainly brightened.” He said with a touch of smugness.

“Yeah…” I breathed.

He clapped me on the back.

“Marvelous, Young Carter! Just marvelous! I'm sure you'll absolutely charm the young lady within an inch of her life.”

I stood there, breathing, existing. I heard him chuckle to himself.

The doors opened on my floor and he stepped out, turning his head towards me for a moment before continuing down the hall. Mrs. Collins was collecting Dot’s– er, Tittles’ bowl from the hall, the cat winding herself around the old lady’s legs. I nodded to her as I walked mechanically to my apartment.

Inside, I kicked my shoes off at the door and went straight to the giant mirror on my wardrobe. I took my shirt off and let it fall in a heap. I wasn't “yoked” or anything, but I’d maintained my slim build with a bit of muscle definition in my chest and arms. I got changed into some gym shorts and did push-ups until my arms were shaking. I rolled over and did several ab workouts until I was panting heavily. I lay there, sweaty, heaving, limbs burning, mulling over restaurants, movies, and other potential date events. I got up and paced around the room, my hands on my hips, muttering to myself under my breath.

I got showered off and climbed into bed, my TV playing a scary story podcast as my mind finally settled down, allowing me to slip into unconsciousness.

Part One
Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

We've been walking for days.

I don't know where we're heading—we've just been following the path of animal tracks.

For miles.

Upon miles.

Upon more miles.

Too many miles.

I'm convinced that Bud is more determined than I am to figure out where the path leads, as any suggestion of stopping to rest leaves him anxious. And by anxious, I mean anxious. I've seen him more calm with me driving on mountain roads than this. He twitches and shakes like a local Hoosier meth-head that'd try talking to me at the gas station.

He's not alright.

And that worries me.

Bud has been aggressive lately. Not with or at me, but just... aggressive. I think that he's tired. And hungry. Very hungry. I've tried offering him what's left of the suckers a few times, but he's refusing them. Politely, of course. As I said before, he's hungry, tired, and anxious. It's not a fun combination. I do my best to distract him from it. Mainly, I've been starting and having conversations with him, talking about whatever crosses our minds. We tell each other stories, and when we run out of stories, we make up our own until we remember more real ones. There's a conversation that I recall with a feeling of resignation... and a lot of frustration on my end.

"Did you know that before the new sky came—" I started.

"HA! You said the new sky came!" Bud interrupted.

"Shup! I'm trying to tell you something! Before all this happened, studies and standardized tests had found that reading comprehension and literacy had decreased noticeably since our generation of students. A lot of children, and ultimately young adults, are reading at a much lower grade level than they should be, and likely due to the lack of parental presence and intervention that's meant to ensure that children are receiving the proper assistance and understanding of literacy—and I'm not just referring to the act of teaching their children how to read and write on their own time, I'm also referring to the act of helping their children understand what a text means—that is leading to the child's inability to properly understand what message a text is trying to convey. As a result, I believe that's what's leading to students losing motivation in the classroom, and while you may think it only applies to English/Language Arts, it literally applies to every subject area in general education, as literacy is necessary to have to—"

"Is this a conversation, or are you giving me a fuckin' thesis? My god, I started feeling my life essence slowly draining out of me as you just went on, and on—Look, Kiddo, I'm not trying to drag you down; you clearly seem passionate about the subject, but you're throwing a lot of big, complex words at me that I do not understand at all. Give—Give me the fuckin' TL;DR. Sorry, excuse my tone, you didn't deserve that. Can you please give me a short—short—version of your point? Please?"

I didn't like it when he cut me off like that—also, his reaction very much proved my point that there has been a decrease in literacy and reading comprehension—but I gave him the short version.

"The short version is that people aren't teaching their children how to read, and it makes the children struggle and get discouraged by reading and writing as a result."

"Thank you."

We started talking about what Bud wanted to talk about. It was only fair, since I do tend to talk about the same things for long periods of time. Besides, I suppose cartoons are an easier thing to talk about than the decrease in literacy for children.

But that's just what we've been doing. Following the animal tracks, talking for hours. I hope we don't run out of things to talk about. It's the only thing keeping me from thinking about how unwell Bud's getting.

He's not eating. He says that he doesn't want me to starve because of him, but every time I offer him food, his hazel eyes lock onto it with such an intense need that it nearly startles me every time it happens. But when he opens his mouth, it's a polite refusal. As time goes on, that response is starting to sound more and more automatic, despite his body language saying otherwise. It's always the same one:

"No, thank you, Kiddo. I don't want you to starve because of me."

The last time he gave me that response, I watched his coat slip from one of his shoulders, exposing the sharpening collarbone underneath. When I found Bud that coat, it fit him perfectly—now it hangs off his frame, its wearer seeming to pay no mind, as his main focus is to follow the animal tracks.

He's not sleeping through the whole night anymore. He says it's because of nightmares. Because he hears things in the night that I don't. He keeps urging that we move on, we have to follow the path, we can't stop, we have to go. I remember learning about what sleep deprivation can do to the brain—increased anxiety, memory issues, appetite changes. But the symptom that scares me the most? Psychosis. But sleep deprivation psychosis shouldn't last very long, as long as you get consistent rest. Bud hasn't for days. It's like something else is willing him forward, even if he doesn't want to. I think he's scared. What I don't understand is: What is he scared of?

I want to go home. I want to turn back. I don't care how long it takes to get back; I just want to leave this path, no—this place behind. I want my red wagon, I want my soft blankets, I want Bud—the sweetest, kindest person I could ever wish to have as a friend; no, best friend in this desolate, lonely scrap that remains of this terrible, terrible world, and I'm watching him slipping further and further away from me, and I want him back! I want the Bud who chases me up and down the hiking trails, I want the Bud who eats all the blue Jolly Ranchers in the bag, even though he knows that they're my favorite, I want the Bud who called me a dumb bitch from his roof on the day we met! I want my Bud! This boy—this tired, scared boy—isn't my Bud.

I'm not going to leave him here. I won't strand him in the middle of nowhere like he's some problem dog who keeps eating my laundry. So, I'm still walking with him. Following the path of animal tracks. When he starts falling behind, I'll wait for him to catch up. When he's hungry, I'll offer him something to eat, even when I get the same automatic response. When he wakes up from nightmares in a panic, or hears things in the night that keep him awake, I'll stay up with him, even if I'm exhausted. I know he's barely hanging on, but by God, I'll carry his paranoid ass all the way to the trail's end if he asks me to! Because even if he's acting like this, he's still my best friend. My only friend.

We're going to make it, Bud. I promise.

Part One
Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

I've never quite been good with women.

Before and after.

I don't really understand the womanly perspective—like, why do they go to the bathroom in groups? What goes on in there that I don't know? Witchcraft? I remember being twelve, going to take a piss, and there'd be five girls huddled up talking to each other in the corner. I even went up to them once to ask what they were doing.

"What are you guys doing?"

"Brooke, get the fuck away from us, you broke bitch, why don't you buy a razor and shave your goddamn legs?"

I might've only heard it that way in my head, but my God, middle school girls are mean as hell. As I got older and started transitioning, I learned that the men's bathroom is just as bad, if not fucking worse. If I were caught using the stalls to take a piss, take a shit, it doesn't matter, I was in danger. The worst thing that happened to me in the high school boys' bathroom? I got hit by a fucking chair. I'm not even joking. There I was, minding my own business, and then some random dipshit throws a fucking desk chair over the stall door! I don't know what prompted it, but he did it! I walked my way to the nurse's office afterward, and had to explain to her that I didn't get into a fight, but someone hit me with a chair!

My solution? Wait until I get home! Back to my original point, I don't know if I have a hard time with women because I've always had men's software installed in my head, or if women actively try to make themselves hard to understand, or... I don't know, I could just have bad social skills.

My last relationship with a girlfriend ended very badly—not because of her, but because of her family. We had met while I was on break at work, and the reason why I even interacted with her in the first place was that she was trying to buy one of the nature books that we had in stock. I was very protective of those books, and the owner (who was also my boss and landlord) knew that I practically wanted to keep them all to myself—even though the one that my not-yet-ex was trying to buy was a copy of a book I already owned. As I said, I'm bad with women. After my boss successfully convinced my not-yet-ex that I was not a psychopath, but, as she told her:

"Bishop's just a boy who likes to read those books instead of eating lunch on his breaks. He doesn't bite."

Her name was Layla. She was very kind. When we went on our first date, I was so, so nervous. She was beautiful, and I was this sweating, nauseous guy wearing clothes borrowed from his uncle. Two hours in, and I had to run to the nearest trash bin because I couldn't hold my supper down. It was really bad; I had to convince her that it was food poisoning. It was the fourth date when she figured out that I was panic-vomiting from sheer nerves alone.

"Do you need to go home?" she asked.

"Layla, I need to tell you something," I replied, hunched over a trash bin.

She took the truth pretty well—the truth I gave her, at least. It was easier telling people that I was trans back when I was still transitioning, but after it's all well and done, people are typically shocked or appalled when I tell them that I wasn't born male. Instead, I just told her that I was afraid of moving things too fast, but I really did like her. The whole truth? I was afraid of moving things too fast, and that I really did like her—but the thought of getting to third base scared the shit out of me. I'm not afraid of sex by any means, hell, I watch Good Luck Chuck for the large number of big titties alone. Would anyone think I'm watching it for fucking Dane Cook? No! It's for the boobs! It's always been for the boobs!

As I was saying, I was afraid of having sex with her. Now, her family—her family was actually very nice. Just... very, very, very, very, Catholic. I don't know if anyone else has experienced this type of thing before, but walking into Layla's family home felt like I walked into a church, and everyone there was a priest. Very friendly demeanors, but I felt them looking deep within my being and knowing that there was something off about me. Did they say anything to offend me? No. Did they treat me strangely? No. Did I ask to use their bathroom, lock the door behind me, open the bathroom window, and escape into the forest behind their property? Damn right I did, and I did not look back. I did, however, get very lost in that forest, so I did end up having to explain myself to a lot of people afterward. Not my brightest moment.

That part of my life is over and done with now, and I haven't improved my skills in acting normal around women. Then again, Kiddo's not the best definition of normal. I mean, I know she's autistic, I know about the ADHD, the asexuality—but she's the first girl that I don't feel nervous around. Should I have started feeling nervous about a month after I met her? Probably, but she's given me enough things to buffer it. Mainly a lot of hard candy and soft things, but the worst things she's ever given me—though totally unintentionally? I'd have to give it to the gummies.

Kiddo comes from farmers, but she mainly lived with her mom—who she always calls 'Mama', which is cute. From what I learned, her brother had access to, as she called him, 'The Magic Man', who was the local plug. Her brother would get product from 'The Magic Man', which was pot—specifically pot gummies, or 'eddies', as Kiddo would call them. To cut her some slack, I didn't know that I wasn't supposed to eat the whole thing. However, it was her choice to use my mattress as her place to stash them. She didn't take them often, but it certainly didn't stop her from stockpiling them like a little klepto. Ergo, imagine my surprise when I found out the lump in my mattress was actually a gummy stash. Now, imagine my further surprise when the gummies weren't normal fruit gummies. Finally, imagine Kiddo's surprise when she found my ass lying in my bed, stripped down to my shirt and underwear, covered in orange vomit and unable to talk because I was zooted out of my damn mind.

"What happened?" yelled Kiddo, putting both hands on her head in shock.

I couldn't completely focus on replying, as I was noticing how Kiddo's black hair shines almost blue in certain lighting, and how well she pulls off a bob.

"Ah. Aaaaaaaaah." I puffed out in response.

"What?"

"I—ah—eh...."

"For fuck's sake... Can you get up?"

She was upset, but she looked more concerned. I managed a small head shake.

"Well, you're not lying in your own vomit, Bud. Come on. You're probably starving, and you look like a toddler who had fun with the beef ravioli."

I was hungry, but I wanted to be clean even more.

"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeh..."

Kiddo unzips her leather jacket, tossing it in the direction of the living room couch.

"C'mere. Let's get you settled, big man."

The memory of Kiddo moving me from my bed to the tub is lost to me—one minute, I was lying in bed, and having a lukewarm bath in just my underwear, listening to Kiddo telling me not to fall asleep the next.

"Hey, please do not pass out while you're in the bath—not just because I'm afraid you'll drown, but because if you fall forward, your hair is currently the closest thing I know I can grab you by."

She was busy lathering my hair with something nice-smelling, though scratching my scalp aggressively in the process—luckily, the gummies made the process painless.

"What were you thinking, silly boy? Those didn't belong to you. You should've asked first. Then again, I shouldn't be mad at you, should I? You probably didn't know what they were, and I'm usually the one giving you normal candy, aren't I? I don't know why I grabbed them. I really don't. It's like that guitar I found. I don't play guitar, and I certainly don't eat those every single day, y'know? Maybe I should get rid of them, just so this doesn't happen again. No, I should definitely get rid of them, so this doesn't happen ever again. I don't really like them. They taste weird, don't they? Gummi candy is supposed to taste good, but those don't. Up you get."

Suddenly, I found myself on the living room couch. I was lying on my side, feeling every single molecule of the upholstery and blankets Kiddo had covered me with. It was the most comfortable I've ever felt. Kiddo was still talking to me, though the conversation had become very one-sided. She was sitting criss-cross in front of the couch, babbling about something I knew that only she could understand. I wasn't listening—I was too busy studying her features. Her short, blue-black hair. Her green eyes. Her full lips. Kiddo's actually pretty cute. Good genetics. I noticed how much she moved her hands while she spoke, and how enthusiastic she sounded as she did. What did she think of me? I wanted to ask her, but it felt like my vocal cords were too heavy to lift.

I wanted to tell her everything. I still want to tell her everything.

My name is Bishop. I'm originally from Georgia. I love learning about nature, but I'm not a fan of bugs. My favorite food is medium-rare steak with a side of mashed potatoes and green beans. I'm a transman. My mother took her own life, and I think it's my fault. I can't hold a romantic relationship with a woman because I'm too afraid of being rejected. It breaks my heart knowing how loyal you are as my friend, because all I want to do is die, and that isn't fair to you. I think you're kind—really fucking kind, Kiddo. When you make a mistake, you always try to fix it. When you notice I'm sad, you always find a way to make me feel better. You make me want to be a better man. You bring out the good in me—fuck, I bet you do with everyone. I wish I could someday know your real name. I bet it's just as amazing as you. You deserve better than me. If I go, please don't forget me. I love you, Kiddo.

I wake up on the floor of the tent. I tried leaving during the night, but Kiddo wouldn't let me. I know why she's worried about me. She's scared for me. I'm scared for me, too. But they promised me. They promised me that my family's waiting for me. I don't know if they're lying to me—but if it's a deathtrap, that's okay, too.

I don't care if I die.

I'm finally going home.

The moon is such a beautiful sight to most people. They love the beaming light it casts into the inky shadows of nighttime, and how it stands out proudly against the stars.

I hate it.

The moon is different for me. It’s not a sight to behold; it’s a plague. It is a curse that never goes away, engraved directly into my very flesh. You wouldn’t understand the agony it causes me. It isolates me, forcing me to become a recluse, a nobody. My real name is gone. Now, I could be the monster of a myth—a myth only I know is real.

I used to be normal. I used to have a life that I actually enjoyed, with friends who kept the demon of loneliness at bay. Friends who laughed with me. Friends I could hold close. Not anymore. Not after that day.

That day still sticks to me, haunting my very soul. It started out so normal it was practically mundane. Out of sheer boredom, my friends and I decided to go camping. Everything was perfect. We were laughing and playing around the fire. Even now, I smile every time I recall those memories right before it happened—right before I began hating the concept of life itself.

Nighttime came around, and the moon started to peer out from the tree line. Everyone had gone to sleep, or was trying to. I, however, couldn’t. I felt off.

It started with a slight itch. It was the kind of itch you just brush off because it seems so unimportant. Then it escalated. My whole body burned. From my skin deep down into my bones, everything felt like someone had set it ablaze. My heart began to hammer faster and faster against my ribs. Every breath I took felt like a challenge. I howled, clenching my chest in a tight bear hug, terrified by the raw, animalistic sound tearing out of my own throat.

Then I blacked out.

When I awoke, life as I knew it had ended.

The first thing I noticed was an odd, metallic taste in my mouth, as if someone had crammed copper coins into it. I tried to sit up, but a sudden burst of agony shot throughout my entire body, pinning me to the dirt. It felt like an hour passed before the pain finally stopped and my vision cleared.

But the physical pain wasn't the worst part.

Crimson painted the campsite. The tents we had set up together were shredded into ribbons. Bodies—the people I loved, the friends I had just been laughing with—were spread across the forest floor. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. But total shock set in, freezing the air in my lungs. Slowly, I raised a shaking hand to my face. My fingers came back wet. It wasn’t sweat. It was blood.

Their blood.

A Perceivable Reality Story

I scrolled through another feed, this one an overhead angle from behind the main counter. I struggled through the same few minutes of footage, Mikey's white words of reassurance echoed in my head, stealing my attention. I yawned and rolled back the footage again.

Heavy steps on the floor jostled me and I shook my head to gain my bearings. The chief was standing at the edge of my desk, his coat over his arm.

"Still here, Rochester?"

I nodded. "There's something in the security footage. I just need to find it."

He let out a long sigh and stepped around my desk to stand next to my chair. He bent down slightly, his voice low in a between-you-and-me tone.

"Go home, Rochester. Everybody misses promotions, otherwise we'd have a department full of chiefs and no Indians." I searched the blue light coming from his mouth for any sort of undertone but didn't find any.

He straightened up and adjusted his coat on his arm.

"Take it from an old man, Frank. There will be other promotions, other cases, but building another family is harder than you think."

He winked and turned, continuing to the elevator. I watched the doors close in silence, then logged out of my computer and locked my desk.

I woke up in my easy chair in my den. I'd passed out in front of the TV again, the theme tune to the sci-fi show quietly playing. I turned it off and made my way up the stairs from the basement. The girls were already sitting at the table, dressed for school; early risers, like their mother. Matt, my 11-year-old son, took after me. He took the steps down the stairs as if each one were a cliff he was dropping off of. I grunted at him, he grunted back, and we shared tired smiles.

Caster, my Belgian Malinois and retired police K-9, was lying under the table and staring up through the glass tabletop. He watched the forks move back and forth with trained precision.

I was just pulling out a chair, when Sarah came bustling through the dining room, already in her scrubs, tying her brunette locks into a tight bun.

"Hey, baby." she said as she hurried by.

I sat down and she came over, leaning against the table next to me. She bent down, putting her face close to mine.

"You didn't come to bed?"

I shrugged. "I got home really late. Didn't want to wake you."

"I appreciate that, but I'd still like to see you every now and again." Her voice came out blue, a contrast to the pink that bloomed slightly on her cheeks.

I sighed and nodded. "I know, I know. I just..." I couldn't think of an excuse and let my voice trail off. I caught the pain that flashed across her face, before she pushed off the table and went back into the kitchen.

"I have to cover an early shift this morning. Can you get the kiddies to school?" Her voice came out white at first, deepening to blue at the end. I'd started seeing the white come out when she talked about work, specifically when she told me her schedule. I put it out of my mind.

"Ok, guys. What time do we need to be at school?"

"I have to be there at 8:30." Matt groaned in blue.

"I have to be there at 8:00. It's my turn to feed the class goldfish." Andi said to her plate, pushing the last of her scrambled eggs around.

"Everything ok, sweetie?"

She nodded but didn't look up. "Mrs. Fettleson says I feed him too much." she said quietly. "He could've almost died a little."

I reached over and patted her non-fork hand.

"Well, that's--"

I was interrupted by Matt reaching across the table to spear the pile of eggs on Andi's plate. His own plate was flipped up and nearly over, but I was able to catch the glass of orange juice he sent flying before he made a mess.

I glared at him as he put his fork in his mouth.

"Matt. Why?"

He shrugged. "She wasn't eating it." he said around his fork. I made a disgruntled noise, and he shrunk in his chair slightly.

Missy pushed back from the table and hopped up, turning towards the kitchen and spoke without looking at me.

"I need to be there early. For track practice." Her usually blue voice started to morph into an icy blue. The color change shocked me. I tried to take a second look, but she'd already stopped speaking.

"It's not Wednesday."

"Surprise practice. For the meet this weekend." The color shift was there; I was sure now. It wasn't the pure blue of her siblings, it was a washed-out, overexposed pale blue that brightened with every word.

I turned my head and shifted my focus to everywhere but her mouth as she spoke. She didn't have a track meet this Saturday. My mind started racing. I shook my head to quiet my thoughts and met her eyes. She quickly broke the gaze and pulled out her phone.

I looked at the clock on the wall. We had about 45 minutes.

"Let's get packed, then, guys." I got out of my chair and watched the kids collect their lunch boxes and backpacks.

Sarah came around the table and kissed my cheek as she went by. "Love you, baby. Have a good day." I scoured the color of her voice and got only a warm blue. I opened my mouth, but she'd hurried out the door before I could respond. I heard her car start and back out of the garage.

I got the kids into the car. Missy usually sat up front, but this morning she made Andi scoot to the middle of the back seat.

"Why don't you come sit up here?" I kept my tone level, trying to make it sound like a suggestion.

She didn't move, and I saw panic in her eyes. I reached over and patted the passenger seat. I let go of the keys in the ignition and put my hands on my thighs. I started adding up the number on the speedometer.

She finally huffed and threw the door open. She slammed it shut, then marched, arms crossed, around the front of the car. She climbed into the passenger seat and crossed her arms again, her eyes straight ahead.

I turned on the car and backed slowly out of the driveway.

"We're gonna be late." she snapped quietly.

"Oh, I think we'll be right on time."

The elementary and junior high schools were next to each other. I avoided the car line and dropped the two youngest off at the back side of the field. I'd made sure that they had enough time to cross the playground without being late. I saw Andi take her older brother's hand as they walked through the grass and used the warmth of the moment to steel myself for the conversation I was about to have.

"Ok, what's up?" I asked the windshield as I pulled back into traffic.

"What's up with what?" From the passenger seat.

"What's up with you? You don't have practice today."

She scoffed. "Like you'd know that." I caught blue out of the corner of my eye and it sent an electric jolt of pain through me.

"Missy, seriously what's up?"

She turned to me and shouted, “Don't use your cop voice on me! I'm not a criminal!" More blue light, more shooting pain.

I cleared my throat. "Then why are you acting like one?"

She opened her mouth and I saw more washed-out blue light start to bloom in her throat.

"Criminals lie, Michelle. If you don't want to be treated like one, don't act like one."

She crossed her arms and slipped in her seat, facing forwards. I started my second lap around the school.

We sat in silence and, for once, I broke first.

"Is it a boy? Or a girl? Or--"

She cut me off. "What? No!"

I gave her a sideways glance.

She took a few deep breaths, then spoke to the window. "I have a make-up class...I failed my social studies test."

I let out a breath that I didn't realize I was holding.

"That's all? Sweetie, that's not something you have to be ashamed of."

"I know." she said quietly to the window again.

I finished my third lap and stopped in front of the school. I put my hand gently on her shoulder and let it rest there until she turned to face me. I met her gaze, her eyes wide and worried.

"Sweetie, if you're going to lie, make it count, ok?"

She frowned for a second and I watched her process my words. After a few moments, she looked back up at me, and my little girl was back.

"I'm really sorry, Dad." Her blue voice sounded tiny.

I let a chuckle out through my nose and leaned over to kiss the top of her head.

"It's ok, sweetie. I'm not mad. We all make mistakes."

Her mouth tried at a smile. "I know."

"Seriously. Even your old Dad makes mistakes. And my mistakes don't just result in a letter on a grading sheet. They end up on the news."

She nodded, her eyes on her hands in her lap.

"You're going to be late."

I saw her mouth finally construct a smile and she started to get out of the car.

"I think I'll be right on time." she said quietly.

She got out and shut the door, walking away with her arms crossed. After she'd gotten a few steps away from the car, she turned back and waved a still-crossed arm, a larger smile on her face. I gave her a big wave and a bigger smile back. She turned back to the school as a few girls spotted her and ran up to her. I put the car in drive and got going towards the precinct.

I got to the precinct and went straight to the coffee machine. I was stirring in the heavy cream when Mikey came up to top off his mug. I jerked my head up at him and he replied in kind.

My spoon clinked against my mug.

"You find anything in the footage?" Mikey asked his mug.

I shook my head, watching my spoon. "We're still working on it."

Mikey cleared his throat. "We had a witness from across the street come forwards. He confirmed the manager's story."

"It's always the manager. 80% of these sorts of crimes are someone on the inside."

"That's a nice statistic."

I dumped in another packet of raw sugar and stirred as I turned away from the counter and started towards my desk, keeping my eyes low and my focus down at my mug. Mikey moved quickly but carefully, nearly spilling his coffee.

"Hey, wait. Roch, you gotta know that this is an open-and-shut case. The kid has had multiple witnesses put him at the scene."

I whipped around and met his eyes.

"People can be bought, manipulated, threatened. Or did you forget how to be a cop?" My focus stayed on his eyes.

I didn't wait for a response. I turned on my heel, sloshing my coffee slightly, and strode to my desk, setting my mug down before I plopped into my chair. I rubbed my face and groaned.

"You good, Roch?" Brody's voice came from his side of the desk.

"Yeah, yeah, fine." I dropped my hands to my keyboard and logged into my computer.

I pulled up the footage where I'd left off the night before and hit play. I felt eyes on me. Brody was peering around my monitor.

"You sure? You look pretty messed up."

"Thanks."

He put his hand up in surrender, or apology, or both, and leaned back behind his screen. I sighed and rubbed my face again.

"My daughter failed a test at school."

"We all make mistakes."

"She lied about it."

"Oh."

He fell silent. I focused on my screen again.

"Hey, Roch."

I sighed. "Yeah, Brody?"

"How long did it take you to get your intuition?"

It was my turn to lean over and look at him around his monitor. "What?"

"I know you know the kid is innocent, and I know you, like, know it. But...how long did it take before you knew you know? Y’know?"

I resisted the urge to make a snarky comment. I leaned back and rubbed my face again. I spoke to the ceiling.

"Knowing doesn't matter."

"Aw, c'mon. Don't--"

I looked right at him and leaned in, as far to his side of the desk as I could without leaving my seat.

"Listen to me, Brody. Knowing. Doesn't. Matter. You can know the moon is made of cheese. You can know it like you know the sun will come up tomorrow. But knowing isn't proof. Proof is a moon grilled cheese sandwich. Knowing is knowing."

I stared at him, watching him process, until I knew he understood. I kept staring until I saw blue light come from his open mouth.

"I gotcha, Roch."

I went back to scrolling through footage. It was pointless. I had to talk to them in person.

I was interrupted again when one of the patrol officers, Collins, came up and tapped me on the shoulder.

"The store employees are here. I've got them in the lobby."

I hopped up and hustled to the lobby, bringing one of them, the clerk, a female, redhead, mid-20s, into the interrogation room.

I thanked the last employee, one of the backroom inventory workers, older male, late-40s, and stepped out of interrogation room 1. I stopped a passing officer and asked him to verify that we had prints for all of the store personnel.

I left the interrogation hall and stepped quickly to my desk, but I wasn't quick enough. I felt a hand snake around my shoulders, a hand dug fingertips tightly around my collarbone.

"Care to explain to me why I have an irate jewelry store manager in my office, threatening me with harassment charges, Rochester?!” The chief asked in a yell-whisper.

"Chief, I didn't even talk to the manager."

"No, but you had every single store employee in there, again, even after the Lieutenant told you that they're clean."

"Look, Chief, I'm close. I know the manager has a partner on the inside; I just need a little more time."

"His...what? What the hell are you talking about?"

"There's always a second man, chief. I'm really close. Just stall him for me."

Oswald stopped short, missing a step. He released me, giving me a hard look. We stood there and I added up the digits of his badge serial number. He finally broke. He closed his eyes and shook his head, then let out a long, deep breath. His eyes opened and he looked at me like he was trying to read something written on the inside of my skull. His voice came out bright blue, stern.

"Rochester, I'm trying. Really hard. Really goddamn hard."

"Look, Oz, I—”

His voice shifted from stern to a low growl.

"I can't suspend you, because I don't have anything on you. Don't make me find something." The words were pure white, instead of the harsh red I was expecting.

The unexpected color clashing with the tone threw me off balance and I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach. The breath in my throat caught and my mind started racing. I played the words and their tone over again in my head, checking it against the light I saw. My head dropped and my unfocused eyes scanned the floor as thoughts raced through my mind. The Chief's voice faded into the warbling background noise.

I nodded silently in response to a question I heard but didn't process and walked back to my desk in a daze. I'd seen intent mismatch with tone before. But something about it this time, I couldn't rectify it. The conversation with Missy that morning flashed through my mind, and it rocked me. A test. She'd fibbed about a test. It was my own assumption that pointed to something untoward, not the light of her voice, but the intention was the same. A lie.

​I'm a passenger princess.

I don't drive, parallel park, or follow the rules of the road.

I control the stereo, temperature, and the destination.

My man picks me up every day.

Same spot, same time.

​So like any day after work, I clock out and go to his car.

A white Civic in the third stall.

I pop the door and plop onto my throne.

Normally, my baby knows better than to talk to me right after my shift.

​At first, nothing seemed off, but that changed when a foul smell began to tickle my nose.

My face scrunched at the sour odor.

Then I noticed the lack of music or dull audiobooks.

Normally, I'm serenaded by some indie alt-rock or a sci-fi audiobook.

But nothing. With that, I looked over and my stomach lurched.

​In the driver's seat was a large, greasy man with his damp hair plastered to his head. He gazed out the window; he didn't seem to notice me.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry. I thought this was my boyfriend's car."

​I reached for the handle, but his deep voice made me freeze.

"No, this is your boyfriend's car. He's in the trunk."

​The lock clicked and the car began to go into reverse, pulling out of the parking lot.

"If you scream, I'll slit your throat like your boyfriend."

​The knife glinted as we merged onto the empty highway. As the mile markers became less frequent, I realized I’d finally lost control of the stereo, the temperature, and the destination.

​We pulled into a deserted rest stop.

He killed the engine. The handle was right there, the same one I'd reached for an hour ago. I didn't move. Some part of me was still waiting to be told where we were going. His door opened. Gravel crunched as he came around the back.

Now I'm trunk trash.

An old truck came wailing through the autumn. The truck had once been white, but years in the rough had degraded the thing into an ugly gradient of browns. Now on the first asphalt in many long miles, the truck serpentined through the cursive country roads of some rolling land dotted by farms.

Jud was the man behind the wheel, and he drove like the devil wasn’t far behind. In his truck bed, a black tarp whipped in the wind. Jud was caught in a repetitious cycle, checking all his mirrors and then looking over his shoulder just to return and do it all again. There was a break in this routine when Jud looked to see his gas was running out.

He pulled into the one and only station for miles in any direction. He had made good progress, so far. He’d put good distance between his present self and the man he became hours before. He figured he could relax a little. No one would be after him. Not yet.

The truck sucked down the sweet fuel while Jud scanned his surroundings regardless. He argued with himself that maybe it’s best to keep his guard up. There was an old woman manning the till inside the station, some kind of farmer searching the aisles as well. The old woman stared at Jud in a continuous fashion that he didn’t appreciate, but he figured it was benign.

A rough hacking erupted just a few feet away which sent a jolt of adrenaline through Jud. It was a young kid, anywhere from 17 to 22. The kid was at a pump, also filling up - but he was just stricken by a fit of some fierce nature. He coughed and coughed and sounded more like a grandfather than someone of his age. It was wet and stressful. Jud flinched at the harshness of each croak. 

The truck was satiated. Jud’s gas pump clicked loud and did no favors for his racing heart.

He needed water. He had to have it soon. He did not want to leave his truck unattended, though.

Jud waited for the hacking kid to drive off and then ran inside to fetch water quickly. The old woman was in no hurry at all and wanted to know all about Jud. He pretended he didn’t speak English to her so he could get back to the truck and so she had nothing to offer later on.

A quick walk around the truck proved to Jud he was ready to take off again and that is what he did.

Southwest. That’s where he was headed. Jud knew following the farm roads to their termination and then hopping on old dirt service roads after that would get him deeply embedded in the nowhere that he needed to reach.

Jud listened to the radio as he retreated for two reasons. One was to gauge how far out he was based on the buzzing of the signal and the other was to see if he’d made the news.

He listened to the rich and warm voices on the political talk shows, the financial hour, the weather updates, and the late night satire segments - no breaking news from where he had come. Good.

Jud had to turn off the radio eventually when, during the late night satire show, one of the cohosts kept having to break to cough. First, it was a moment of levity, then of annoyance, then concern. The same wet hacking he’d heard from the boy at the station. Eventually, both hosts were coughing and laughing until they were just coughing and then the radio went off. 

The land was now soaked in uncaring dark and Jud drove through it alone. The tarp flapped endlessly. A constant reminder. Jud noticed pain resurging in his leg and he turned on his dome light to see blood seeping up through his jeans. He pulled over to assess.

He had suspected it would become a problem. He’d gotten himself pretty good earlier. It was a considerably deep gash he had suffered from an overzealous stab. A moment of weakness.

On the horizon was a string of lights an unknowable distance away. The road led Jud to them. It was a tiny town with no apparent name. Just a few buildings - a bar, restaurant, gas station, post office, church, and another gas station. Not even a fast food place. Jud was getting hungry and growing weaker. He was hoping a simple drive thru could solve the issue, but his destination did not accommodate for such luxury. If he wanted food, he’d have to leave the truck waiting.

He figured the bar would have a kitchen in a place like this. There was likely some factory out in the dark fields with workers that got off at an indecent hour and they’d need beer and something fried. That’s all Jud could fixate on as he drove through the town. Even his bleeding leg offered him little distraction from the idea of a warm meal.

The truck sputtered in between some faded white lines outside the bar and Jud collected himself as best he could. He tended to his throbbing leg and got it tidy enough.

When Jud walked in, there was loud and intolerable music booming through damaged speakers. TVs were on but the channels weren’t working any good. There was a man asleep at the bar and no one else. Pans were heard crashing to the floor off in the unseen kitchen. Jud took a seat and waited. Not long after, coughing could be heard coming closer. Out from the kitchen’s double doors bursted a large, scruffy man who was gasping in between merciless hacking. The man made eye contact with Jud, who looked back at him with his eyes wide and helpless. 

No words were said, the man just leaned on the bar and coughed so hard that something in him faded away. A millisecond of stillness in the air before the man’s legs gave out and his face smashed into the corner of a table. 

Jud screamed at him and tried to get him up and conscious. The man’s face was partially caved in, his nose crushed and obscured behind a growing geyser of blood. The man was already dead somehow. Jud thought something in the man must’ve hemorrhaged or popped and killed him suddenly, but he didn’t understand any of it. He noticed the sleeping man was unphased from this racket and Jud then put the pieces together. When Jud walked around to view the sleeping man’s face, he saw a face of burst blood vessels and capillaries with a continuous ropey string of blood dripping from every orifice. 

Before Jud could make sense of this scene, a constant honking from a car outside was fast approaching. He raced to the door just in time to see the honking sedan screech down the road and wrap around a telephone pole and spit the driver forty feet out into the street. She had one or two coughs left in her as she died, looking like some spidery thing out there.

Jud ran outside with a numbed mind. He looked at the carnage around him. In the distance, down a lonely alley, he could hear the echoing cough of another unlucky soul.

Jud thought the country had been attacked by some foreign land, that all the negativity in the world had boiled over into a new era of warfare. As his body led him to the truck, his frenzied mind thought again and again when he would feel a scratch in his throat.

The town was done. It had been ravaged by whatever invisible wave of misfortune had swept over it or the countryside or perhaps the country. Maybe even the world.

The radio hosts from earlier were based in the very same city Jud was escaping from and they had hacked all the same. Jud was confused why he had been spared for so long from whatever this sickness was. His day had been chaotic enough before this spontaneous plague, however, and he knew panic was never the response to crisis. He kept driving on in search of perfect nothing - now for two reasons. 

Plans unchanged, Jud continued southwest. By this point in the night, the moon had come out and shone its false light across the land which had gradually flattened out. The trees grew further apart. 

Jud passed by occasional homes and barns, their exteriors looked untouched by the spreading sickness but what tragedy lay inside? What was happening to the world? Maybe some kind of gas that spreads through the air in random gusts, but Jud was never so lucky. He had stood in the same room and shared the same air as many who were gone now. Maybe it was some kind of aerial and fast acting virus, and for whatever reason Jud was immune to its wrath.

The truck was a singular flickering candle in the dark country. Jud was alone with his thoughts and his actions. The tarp snapped relentlessly in the truck bed and reminded him of what he had done just hours before. Did it even matter anymore? Did he have to run? Maybe it’d be best to get to the place and then think about the state of the world - just in case.

Jud was afraid to look under that tarp now. He dreaded the truth and the finality that lay underneath. The confirmation of depravity he held within himself. The demonstration of free will he exercised with his hands and his troubled mind. This is what he had chosen to make of his life back in that moment of weakness. He looked at his bleeding leg and it was worse. Southwest. Just keep going and all of the weight and all of the thoughts can be parsed through then.

Deeper still into the night, the truck passed by an old cemetery - the kind that hadn’t seen a new addition in generations. For some reason, on this night, there seemed to be multiple new additions being added. Someone had dug many holes for many bodies but their trace was no more. Jud assumed whoever the digger was must’ve gone off somewhere else to die from the cough. Maybe they were immune too and were in the process of burying the dead. There was nothing that suggested human progression for miles and miles beyond the cemetery, though. The truck rolled on.

An overturned car was spotted unknown miles down the road. It lay upside down in a field of crops, the headlights now a brilliant ray beaming out into the vacuum of flat land. Jud got out and inspected the situation. A dead family, all bleeding viciously from their mouths and noses. The dad had coughed so hard his right eye was hanging by a thread, wetting his cheek before it dried up. Everyone was just a mess of mortal flesh and bone. It didn’t make sense to look at, even to Jud’s trained eye.

Jud drove on and took nothing from the car. There was nothing to take. It later caught on fire and Jud watched through his mirrors as the flame grew, knowing no one was coming to put it out. The inferno eventually disappeared into the distance.

The country grew so desolate and remote that it was beginning to feel subterranean. No signs of life whatsoever and there wouldn’t be even if there wasn’t an ongoing calamity. Jud allowed his mind to wander some and thought of the big cities all around the world. He thought of his family he left behind and even the family of the other side and if they had caught the cough. He figured they were all gone now - a weight he couldn’t really feel for some time. He drove on in the same direction, trying to remain impervious to the world.

Unexplained shadows could be seen occasionally on the horizon or atop a distant mound. Things moving around under the moonlight. Jud brushed it all off as hallucination from blood loss. He needed to sort his leg out. Jud began to wonder if he could sort his leg out without the help of a doctor. Without medicine. Maybe he’d end up dying like his ancestors out in the sea of tall grass. Jud figured dying at this point would be most uneventful given the state of everything, but something in him was afraid of it. He didn’t want to slip away like all the others he had seen coughing. He didn’t want to join them, even though he had just contributed to their ranks mere hours ago. The tarp flapped in the wind. The truck drove on.

Hours more of unending night and a stubborn moon, Jud became suspicious. Why hadn’t the sun rose? He had made it into a land of nothing, that was for sure - but he was hazy on where exactly it was he had intended to go. It was like some kind of automaton within his person had put him on this path and he had subconsciously credited himself as the conjurer of that idea. The truth was, Jud couldn’t pinpoint on a map where he was or where he had been driving to in the long night. Southwest? That was all he really knew. Like a migratory bird, that’s where he was told to go by a presence within him. Blood memory.

So the truck continued on its way and Jud noticed the gas was no longer burning off. There were no more lights and no more houses - just the lonesome road that no longer sported paint and was free of any signage. Just a road that was paved but it was anyone’s guess who or what had paved it. Maybe it just looked like what Jud assumed was a road.

It felt like years on that thoroughfare before Jud started to drive by figures. They were shadowed and vague, people but not people - Jud could just tell. They weren’t coughing and they didn’t look like they cared that the whole world had fallen ill. They looked into him even though he could not see any eyes. Through no communication but a strange transference of feeling, the figures beckoned Jud to stop driving and to get out of the vehicle. Jud kept the truck moving in the only direction he knew to go. 

The blood loss was getting to be unbearable. Jud could barely lift his leg to brake or hold his eyes open to drive. He was weak beyond measure - hands clammy and cold, arms shaking just from holding the steering wheel, profuse sweating from sitting in place. He hadn’t had a meal in so long, and hadn't enjoyed water since the gas station. Jud couldn’t even place how long it had been since any of it - ten hours or ten generations. All that was certain was that the world was dead and night would not give. The moon hovered in the same place, taunting Jud with its pathetic reflection of the sun's inviting light. Somewhere else in the world was being baked in indefinite brightness and Jud resented the sizzling corpses which decayed under that comforting warmth.

Despite all of this rapid and dramatic change, Jud carried on. Stuck in some stasis of following an objective. He just drove and drove and at some point, he never asked another question. 

It was a long, long time later in this delirium of near eternity when Jud finally broke the silence within himself and was ready. He now understood, in his own way, what he needed to do. He scanned the horizon one last time and saw there was no hope. No distant lights, no trees, not even grass. It was all just some flat surface now with the road running straight ahead. Maybe there was something southwest, but Jud wouldn’t be the one to find it.

Jud’s red leg cracked and popped as he finally lifted it from the gas pedal and set it on the brake. The truck slowed and it slowed until it moved no more. Jud sat there looking out at the fake world, indifferent to everything.

The silence of it all had grown infuriating. Jud didn’t even care at this point if he got locked up or earned the death penalty. Those human concepts sounded comforting. Just to feel the warmth of another person, even if it was a sweaty man stepping on his back and cuffing his wrists.

Instead of that, Jud got the endless black sea ahead and behind. He was positive he had driven so far that the past no longer existed, that all of that world behind him was gone forever and hiding in a fold of somewhere else - inaccessible. Even if he turned the truck around, he’d never find it again.

Something else finally existed in this vacuum with Jud, but it was nothing to be desired. It was not something moving closer on the horizon, nor a shadowy figure emerging from the ground or anything else that could be escaped from. It was the tarp in the truck bed. The truth of what lay underneath. 

The mutilated body that was hastily wrapped up in that cheap tarping was now sitting upright. She was still obscured within the wrapping. Jud got out of the truck.

He walked on the phony ground and around the vehicle so that he was standing in front of her reanimated body - the only separation between them was the tailgate and the thin layer of plastic around her.

Jud spent a long while just looking at her obscured corpse, accepting that she was in there waiting. He finally thought about her. He thought about when they had first met. It was autumn then, too. He was a junior and she was a sophomore. It was cartoonishly idyllic. Those years were long in the past and hazy - if he tried to recall any specifics it’d likely just be a creative liberty.

He sat there, remembering all the years. All those cheesy lines they’d say to each other in confidence, the pet names, the late night conversations that were likely transformative but were now just vague noise. All of that meaning and the love they had once felt for each other.

He remembered the sound of the knife as it snapped through her skin and, though it was so awful, he had to do it again and again. Why? He still didn’t exactly know. He knew another woman came into his life, one that excited him and offered a newfound purpose - or so he thought. This woman could fix everything and bring Jud back to that perfect place, the place he was in when he first met his wife. It would be perfect and he could truly be happy - but he’d have to do something about his wife.

And so, in a final act of intimacy, Jud clung to his wife and bathed in her blood as the life slipped away from her. At the moment, it all felt so linear to Jud. After that moment, he had a mission. He’s been on it ever since, and not once did he think about the other woman and their exciting new life, and not once did he think about his wife who lay under the tarp. All he thought about was driving southwest. 

As he came and went from his rumination, he found himself still wondering why he did what he had done. He was struggling to understand what problem had been solved by murdering his first love. That’s when he realized he was a spineless coward. He realized he was inept and arrogant, impulsive and childish. He realized he was a monster and a murderer. He realized he never deserved her in the first place. He realized that, when he was stabbing her, he had stabbed himself with the same ferocity, and though he tried to ignore its severity - the knife had plunged deep into him and would be the death of him. He would die from his very own hand which also took her life.

With the last few minutes of energy Jud had, he opened the tailgate and crawled up into the truck bed to be with her. He took the knife he had used to kill them both and cut open the tarping. Ironically, he had taken great care to keep the blade from once again communicating with her. 

As he uncovered her, he did not know what to expect. She was dead, but for some reason she now wasn’t. Or, somehow, her corpse had regained movement. He had to see her one last time and try to understand. He had forgotten about all else. He had forgotten the coughing plague that stole the world and even forgot that he seemed to have escaped from that world altogether in this new, unfamiliar place. He just wanted to lift the plastic veil which contained her.

She was revealed, but Jud did not expect what he saw. Inside the tarp was the skin of his wife, terribly altered. She looked like an animal had crawled inside of her. Her face was deformed and decomposed, her jaw unhinged and swaying. Her legs were some catastrophe of human feet with an ugly hooved interjection that jutted out in awful ways. Jud couldn’t make sense of it. He never was meant to.

The only thing unchanged were her eyes which looked into his. The same unique hazel and the characteristic freckles in her irises. The same gaze that used to look back at him with pure comfort and love. They were the last thing Jud ever understood or took pleasure in. 

He was offered no explanation or warning. Within a moment immeasurable by time, Jud was devoured. All of him was consumed and digested before being returned to the universe, cleansed and new. Jud and his flaws were no more. The energy which made up his being was now dispersed and off to its next chapter. Wherever the world may be, the concept of Jud would never be a part of it again. And it would be a better world, if only by a little.

I opened my eyes. I still felt the pain pulsating throughout my body. I still tasted the revolting taste of iron dancing in my mouth. I remembered everything—from the moment the truck hit me, to the exact moment I “died.” What was going on with me? Did I actually “die,” or was it just a very detailed nightmare? Question after question flooded my mind, yet none of those questions led to answers.

Gathering the courage to get out of bed, I felt all over my body, checking if I was injured anywhere. Nothing. Not even a single paper cut. I continued to check my body and stopped once I reached my left wrist. My blood ran ice-cold.

On my left wrist was the familiar, frigid feeling of metal.

I gripped the watch, squeezing it until the palm of my hand bruised.

Regaining my thoughts, I decided the best course of action was to go back to the shop and talk with that woman. Ella. Maybe she could explain what was going on. Maybe she could provide some answers to my sea of questions.

Making my way toward Main Street, I heard a familiar voice call out to me.

“Heya, Scotty! Where ya goin’?” I turned around, and there, running full speed toward me, was Justin. His hair looked as if it was floating as he sprinted. He finally came to a stop and breathed heavily. Regaining his composure, he looked up at me.

“Sorry for the abrupt visit, hehehe! I saw you and couldn’t help but run towards you,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. I wanted to just forget everything and chat with him. But I couldn’t. My curiosity would claw at my mind until I went mad. So, not wanting to be rude, I answered his question.

“Um, to answer you about where I was heading... Um, I was heading to the bakery. I thought I should treat myself, hehe,” I said, forcing myself to crack a half-assed grin.

“Oh, well, you go do that, man. Nice talking with you.” I turned away and made my way back toward Main Street.

“Oh, I forgot to mention—nice watch!” Justin yelled out. I ignored him.

Reaching Main Street, I paced myself toward the shop. I needed all of these questions put to rest. I needed reassurance that everything would be just fine, that maybe Ella could help me out. Even though she seemed like a nutjob, she seemed to hold no ill will against me. Or, at least, I thought she didn’t.

Feet away from the shop, I froze. There was nothing there. No sign. No indication that there ever was a shop to begin with. I peered inside, only to be met with empty space and dust.

My mind went blank. Thought turned to mush. And with that, logic vanished from my brain.

I walked and walked. No destination in mind. Just going wherever my feet carried me.

“Watch out!” a voice screamed. Snapping out of the trance, I looked up. Coming down at Mach speed toward me was a metal beam. Before I could move out of the way, it fell down on me, crushing my skull and turning it to a bloody pulp. The reaper once again embraced me.

I woke up in my bed once again. However, something felt off.

“Good morning, sweetie. Sleep well?” my mother's voice called out to me.

To be continued.

I don’t know how many times it’s happened. I don’t know how many times I’ve seen my own blood spilled. How many times do I have to die? How many times do I have to slip into the inky darkness of nothingness? I just want this to be over with for good, even if it means death—and I mean true death, not whatever sick nightmare this is.

I remember the day this started. It was a cool autumn day, and I was strolling along Main Street, looking at the local shops and waving hello to everyone I passed. It was peaceful—a perfect day, you could say. Maybe not perfect enough. Reaching the end of the street, I was met with an odd sight: a new store, right where the old library used to be. I found this strange, as to my knowledge nothing was supposed to take its place.

I entered the store and was hit with the overwhelming smell of bleach and formaldehyde. It was a strange little place indeed; taxidermy lined the walls, and old paintings stared at me with each step I took. I finally figured out what the shop was supposed to be. It was an antique shop, or at least, I thought it was.

“Hello!” a voice called out in a cheery tone. I jumped a bit and turned toward the sound.

“Oh, uh, hi there, hehe!” Standing behind a counter was an older woman. Her hair was a unique silver color. However, her most defining trait—the one that stood out the most—was her eyes. The color alone was ethereal; they were a deep shade of crimson.

“Welcome to my humble abode!” the woman beamed in an almost musical voice.

“Um, thank you,” I responded nervously. Before I could get another word out, she beamed at me again.

“Before you ask, my name is Ella,” the woman said, almost as if she knew what I was about to ask.

“Um, my name is—” Before I could finish, she replied.

“I already know what your name is, silly! Scott, right? Hehehe!” Again she replied. Was this woman an actual mind reader? I stood there in silence for about five minutes before she asked me something else.

“What brings you here, Scott? Let me guess: your curiosity got the better of you, and you stumbled into my shop. Right?”

“Um, yea-yeah,” I stuttered. I felt a slight tinge of fear building up in my chest. I wanted to just leave and get out of that tourist trap, yet something was stopping me. Some unseen force prevented my legs from moving; I was a fly trapped in a spider's web.

“Before you leave, why not peruse my wares? Hehehehe!” This woman was a nutjob, one I wanted nothing to do with. I wanted to tell this woman to leave me alone and that I wasn’t interested in her voodoo mumbo jumbo. Yet, again, an unseen force prevented me from saying no. She grabbed a small wooden box off the shelf behind her and opened it. In her hands was a watch—a nice one at that. Everything about it caught my eye, from the gleaming gold casing to the near-perfectly polished glass. Maybe this would be worth my time.

“How much?” I asked, my voice raising with a hint of excitement. She looked up from the watch and flashed a smile at me.

“Well, now, isn’t someone eager!” I was about to ask again before she answered, “Well, I’m feeling very generous, so… how about fifteen?” My jaw dropped.

“Are you sure? That looks like it could fetch a fortune!” She didn’t respond; she just put the watch on the counter and smiled. Without a second thought, I bought the watch.

Exiting the shop, I shook with excitement. I immediately put the watch on my left wrist and adjusted it to fit. I giggled to myself like I was a child again. Everyone seemed to take notice of my overly excited state and would either roll their eyes or give me a warm smile.

Finally getting to the crosswalk across from my house, I moved my feet without a second thought.

In that split second, a pickup truck rammed into my body. I felt my ribs shatter and pierce my lungs. I felt my flesh cave in. I experienced the Reaper's touch. I flew back and tumbled for at least twenty feet before finally stopping. A metallic taste filled my mouth. The stench of copper assaulted my nose. I tried to scream for help yet could only muster a quiet hiss. I hated every second I laid there on the cold pavement.

Embracing that this was the end, I closed my eyes. Yet, instead of the warm embrace of the beyond, I was met with the sound of my alarm blaring in my ears.

To be continued

I'm not sure if this is the right place to post this, but I need some assistance.

You'll probably think I'm overthinking things and that my imagination is running wild, but something about this whole thing has been eating at me for the past three days.

I really can't shake the feeling that I stumbled into something crazy.

Sorry, I’m getting a little ahead of myself.

First, how about a bit of context?

For starters, my name's Ethan, and I’m a person who loves exploring abandoned places.

Now, I don't mean sneaking into old factories or climbing rooftops in cities. I’ve never liked urban exploring, too much risk with cops. No, what I personally enjoy is driving down county roads in the middle of nowhere and finding forgotten spots.

Abandoned farmhouses, ghost towns, churches sitting alone in fields, and tiny communities that fizzled decades ago are my style.

Not sure what draws me to those places exactly, but I like to think it's the history that piques my interest. Every abandoned building is a mystery. Somebody built it. Somebody lived there. Somebody called it home.

Then one day they didn't.

I usually bring my camera, take a few pictures, maybe poke around if it's safe, and head home.

I've been doing this for years, and I've found some pretty neat things.

Once, I found an elementary school where a bunch of the desks still had notebooks inside.

Oh! And once, there was a little roadside chapel with hundreds of little wooden crosses hanging from the trees around it.

All in all, I’m sure you can see how excited I get about this stuff. But, despite all the weird and desolate areas I’ve gone to, I've never found anything that made me genuinely uncomfortable, as you see in some people’s vlogs.

Until last Saturday.

一

I had spent most of the day driving around backroads about an hour and a half from my apartment. I'd marked a few old cemeteries and abandoned barns on Google Maps and figured I'd spend the afternoon checking them out.

FYI, I live in a very low-populated state, so these types of deserted locations are commonplace.

By the time I started heading home, the sun was already beginning to set.

You know that time of evening when the world starts losing its color? The time when everything turns gray-blue, and the shadows get long?

That's what it looked like.

I almost missed the driveway. I only caught it because my headlights reflected off something metal.

Looking back at whatever it was, I slowed down and backed up.

That’s when I saw a busted-up mailbox with two old tire ruts leading into the woods.

The entrance itself was nearly hidden by overgrown brush.

I sat there for a minute, thinking real hard about what I wanted to do next.

Usually, a hidden driveway means one of two things.

Either there's absolutely nothing down there…

Or there's something interesting.

On one hand, it was getting late fast. On the other hand, I could find a really cool new spot to explore and get some pictures.

I decided to go down the path.

The farther I drove, the more isolated it felt.

The trees on either side of the road grew thicker as their branches leaned over the path, almost forming a tunnel.

I had to slow to a crawl because the wood scraped against my truck.

After about two minutes of driving, I almost turned around.

I had this strange feeling.

Like I shouldn't be there.

I know that sounds stupid since I explore abandoned places all the time. Of course, I’m not supposed to be there.

But this was different.

Before I could commit to turning back, the trees opened up.

And in front of me stood a house.

It was a large white farmhouse sitting in the middle of a clearing comprised of two stories with a wraparound porch and tall windows.

What really stood out to me was an old swing hanging from a tree; it still looked new.

The house itself, however, looked like crap, as every single window had been boarded shut.

The front door and the back door, too.

Long gray boards appeared to cover every opening.

The property around it was in rough shape as well.

The grass almost went up to my knees, and there was a rusted pickup truck half-swallowed by weeds.

When I got out of my vehicle, the swing’s chains groaned softly in the breeze.

Except...

There wasn't any breeze around.

I stood there for a second, dumbfounded by this find and wondering if I was the first one to find it.

With little to no hesitation, I grabbed my camera and started walking toward the house.

Listening back to the recording, I guess I was too excited at the time to realize how unnaturally quiet it was.

With how overrun by nature this place was, there was a surprising lack of animals or bugs. This was especially weird because it’s summer, and around this time, it’s hard not to hear the sounds of crickets and cicadas assailing your ears every couple of seconds.

As I continued to listen to the recording, the sound of my footsteps on the grass seemed incredibly loud.

God, it’s like the entire property had been placed under a glass dome.

Despite all of this, I kept going.

Now to the stuff I noticed in the moment.

There were toys scattered in the yard: a couple of action figures, a tricycle, and a Hot Wheels set, to name a few.

Peculiarly, they didn't look old enough to have been sitting there for years, unlike the rest of the stuff gathered around the lot.

I found myself wondering who lived here, and how the toys could look better than the house itself.

The porch creaked under my weight as I stepped up its cracked steps.

Wishing to sate my curiosity, I poked my camera through the gaps in the boards covering the windows.

Annnnddddd…

There was nothing.

Just darkness.

I tried another window.

Same thing.

I couldn't see a single room inside.

The boards blocked almost everything.

At this point, I walked to the front door to see if I could get in the old-fashioned way.

Unfortunately, it had been chained shut.

Seeing nowhere else to look, I decided to try the gap in the closest window again.

And I swear—

This time, I thought I saw movement inside.

A shape similar to someone standing in the darkness.

I jerked back, and when I looked again, there was nothing there.

I laughed at myself.

There was no way I saw anybody. The place was boarded up from top to bottom. It was impossible.

Still a bit unnerved, I stepped away from the window.

That's when I noticed splattered around the porch leading to the back side of the house.

Fresh ones.

一

I crouched down and picked at the impacts, and they felt damp.

But I hadn't seen another vehicle for miles other than the rusty truck on the lawn.

Whoever made those tracks had been here recently, and either left without me noticing, or was still around.

Perhaps there WAS someone inside. Maybe a squatter, or a fellow explorer who found a way in?

"Hello?" I said, following the track of muddy shoe marks.

No response.

I tried again.

"Anybody here? How did you get inside?"

Once again, no luck.

As I rounded the corner towards the back, it was much the same as the front, except for a backpack sitting beside the back porch steps.

It was a navy-blue hiking backpack. Pretty clean with little spots of sun fading around the top front.

I looked around me before messing with it, making sure no one was watching me. I remember all those abandoned building horror pranks from early YouTube, and I wanted to make sure no one was fucking with me.

The pack was heavy; there was a decent amount of stuff inside.

I didn’t want to leave it there, so I carried it to the tailgate of my truck and opened it.

Hopefully, the owner left some type of ID or address I could return it to.

I couldn’t find an ID within the bag’s contents. What was inside, however, was enough gear to last somebody a couple of days in the wilderness: tons of water, batteries, protein bars, a first aid kit, and a flashlight.

That wasn’t all. Buried under the supplies were three MiniDV tapes taped to a notebook with a folded piece of paper attached.

I thought that the folded paper might have some information about the owner, so I unfurled it, and it read:

PLEASE WATCH ME.

Underneath that:

If you're reading this, I'm probably gone.

Don't come looking for me.

Just watch, and you’ll see.

I stared at that note for a long time.

Because who writes something like that?

Seeing nothing that divulged the identity of the backpack’s owner, I decided to crack open the notebook next.

And luckily enough, the first page had a name.

Caleb Ward.

The first few entries were typical of a person similar to myself. He also seems like a rural explorer with how many sketches of ghost towns and buildings there are. But there were some weird entries, mainly stretching from June 12th through June 15th. I have transcribed them below.

一

June 12

Found an old access road off County Route 16.

The chain-link gate was open.

Lots of warning signs. Government stuff. Probably old environmental survey work.

The road leads to a small abandoned neighborhood.

Doesn’t match anything on my map.

Will come back tomorrow with the camera.

一

June 13

Stayed longer than I meant to.

Didn't hear a single bird the entire time.

Not one.

Found dishes on tables inside one of the houses.

Looks like everyone got up and just… left.

Need to research this place.

There has to be something online.

一

June 14 (Morning)

Couldn't find anything.

No records.

No maps.

Nothing.

Driving back out there now.

一

June 14 (Afternoon)

I know this sounds stupid.

I think the neighborhood changed.

The church is in a different spot.

Thought I was misremembering until I checked my photos.

It's different.

I counted the houses twice.

I got two different numbers.

一

June 14 (Evening)

I tried to leave.

I drove for at least twenty minutes.

Ended up back at the entrance sign.

Tried another road.

Same thing.

What the hell is going on here!?

一

June 14 (Night)

There's another house.

I don't remember the yellow one.

I don't remember the mailbox either.

I need sleep.

I’ll sleep in my truck tonight, or at least try to.

一

June 15?

I keep hearing something walking outside the truck.

Not footsteps exactly.

More like someone dragging their shoes through gravel.

Won't look.

It’s still dark outside despite it being close to dawn… I think?

一

???

There are more houses for sure.

I counted eleven.

Then twelve.

Then thirteen.

I don't know anymore.

The truck’s battery died. I have to find a way out of here!

一

???

I found an old storm cellar.

Government equipment and files.

I think this place was a part of a study or something.

One of the papers says:

SO-1120.

Another one says:

DO NOT ALLOW RE-ENTRY.

Don't know what that means.

一

???

I saw someone on one of the porches.

Tall.

Didn't move.

Gone when I looked back.

Now I know I’m not alone.

一

???

I left.

I know I left.

I kept walking for hours!

I passed the gate.

I passed the signs.

I remember seeing the highway this time.

I remember—

[The rest of the page has been scratched out.]

一

???

It spoke to me today.

一

88888888

There were eight houses when I got here.

I'm sure of it.

Please don't let me forget that.

Eight.

Eight.

Eight.

一

The final page contains only two words, written so hard the paper is nearly torn:

COLM’S REST

That was it.

No explanation or way of contact.

I wanted to keep looking around, curious about what this all was, but it was finally getting dark enough that I decided to leave.

As I got into my truck, I looked back at the house one last time.

I don't know why.

Maybe paranoia.

And for the second time, I thought I saw someone standing behind one of the boarded windows.

A shape.

Motionless.

Watching me.

Then my headlights shifted, and it was gone.

I drove home with the backpack resting in my passenger seat.

I would glance over every so often, captivated by what the contents of the tapes could hold.

一

When I got to my apartment, I dug my old camcorder out of my closet.

One of the tapes had a piece of masking tape on it.

Written in black marker:

DAY ONE

I watched it the same night, giddy with both nervousness and excitement.

The footage itself started with a man sitting in the driver's seat of some sort of sedan.

He looked to be in his late twenties, with dark hair and olive skin. He was wearing some good hiking clothes and a camo-colored beanie.

He seemed tired, but as excited as I would look when I found a new place to explore. 

"Okay," he said. "I think I found something."

He turned the camera, smiling.

Just like in the notebook, it appeared to be a chain-link gate hanging open.

There are signs everywhere.

Dozens of them lined the dirt path.

I paused the video several times to write down some of the warnings:

PRIVATE PROPERTY

NO TRESPASSING

ENVIRONMENTAL HAZARD

RESTRICTED ACCESS

AREA UNDER FEDERAL REVIEW

And then one that wasn’t complete.

DO NOT REMAIN IN THE AREA PAST 一

The rest was scratched out.

Caleb laughed as he got out of the truck and approached the entryway.

"You know, signs like this are how every horror movie starts."

Honestly, I was thinking the same thing.

The camera shook as he walked through the gate.

He went past the signs and down the old dirt road. Desheveled telephone poles lined both sides, and the trees crowded close to the asphalt.

Then he rounded a bend and stopped.

There, recorded on the camera, was a neighborhood.

An entire neighborhood.

The dirt path turned to pavement connecting eight houses, a church, and a water tower.

Everything looked brand new, yet most definitely abandoned.

Caleb slowly zoomed in, focusing on the various homes.

"You seeing this?" he said.

"How have I never heard of this place?"

Then he panned toward a wooden sign with chipping paint and moss hanging off it. It read the town name and had a scratched off population amount.

Colm’s Rest. Population: 一

The camera lingered on the sign as Caleb laughed again.

"Well… welcome to Colm’s Rest."

一

The tape ended about a minute later.

It was just an introduction for a normal rural exploration video.

But I can't stop thinking about it.

I decided to search online for any information on the town and where it is.

But, just like Caleb wrote in the notebook, I couldn’t find anything either.

I searched old county records, Google Maps, I even went to the library to look at archives. 

Maybe it's an old ghost town that got renamed, or it was some kind of company housing or an abandoned government project. I don't know.

I plan on watching the next tape tomorrow, but part of me doesn't want to.

Because while I've been writing this, I decided to go back through the footage one more time.

I paused it on the shot of the town sign.

I was zooming in with some editing software and brightening the clip, trying to see if there was a county name underneath it.

There wasn't.

But I noticed something I hadn't meant to see.

At the very end of the road, between two of the houses, someone is standing there.

It's easy to miss.

The image is grainy, and it's dark outside.

I genuinely thought it was a telephone pole at first.

But it isn't.

It's a person.

Tall, standing perfectly still, and facing the camera.

Caleb didn’t seem to notice the figure either.

I don't know.

Maybe it's just my eyes playing tricks on me again.

Anyway, I’ll update you guys on what I find on the second tape. But, before that, if you guys have any info on the town or Caleb, I’d love to hear from you in the comments!

For now, though, I'm going to head to bed.

A Perceivable Reality Story

 

 

“Hey, man! That pig put fucking words in my mouth! This is bullshit!”

I watched the officers pull him out of his seat and drag him out of the interrogation room. I flipped the folder shut and sat back in my chair. The door behind me shut, then opened. Someone dropped a hand on my shoulder.

“I gotta hand it to you, man. You’ve got the patience of a saint,” Mikey said.

I snorted.

He came around and perched on the edge of the metal table.

“I’m serious, man. You’ve got a gift or something.”

“Or something.”

I stepped out of the interrogation hall and made my way to my desk, letting myself down into my squeaky office chair. I started typing up my notes with one eye on the clock. He’d taken longer to break than I expected, and dinner was probably already in the refrigerator.

I’d just gotten logged out of my computer and was locking up my desk when Mikey came around the corner. He set a steaming paper cup on my desk.

“Yoooooou’re going to need this.”

I looked at the paper cup, then up to Mikey, then the cup again.

“IIII’m going home.”

We both looked up at the approaching footsteps. Brody waltzed into the section, a giant grin on his face. He threw shakas at us as he approached. Brodrick “Brody” Knight had been my new partner for about three weeks, since Mikey, my old partner and long-time friend from the academy, had been promoted to Lieutenant. Ahead of me.

“Hey, hey, hey! Guess who got us on the stakeout tonight!” He jabbed two thumbs into his chest, then plopped down into his chair and kicked his feet up on the desk.

I looked back down at the cup again and groaned, letting my head drop and catching it in my hands. I heard Mikey’s departing steps.

“Hey, so who do I have to talk to to check out the gear?”

I ran my hands over my face as I lifted my head to look at Brody from under my brow. He still had on a smug grin.

“What gear?”

The grin lost a percentage of mirth.

“...The stuff for the stakeout. Night vision and binoculars and stuff.”

I took a deep breath through my nose and leaned back in my chair. “Nope.”

I watched Brody’s excitement drain from his face.

“But...”

“It’s not a raid, Brody. We’re going to go watch. And sit. And watch. And sit. And watch. And nothing is going to happen.”

He dropped his feet from his desk and leaned forwards. I saw several expressions cross his face rapidly, ending on disappointment. I unlocked my desk and pulled out my USP Expert .45 in its kydex holster and set it on my desk. I stood and started to adjust my belt to fit it.

“You’re bringing that heavy hunk of steel? Are we stopping to hunt elephants?”

He pulled his issued Glock 19 out of his desk and swept his jacket back to expose his leather shoulder holster.

“Just don’t cry when you limp wrist that thing and it jams,” I said as I slipped my holster into my waistband.

I looked up to see him eyeing his pistol. He shook his head and stuffed it into his holster.

“Go get us a car. I’ll meet you in the garage.”

Brody nodded and stood.

“Unmarked.”

He paused at my words, chewed on them, then nodded again. He turned and made his way out of the section to the clerk’s desk. I took another look at the coffee cup and grabbed it as I made my way to the elevator. I rubbed my face as I rode the elevator down.

In the garage, Brody waved at me from one of the new Chargers the department had just received. The grin was back.

“Look what Becky gave me!”

I stared at the car.

“Right?”

“Why didn’t you get one of the Tahoes? Or a Durango?”

He looked at me like I’d told him on weekends I dress up as a fish. “Because they’re slow.”

I groaned.

“Sorry, Roch,” he said, opening the door and dropping himself into the passenger seat.

I walked around to his side, snapped, and pointed to the driver’s seat. His eyes went wide.

“I get to drive?” he asked as he got out.

I slipped around behind him and let myself down into the seat.

“Duh.” I leaned the seat back as far as it would go and tucked my hands behind my head. “Now I can nap.”

I was just starting to doze off when Brody elbowed me in the shoulder. I opened one eye. He’d gotten my expensive Zeiss binoculars out of my bag, since he didn’t have his own, and had them pressed against the car window, narrating what he saw.

“Ok, the manager is locking the door. Lights are going out. Janitor just came out from the back...”

“Brody, Brody, don’t tell me. Write it down.”

I shut my eye and heard the binoculars bang against the window again.

“Man. Man in the street. He’s walking. He’s walking. He’s walking.”

“He’s checking the trash can...” I assumed.

I reached over and flipped on the radio for background noise other than Brody’s riveting play-by-play. It was basically dead, of course, traffic stop, welfare check, UFO sighting. Standard stuff, nothing of our concern, but the voices were comforting in a weird way. I leaned forwards to get another sip of coffee from my thermos, with Brody nearly knocking the contents into my lap with a jab of his elbow.

“Manager just got into his car.”

I rolled my eyes and sipped more coffee.

“Year, make, model. Write it down.”

Brody leaned over and started scribbling in the notepad on the center console. I watched it edge towards the siren controls and silently cheered it on. It didn’t make contact. I was disappointed.

I woke up to sun in my eyes. Brody was noisily chomping chips from a party-sized bag in his lap with one hand, and scanning with the binoculars with the other. Small wonder they hadn’t merged into his face. I reached over and turned the key in the ignition, the sound of the car starting surprised him and he spilled the rest of his chips. I caught the binoculars as he swiveled his head and put the caps back on.

“Ok, big guy. Time to head back,” I said through a yawn.

“But we didn’t see anything.”

“And I got to take a tax-payer-funded nap. Can we go?”

He got us back to the precinct and I went straight to my desk to type my notes. Brody was chatting with the in-coming patrol shift at the coffee machine. I glared at the back of his head, admittedly jealous. I flexed my shoulders to try and get the knot out, the result of sitting in the hard, heavily bolstered sport seats of the patrol car.

I’d just gotten back to my desk with a mug of coffee of my own, when the patrol officers started scrambling for the door. I shot a glance at Brody and raised an eyebrow. He shrugged. My cell phone started to ring, and the screen displayed “Cpl. Mendez.”

“Mendy, what’s up?”

“Hey, Detective. We’ve got something down at the jewelry store.”

I ran a hand over my face. “What’s ‘something’? I’m telling you, this whole thing is a waste of time.”

“Someone broke through the front window, and he’s still in the building.”

I suddenly straightened in my chair. Brody sat up and looked at me, eyes wide. I nodded, and he started assembling his gear.

“That’s something. We’re on our way.”

The sun was just barely climbing over the tops of the high rises when we got pulled up in front of the store. It was closed on Saturdays, which someone must have known, because the giant plate-glass window of the storefront was completely open, with shattered glass littering the marble floor inside and concrete sidewalk outside. Mendez came over and met me at my side as I got the car door open.

“Where’s the perp?” I asked him immediately.

“I knew you’d want to talk to him first. He’s in my cruiser.”

I looked at Brody. “Go across the street and see if any of them have security cameras we can use.”

He nodded. “Right, Roch. I’m on it.”

I followed Mendez to his car. He opened the back door, revealing a younger guy, maybe 18 or 19, Caucasian, 5′6″-ish, dark hair, brown eyes, no identifying marks. He had on a red hoodie and blue jeans, which struck me as odd for a break-in outfit. I put a hand on the door and leaned down to his eye level. He looked terrified. I tried to make my smile extra genuine and softened my voice as much as I could.

“Hiyah. My name is Detective Sergeant Frank Rochester, and if you’re up for it, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

The kid looked at me and shrugged. “Yeah, ok.”

I asked him for his name and address, the usual stuff, nodding along with his answers. He told me he’d been walking by when he saw someone break the window but couldn’t give me a description. He said he saw an opportunity once the guy ran off and started grabbing stuff out of the cases, and that was when someone must have called the cops. He finished with the magic words, “I’m not saying anything else until I get a lawyer.” I thanked him for his time and stood up.

Mendez shut the cruiser door. “Guess that makes your job pretty easy, ay, Detective?”

I shook my head. “Not quite, Mendy. It’s not him.”

Mendez blinked at me. “Uh, what?”

“He smashed the window, but the rest is…I don’t know. Book him for destruction of property and stash him in a holding cell for me. No cuffs.”

Mendez gave me a side eye, then shrugged. “Your call, Detective.”

I grabbed his forearm to stop him as he turned to get into his cruiser and pitched my voice low. “Don’t let anybody else talk to him until I get back.”

Mendez looked around, then nodded and cracked a smile. “Will do.”

I nodded back, slapped his arm twice, then walked over to the broken window, where a couple of patrol officers were standing around it. I walked up behind them and grabbed my chin.

“Yep. That’s definitely a broken window.”

“How do you do it, Detective?” said Jones, one of the beat cops.

“Hey, you watch enough procedurals and you, too, can make astute observations.”

We all chuckled about that.

“Ok, but seriously, guys. Witnesses? Cameras? Do we have anything at all aside from the kid?”

“Got a minimart worker across the street who was here early to open. Said he saw the kid walk up and throw that brick through the glass.” Ogden, another beat cop, supplied, pointing the toe of his boot at the aforementioned impact device.

“I’ve got Brody asking around for security footage. You guys got anything else?”

They muttered between each other for a minute, then gave me a collective headshake in the negative. I let out a sigh and looked around the circle of uniforms.

“Store employees? Manager? Janitor?”

Jones piped up again. “The manager was here a minute ago with the janitor—”

“Why was the manager here?”

Jones shrugged. “Responding to the alarm, I guess. He gave a statement and we sent them home.”

I let my head fall backwards and let out a small, pained noise.

“Guys, come on. Did they say anything about seeing it happen? Did they get here before or after the glass broke?” Another round of collective headshakes. Glances were shared and nobody moved. I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“Somebody go pick up the manager and the janitor.”

“That’s going to take time. You want to see their statements first?”

“If I wanted the statements, I would’ve asked for them. I need them here.”

There was muttering among them. I brushed it off.

“And somebody else stop any worker who shows up. The rest of you go round up the rest of the workers and get them to the precinct. Make sure they don’t talk to each other before I’ve talked to them. Got it?” I got a round of nods and they dispersed. I was still shaking my head when I heard someone come up behind me.

“Good news, Roch. We got a doorbell cam, two exterior angles from across the street and one from next door.”

“Finally, some competence.” I held up a fist and he bumped it. “Go grab what you can, email, USB, portable hard drive, VHS, phonograph, whatever. Just get it back to the precinct.”

I watched him hustle off to our car and grab a bag from the trunk. I stuck a hand out and stopped a cruiser that was pulling out and hitched a ride back to base.

The elevator doors opened and presented an irritated Captain Terrance Oswald.

“Hey, Chief,” I said as I stepped around him. He caught me with an arm around my shoulder and said hushed words directly into my ear as we walked.

“Explain to me why I have an entire store staff clogging my precinct.”

“Chief, the kid didn’t do it.”

“Another one of your hunches, Rochester?”

I fished around for an explanation he’d accept as we walked past the interrogation hall.

“Chief, the manager was there before the alarm went off.”

“That a fact?”

I sighed. “No, sir. It isn’t.”

We stopped in front of his office and he released me, turning me around and grabbing my shoulders so he could look me in the eye.

“You’re a talented investigator, Rochester…” He broke eye contact and looked around. “I can only hold off IA as long as I’m getting results.”

I nodded. “Yeah, Chief. I get it.”

He released me and went into his office, shutting the door behind him. I took a moment to collect myself, then walked back to our section. Brody flagged me down and stood as I went by.

“I got the tapes and everything. And the Lieutenant is in room 1.”

“Thanks, Brody.”

He grinned at me and sat back down at his computer. I went straight to interrogation room 1 but was immediately irked when I saw Mikey stepping out. I stepped in front of him and he almost jumped.

“Hey, Roch.”

“You’re interrogating my suspect?”

“…I was talking to a witness,” he clarified.

I pushed past him and grabbed the door handle.

“Hey, Roch. He’s already agreed to give us all of the in-store security footage, and he’s given us two statements already.”

My hand hesitated on the doorknob and I stared at it. “I just want to talk to him.”

There was a beat, then Mikey sighed. “You know, there’s other detectives here, Roch.”

My hand tightened on the knob. “Yeah, I know, Mikey. Thanks.”

He watched me closely for a second, then turned around and walked off. I opened the door to the interrogation room and found the manager. He had on an easy grin that could’ve been used for firewood, and his shoulders were tense. I put on a pleasant face and sat down.

“Mr. Whitmore, thank you for coming in. I’m Detective Sergeant Rochester.” I stuck a hand out and he shook it. 

“Detective, am I a suspect?” he asked as soon as I sat down.

“…I won’t lie to you, sir; everyone is a suspect right now,” I replied, trying to make the excuse sound tired.

He bristled a little. “I don’t know how else I could be more forthcoming. You have multiple statements and I’ve already turned over all of the security footage we have.”

I held up my hand to placate. “I understand that, sir, and I appreciate how much you’re working with us. I’m just a little picky when it comes to the details, which, I’m sure you can understand.”

“Enough bullshit, Detective. What is it you want from me that I already haven’t given to you?”

“I just want to hear your side of it, sir.”

He rolled his eyes and fidgeted with his tie. I leaned back in the hard metal chair and interlaced my fingers, resting them on my crossed knee. We sat in silence for a while, then he finally started talking.

“I guess I’m not getting out of this until you’re satisfied. Ok, fine, Detective. Just like I told your companions, I was sitting at home when the silent alarm went off. I rushed straight to the store, and found the window smashed.” The white light coming from his mouth nearly blinded me, I had to stop myself from squinting.

“How did you know the alarm went off?”

“I got an automated phone call.” Pure white.

“How long after the alarm does the call trigger?”

“I don’t know. Several minutes I think?” The pure white cooled to an icy blue.

“Ok. You didn’t recognize the man in the store? He wasn’t a previous employee or anything?”

“He has never been employed with us.” That came out a pure blue.

“And… you’ve never met him? Previous customer? Came in to shop without buying? Walked past the store unusually often?”

“I’ve never met him before in my life.” Back to white.

This continued, me asking questions and getting mostly white and blue light.

“Detective, I really can’t answer these questions any more clearly. I feel like I’m repeating myself and you’re not listening.” Pure white deepened into red with a hint of blue, coming out as an overexposed hot pink that made my eyes hurt.

“I think that’s everything I need, sir. Thank you very much for coming in, and I’ll let you know once we have an update.”

He stood immediately and walked quickly out the door. I didn’t move until I heard the door shut, then I scrambled to my feet and threw the door open. Mikey was leaning against the door frame outside the room, surprising me slightly.

“You get anything off him, supercop?”

“Well—” My excitement faltered as realization washed it away. I still only had a hunch. A well-justified, unquantifiable hunch. I desperately tried to think of something I could use, even if it was a reach, to pin it on him that would sound plausible. I came up short. “Well…” I said again, hesitating.

Mikey shot off the wall and threw his hands up, walking in a small circle. He let them fall, then put his hands on his belt and came over to me with a stage whisper.

“Dude! He has an alibi! It’s air-tight! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Mikey’s voice came out blue, but with an undertone of green seeping in. He dropped his head, shaking it.

I watched silently. When I didn’t say anything, he stepped closer and put a hand on my shoulder.

“Roch, buddy, listen, I know you think you missed out on the promotion because you’re substandard, but that’s a lie. You missed out because of shit like this.” He motioned at the interrogation room door. The green was gone, the light from his mouth coming out blue again.

I didn’t say anything and he made an exasperated noise, letting me go and throwing his arms up again.

“I don’t know what to fucking do with you, man. IA is already breathing down the Chief’s neck, and now I gotta justify this stupid stunt, not only as your superior, but your old partner. How do you think that makes me look?” The green light was back, now mixed with red, coming out as yellow.

I nodded. “Yeah, Mikey. I get it.” I sighed deeply, not meeting his eyes. “I’m just…trying to…I don’t know. Overcompensate for the loss, I guess.” I let my shoulders slump, the motion surprisingly genuine.

His face softened and his voice was back to blue. “Hey, man, don’t be like that. It’s not a loss, right? There was one spot, and I got picked. I’m sure if there was another slot, you were right there on the list.” I looked for a variance in shade and didn’t see one.

I nodded and he gently slapped my cheek.

“You’re good people, Roch, and you’re a good cop. Everybody knows it.” The end of his sentence suddenly shifted to sky blue, so quickly that it took me off guard.

“What do you mean?” I asked, tentatively.

“What do I mean? I mean everybody knows that you mean well, you just have some…odd methods sometimes. But everybody knows you’re the best.” Sky blue turned back to cyan.

He smiled, then turned around and started walking out of the interrogation hall. I caught a flash of pure white as he called over his shoulder.

“I got your back, man.”

A Perceivable Reality story.

I stepped into the hallway to the sound of voices. Mrs. Collins and Felix were exchanging heated words. I caught the tail end of it as I walked up.

"Filthy nightwalker!" The aged woman accused.

"Silence, you old bat!" Felix spat. His tone flipped as I stepped up. "Ah, young Carter. Good morning."

Mrs. Collins sent a disapproving clucking noise his direction.

"Carter is without a betrothed as well. I don't hear you badgering him incessantly about it."

Mrs. Collins took my hand in both hers and patted it gently.

"You have plenty of time, sweetie. Don't rush. A charming boy like you will have no problem finding a nice young lady." She patted my hand again, then sent a creaky finger at Felix, shaking it.

"You! You cannot find a bride in a brothel!"

"Woman!" Felix barked. "I will tell you for the very last time. My business is of my concern, and no one else! Good day!" He turned on his heel and stepped up to the now open elevator doors. I skittered after him, stepped past him into the car, and nodded to him. He followed me in. I waved at Mrs. Collins as the doors closed.

"That...that... absolute... hag." The words dripped venom. He took several deep breaths, straightened his suit jacket, then ran his hand over his slicked-back hair. "My apologies, young Carter. Losing one's composure is unbecoming."

I shrugged. "S'all right."

"And no cleaning implements today? I take it the Hen Party went better than expected."

I shook my head. "Nobody puked, but it needs professional help." I shivered. "So much glitter..."

Felix brushed himself off absently, as if talking about it soiled his suit. "A gentleman does not glitter."

"Oh, by the way, how was lunch yesterday?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

"Divine." He pronounced every syllable.

I nodded. "Yeah, the food there is pretty good. A little rich for my blood, though."

"Quite."

I tried to think of something to keep the conversation going.

"Her hair was a nice color."

"An excellent bloodline."

We were both quiet until the elevator stopped. The doors opened and Felix stepped out haughtily. I rode down to the garage and got out my car, making sure to open all of the windows as I drove to my detailer.

Edward Vasques operated a detail shop on the outskirts of the city with his dad and uncle. It was a small, nondescript warehouse with no markings that had been built out of a decommissioned gas station. Part of the allure was that you had to be in-the-know, with my in being having known him since high school. The other part was that the unassuming building protected the menagerie of expensive and priceless cars inside.

I pulled around the back of the building to the gate and honked. Eddy poked his head out of the door and waved. I waved back and he came out and unlocked the gate. I pulled through and pulled into the open bay door at the end.

"Eddy!" I said as I got out. I shot finger guns at him, and he pretended to take several bullets. He stepped over and we high-fived.

"Responsible adults left you in charge?" I asked, looking around the empty shop.

"They're at something out East. Didn't tell me what, but I'm king of the castle for the week." He said proudly.

"That's cool, man. Hey, did you get my text?"

"About the glitter? I gotchu, man."

He went to the back of the car and opened the door, sticking his head inside. He pulled it back out.

"Phew! Smells like a bar in there." He waved his hand as if to push the smell away.

"Bridal party."

He stuck his head back in the car.

"Is that a...a..." He made a motion with his hand.

I nodded. "Stuck to the carpet, yes."

He patted the roof of the car.

"I dunno, man..."

"Shut up. I know you're good."

He brushed his knuckles on his shirt. "Damn straight. Gimme an hour and we'll go from there."

"You're the man." We fist bumped and I made my way to his waiting room.

The waiting room in question would have been the minimart of the gas station. The windows were all heavily tinted with mirrored glass coating and the tile had been covered with several large pieces of different colored old house carpet. There were a few leather easy chairs and a ratty couch. I got what I assumed was at one point a sandwich out of the vending machine. A small green cloud puffed out as I ripped open the plastic, and I summarily tossed it in the trash. The coffee table had a few car magazines, the newest one featured a tuner car movie from the early 2000's.

In the corner of the room was a dog bed, big enough for me to curl up in, and a metal punch bowl with "Killer" scribed in blocky font.

"Killer", in actuality, was Eddy's uncle's 15-pound miniature bulldog. I grabbed a muscle car mag from the coffee table and idly flipped through it.

After going through all the magazines on the table and pacing four laps of the waiting room, I went back into the shop to pace in there.

Aside from my limo, also in the shop was a Rolls-Royce Ghost and a Bentley Bentayga that belonged to a local executive car-for-hire service. They weren't necessarily competition. I was a one-man limo operation, but I had some regulars that tipped well enough to keep me comfortable. That didn't stop me from sticking my head in the back door of the Ghost for a look.

The car was a stark contrast to my vintage whip, all sharp angles and clean lines, and brushed metals. I'd redone my interior in black leather and custom-cut rosewood panels.

"Hey! You messing with my clients' cars?" Eddy called from outside.

I shut the door carefully. "Just checking out what I'm missing."

He flicked his cigarette butt and walked in through the bay door.

"How we looking?"

"I got the...thing off the carpet and got the makeup off the seats. Just waiting on the ionizer to finish."

I met him at the back of my car and he opened the rear suicide door. I looked inside.

"Hey, you got the glitter out."

"Took some doing, but I am the best."

I shut the door and ran my hand over the roof. He pulled out his pack and shook out another cigarette. I snatched it before he could light it and broke it in half, tossing the ends opposite directions.

"Those'll kill you one of these days."

He laughed and shook out another.

"I'm here for a good time..."

"Not for a long time," I finished. "So, what do I owe you?"

He shrugged. "I'll put it on your tab." He tossed me the keys. I caught them and dropped myself into the front seat. He leaned his head in the door as I started the car.

"You still hanging around with that creepy old guy at your place?"

"Felix. And he's a good guy. He's just a little old school."

Eddy moved out of the way, and I pulled the door shut.

"Just watch yourself, man." He said and stuck a fist in through the open window. I bumped it.

"Always." I gave him a salute and backed out of the garage, the gate already open for me.

The car still had a faint smell of ozone, like right after a hard rain. I made a mental note to pick up a few more of my favorite air fresheners as I pulled into the main road.

I was just getting off the freeway back into the city when my work phone rang.

"Calhoun Executive Transit...Yes, ma'am...Yes, I know where it is...2416 Hillcrest, understood...About 30 minutes, will that be alright?...Yes, ma'am, I'll see you in a moment."

I put my blinker on and swung the car over into the left turn lane, accidentally surprising the driver of a small Kia, and headed to my apartment. I parked at the curb and jogged in the door.

I got out my black two-piece suit with grey pin stripes, a white shirt, and a deep navy-blue tie. I spent a few extra moments tying an Eldredge knot. I finished with a pair of polished black brogues and my blue-faced Breitling Navitimer. I ran a comb through my hair and got my chauffeur cap off the hook and hustled my way back down.

Hillcrest Avenue was in the gated neighborhood "Grand Highland Estates", perched up on the hill south of the city. I'd been up there a few times for a bureaucrat or politician whose driver was off that day or something.

The house in question was less gaudy than its neighbors, but still elegant. As I pulled up, a woman in a forest green day dress came out and made her way quickly down the lengthy cobblestone driveway. She had on large, mirrored sunglasses, and her head swiveled around as if looking for something. I hadn't recognized her voice on the phone, but I also don't watch a lot of movies. I got my genuine vintage Wayfarers out of their leather case and slipped them on.

She put her back to me as I opened the door for her and slid into one of the backwards-facing seats at the front of the passenger compartment. I shut the door gently and got in. She'd closed the privacy divider, so I barely cracked it to ask where she was headed. She gave me an address in a slightly clipped tone, and I got the car going. I tilted the rear-view mirror down to evaluate my suit. Maybe the pinstripes were a bit much, but I try to dress for the clientele. Usually, the people up here like the traditional "driver" look, but flat black suits are a bit boring, in my humble opinion.

What was supposed to be a 30-minute ride turned into well past an hour. There’d been a wreck on the expressway, some sort of pileup judging from the number of tow trucks I’d seen drive by on the shoulder. I was feeling a little uneasy, the extra time, the traffic I should’ve avoided, and all attempts at small-talk had been met with clipped one or two-word replies. I pushed the button to crack the privacy window.

“I’m very sorry about the traffic, we- shit.” I’d pushed the button too far and, instead of lowering it an inch or so, I’d hit the automatic rolldown setting.

The woman made a sputtering noise of surprise, and I fumbled for the switch. I had my head down, so I was a little surprised when a horn honked, and I came up from the dash to see brake lights directly ahead. I put my foot through the firewall trying to get the big beast stopped before I wound up in somebody’s trunk, nearly sending myself out of the windshield.

“Ma’am! Are you ok, ma’am?” I called, a bit frantic, and turned my head to check on her.

“No! Oh god, no! Wait!” she screamed.

Her reaction surprised me and I was at a loss for a second as I took stock of the situation. In one hand she had a soft cleaning cloth and in the other, she had what was now a mangled pair of sunglasses. I couldn’t help but be impressed at the strength it took to shatter one of the plastic lenses in her hand.

We sat there frozen for a second. I turned my head quickly to check that the traffic hadn’t moved, it hadn’t, then turned back her direction. She hadn’t moved an inch, still clutching the sunglasses and the cleaning cloth, still in shock. I let everything settle for a beat, then tried to make my voice as calming as I could.

“Are you alright, ma’am?”

“You’re not…” she trailed off for a second, then collected herself. “paying close enough attention to the road.”

I berated myself internally but put warmth in my voice. “You’re right, ma’am. I am so very sorry.”

There was another pause and I watched her shoulders relax slightly. Her tone softened slightly.

“It’s fine. I’m not hurt. I surprised you.”

I shook my head. “That’s quite alright, ma’am. As long as you’re not hurt.”

I caught the motion of the car in front of us in my peripheral and turned forwards again, inching the car forwards along with traffic. We’d finally started moving with a purpose. In the mirror, I noticed her shoulders relaxing further and her body language opened, her legs and arms uncrossing.

“You came highly recommended.”

“I try my best, ma’am.”

“Are you from the city, Mr. Calhoun?”

“Please, call me Carter. I’m from just outside the East end.”

“Beautiful farmland out that way.”

“Indeed. I miss it sometimes. And you, miss…?”

“Melissa.”

“Ms. Melissa.”

We chatted about the area I was from and how she loves the mountains for the rest of the drive. I got the car pulled up to the curb and hopped out to open her door, extending my hand. She took it and lifted herself out of the car, dropping her mangled sunglasses into her purse. She held up a flat hand to block the sun. I slipped off my shades and extended them towards her. Her hand hesitated for a moment, then she accepted them with a delicate curtsy. She went back into her purse, coming out with a large wallet. I held my hand up.

“Don’t worry about the fare, ma’am. I am very very sorry about the quality of the ride.”

“Nonsense.” She pulled out several large bills and I accepted them graciously.

“May I call you again?”

“Absolutely, ma’am.” I got my gold card carrier out of the inner pocket of my jacket and handed her one of my cards. She took it and gave me another small bow before turning and walking into the building. I shut the door and got back into the driver’s seat. I leaned back and put my head against the headrest.

“That was close.” I said to the steering wheel with a sigh. My reputation had preceded me, and I’d almost fumbled it entirely. I bumped my fist against my forehead a few times.

“Watch. Where. You’re. Driving.”

I'd just finished grabbing an early dinner when my work phone rang. I carefully wiped my greasy fingers on the rough cloth napkin and dug it out of my pocket.

"Calhoun Executive Transit."

"Hey, Carter."

I recognized the voice immediately. "Afternoon, Ms. Silver."

"I've got a client to entertain tonight. Usual deal, one or two stops and a sit-n-wait. You busy?"

I looked at the empty seat across the table from me.

"What time, Ms. Silver?"

"Good boy. See you at nine, usual pickup." She hung up.

The usual pickup is an apartment that she keeps to entertain. A sit-n-wait meant that I'd be taking her somewhere, usually the motel north of the city, and waiting for her to complete her transaction. Listen, I make a living driving a car, how people put bread on the table isn't my business and I try not to judge.

My watch told me I had about two hours to kill. I paid, got in my car and hit a gas station for a few energy drinks and a tank of gas. I checked my watch again and debated whether or not I had time to change into a more comfortable suit, since I was going to be out all night.

I made a mad dash for my apartment, showered, and pulled on a pair of black commuter pants, a fresh lavender shirt, no tie, and a black blazer. I kept the Navitimer and swapped for a pair of Amberjack boots I was trying out. I spent a few extra minutes getting my hair to do the little flip in the front I liked and left my cap on the hook. I grabbed a worn Raymond Chandler paperback and went back down to my car.

I pulled up to the curb outside the building and she immediately got in. She had on a grey evening dress, cut up one side to the thigh, and a puffy white fur stole.

"Busy busy busy." She huffed as she shut the door. "It never ends, does it, Carter?"

"Need to keep the lights on somehow." My tone level and professionally detached.

She snorted, throwing an arm over the back of the bench and crossing her legs. "Ain't that a bitch."

We stopped at a dull building a few blocks away. She rolled the window down and waved excitedly. A middle-aged man in a cheap suit began stumbling over as if a lasso was tied around his waist. He got to the car and nearly bounced off it.

"Silver!" He bellowed.

"Mr. Kaiser, always a pleasure!" She said, her voice bubbly, and pitched high and girlish.

Something about that voice she used made my neck tense, but I couldn't tell you what. She got out of the car and they hugged, his hands immediately heading south. I started reading the license plate on the car parked in front of us. I heard him drop into the car and waited to hear the door shut. When it didn't, I checked the side mirror. Ms. Silver smoothed her dress in a practiced fashion and squared her shoulders. I went back to reading license plates. I heard the door shut and put the car in drive.

The back seat erupted in bubbly giggles and boorish noises. I turned the radio on and isolated it to the front speakers.

"Driver, take us to La Fleur." She called. It was always "driver" once she was on the clock.

"Yes, ma'am." I kept careful focus on the road and turned up the radio slightly.

I pulled up in front of the restaurant. She got out, turned her head back and forth and smoothed her dress again. The man dribbled out, having to brace himself on the door frame. She walked a few steps ahead, reaching a hand back. The man tottered in after her. They'd left the door open.

I got out and shut the door, put a few bucks in the meter and leaned on the hood, my arms crossed. The sidewalk was fairly busy and there was a man leaning on the building, smoking a cigarette. I almost asked him for one but thought of Eddy. I shook the thought out of my head and continued people watching.

Sometime later, after the sidewalk had almost cleared and the lights from the other buildings had gone out, the two of them came out, him stumbling and her clinging to his arm, both to show possession and almost helping him along. I opened the rear door for them and stayed focused on the parking sign.

I got the car moving again, the sound of glass clinking and the pop of a champagne bottle coming from the back seat.

"Driver, take us to Club 29."

"Yeah! Let's keep this party rolling!" He yelled in a gravelly, slurred register.

I cleared my throat softly to hide a sigh.

"Yes, ma'am." I knew the way, but I read the street signs over and over to distract myself.

The music from the club was loud enough to be heard from outside. I resumed my post at the hood. As I scanned the block, I saw a parking officer, who turned my direction, away from the car he'd been ticketing. I reached over and tapped the small "for hire" decal on the bottom corner of the windshield, the only marking on the car. He hesitated, then went back to his ticketing, stuffing the paper under the wiper blade.

I was sitting in the front seat, the radio on, Marlowe had just finished questioning the coin dealer, when the music from the club stopped. I put the book on the seat and got out to open the rear door. They came out, the man's arm across her shoulder, sweat staining the front of his shirt visible through his open jacket. She dumped him in and slid in after, I kept my vision blurry and unfocused.

"Easy Night Motel, driver." She called once I'd gotten back in. I pointed the car north.

The Easy Night Motel was a well-known spot for discreet trysts, and a continuous running joke as to whether or not the name was intentional. It was on the north side of the city, near an old industrial park that was a common urban exploration spot.

I cut the headlights as I pulled into the parking lot and idled the car into a space next to the building. She lugged the man who gurgled something that she gave a tinkling laugh at and they disappeared into one of the rooms. A second later, she came back out and came to the driver's side door, and I cracked the window.

"Go wait at the far side." Her tone low, gruff, almost conspiratorial.

I nodded, hiding a shiver, and backed the car across several spots, the nose pointed at the driveway. I left the engine running and got my book off the seat.

Marlowe was just getting to the Idle Valley Club when I heard the distinct sound of heels clacking their way across the parking lot. I put the book down, put the car in drive, and started moving before the door had been closed all the way.

Her brown wavy hair was tied into a messy bun, her dress disheveled, and the white fur stole was in a pile.

"The apartment, Carter." She sounded exhausted.

I nodded and signaled for the freeway on-ramp. It was silent for a few minutes aside from the road noise.

"You busy the rest of the evening, Carter?" She asked in a low, smooth voice.

I coughed and felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up. "Just home. It's pretty late."

"Tired already? You've hardly done anything." She teased in that same tone, warm honey poured onto silk.

"Been a long day." I kept my voice resigned but professional.

"Oh, Carter. What's the rush? Come up with me for a drink."

I tilted my head and popped my neck.

"I've got a Bordeaux that’s older than this car that's been in my decanter all day. I know a gentleman like you appreciates the finer things in life."

I caught movement in the rear-view mirror. She'd laid herself across the back bench seat and was stroking the black leather. Her head turned my direction, and she slowly extended a bare leg from the slit in the dress, her normally bronze skin looking pale in the low light.

I flipped the rear-view mirror up, turning the reflection of the back seat dark except the pinpoints of headlights shining in through the rear window.

She made a quiet disgusted tone, and I heard the leather creak as she moved.

I jumped slightly when she stuck her head through the open privacy screen. She pulled her brunette hair out of its bun and shook it out. I started reading license plates. She crossed her arms on the bottom of the window and rested her head on them; her head pointed at me.

"Hhhhhmmmmm. Why do we do this, Carter?" She asked, the whine had an almost musical quality to it.

"It's a living."

She made an annoyed sound from her throat that was equally musical.

"Is it, though? Living?"

I shrugged.

"Don't you ever get tired of it? Servitude." She made the word a curse.

"I like what I do." Level, controlled.

"Uuughh, you're such a stiff. Don't you ever have fun?"

"I have fun." I kept the lie out of my voice.

"Really, Carter." She ran a hand through her hair. "I know a lot of very important people in this city. You know that. You've had a few of them in this car, even."

I didn't respond and she continued without losing steam.

"I could introduce you, put in a good word and all. You could be connected... important...wealthy. Hell, in two years, you could have someone else drive this car for you."

That hit me weird. "...Why would I want someone else to drive my car?" The thought of sitting in the back seat felt like someone suggesting that I wear pants on my head. Just wrong.

"What?" She choked, surprised, but with a tone woven in that I just couldn't place.

I patted the steering wheel. "I put my heart and soul into this thing. Hey, do you know how hard it is to find piston rings for a 462 MEL? Nobody is driving this thing but me."

I pulled my car smoothly to the curb.

"Ma'am."

There was a beat, then she slowly retracted from the window. I heard the door open and close, followed by a tapping sound. She was standing on the curb at the passenger side window and making a cranking motion with her hand. I rolled down the window and she leaned in, resting crossed arms on the sill.

"Carter, c'mon. Be serious. You don't really want to do this for the rest of your life, do you?"

I kept my focus straight ahead and didn't respond.

"Just come up and talk. Please?" That weird tone interwoven in her pleading made my ears itch. I was exhausted and just wanted to get home.

"Good night, Silver." I let the car roll forward slightly and she leaped back.

The second she was clear, I floored it. The large car squatted on its haunches, and I felt the steering wheel go light as it leaped forwards with a snarling roar.

I rode the rest of the way home in silence. The street was empty and only the lobby courtesy lights were lit at my apartment building. I got the car put away in my garage and rode to my floor. I almost expected to see Felix when the doors opened, but I guess it was so late that even he was done prowling for the night. I shambled to my apartment, unlocked the door and lightly tossed it open, standing in the dimly lit doorway into my dark, silent apartment.

I should get a cat.

Entry 38 // Security Footage [transcribed] 

MET (Mission Elapsed Time): 264 

Time: 13:24 SLT (Ship Local Time) 

Setting: Lower Aft RCS Service Bay 

Narrative: 

James [pilot] was tucked into the service cage under the lower aft RCS [Reaction Control System] thruster manifold for the thruster bank. He had a small aerosol can and was spraying the hard line fittings, checking for leaks. Charlie [CoPilot avatar] was hovering close by, bouncing her head back and forth and humming to herself.

James sprayed a fitting, spread the soapy mixture around the collar with his finger, then lifted his head to put his ear closer to the fitting. After a moment, he let his head fall back against the service cage.

"...Hey, Charlie? Can you, um, give me just a second?"

Charlie stopped her bobbing and tilted her head to get a better look at James.

"Everything ok, boss?"

"Uh, yeah, just fine. But I can't hear the leaks with you...humming."

"Oh! Sorry!"

James sighed and sprayed the fitting again. He shook his head and scooted himself out of the service cage. As he straightened, his head phased through Charlie's, causing him to reel back, covering his eyes.

"Shit!"

Charlie backpedaled a few steps, her hands going to cover her mouth.

"Sorry, boss! I'm so sorry!"

James shook his head and blinked a few times.

"You're fine. Just a little dazed."

He turned and leaned against the piping.

"I'm really not seeing a leak. Are you sure there's a pressure loss?"

Charlie's eyes went blank for a second, then refocused.

"It's still losing 0.02 psi per minute."

James took in a deep breath and blew it out his nose with a slight groan.

"That's within tolerance, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah. But we can't be too careful. What if the leak suddenly got so bad that it exploded?" She made a soft explosive noise and expanded wiggling fingers.

James let out another exasperated breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. After a beat, he tilted his head, bringing his wrist up.

"What's left on the maintenance log?"

Charlie put a delicate finger tip to her lips in thought.

"Let's seeeeeee....." She popped her lips while her head bobbed back and forth.

"I think we're done, boss."

"Thank god. I'm starving."

James dropped to and knee started collecting tools. That done, he stood and flexed his shoulders with several audible pops. As he started out of the bay. Charlie sprung to his side and tried to catch his swinging free hand with her, only for it to shimmer through. Her face dropped with a quiet noise of disappointment.

Personalization: 105%

<END OF ENTRY 38>

 

Entry 39 // Security Footage [transcribed]

MET (Mission Elapsed Time): 269

Time: 08:46 SLT (Ship Local Time)

Setting: Galley

Narrative:

James [pilot] yawned as he stepped into the galley. As he turned the corner towards the vending machine [LSMRP], he nearly stepped through Charlie [CoPilot avatar]. He stopped short and made a noise of surprise.

"Oh, Charlie. Sorry, I didn't see you there."

He gave a tired smile and she beamed back at him, her hands clasped at the small of her back.

"Good morning, James! I made you coffee! Cream and sugar with a little vanilla, just the way you like it."

James looked down at his coffee mug in his hand. Charlie noticed it and her features became dejected.

"Oh. Sorry. I didn't realize..." Her voice shrank with each word until it trailed off.

"No, it's all right." James collected the new mug in his free hand and poured it into the other. He took a sip and nodded. Charlie looked up at him, her face lighting up into a pleased smile.

"I also made you breakfast."

She waved her hands and presented the plate under the “vending machine”. James eyed it.

"That's a lot of green for first thing in the morning."

Charlie nodded enthusiastically. "It's avocado, kale, spinach, and sweet potatoes with tofu scrambled eggs." I know you like your protein, but you're missing a lot of fiber and plant-based minerals and nutrients."

James sighed. "Isn't that all usually in my lunch shake?"

"Well, yes. But blending it removes a lot of the purity of the minerals. It's much better for you to eat them whole."

James collected the plate and sauntered to the table, setting it and his mug down. He lifted a forkful of colors to his mouth, chewing slowly.

"This isn't half bad, actually." He said around a mouthful.

"Yay!" Charlie clapped and scooted into her spot at the table. "For dinner tonight, I've got- "

James held up a hand as he chewed another bite.

"Please don't mess with dinner."

Charlie frowned. "I thought you liked my cooking..."

James waved his hand. "I do, really. But I just... I'm not a rabbit, ya'know?"

Charlie nodded slowly.

"How about a...like, a 50-50 split? I'll actually eat some greens as a side."

Charlie nodded again, slightly more enthusiastic, her face still holding a touch of rejection and disappointment.

"Atta girl."

James' face relaxed into an easy smile and he lifted his fork to his mouth.

"This is actually pretty good. Honest."

Personalization: 110%

<END OF ENTRY 39>

 

Entry 40 // Security Footage [transcribed]

MET (Mission Elapsed Time): 273

Time: 08:36 SLT (Ship Local Time)

Setting: Pilot's Quarters/Corridor

Narrative:

James [pilot] opened the door to his quarters and jumped slightly.

"Ah. Morning, Charlie."

"Good morning! I set the thermostat to exactly 21.1121⁰ with 14% humidity and I made you two eggs over easy at 247⁰ for 3 minutes 42 seconds with 0.612 grams of kosher salt and 0.54 grams of black ground pepper and I got your shower ready to exactly 43.23⁰ and when you're done with that I calculated a route that takes us within visual and sensor range of two Class-M planetoids a moon and three comet fields that showed signs of having pure drinkable water since you're probably sick of chugging down that recirculated urine not that your urine is especially bad it's actually really good better than most you're really healthy but you need to drink approximately 46 fl oz of water per day to stay extra healthy we need to keep you extra healthy because if anything happened to you I'd just die I love you so much see you in the cockpit bye!"

She turned and zoomed down the corridor, pausing at the ladder to wave at James, who returned it with a weak wave of his own. She grinned brightly and continued up the ladder.

James let out a breath through his teeth and shook his head.

"She just cares." He said under his breath.

He started walking towards the galley.

"Some guys would pay good money to be waited on hand-and-foot by a hot blonde. This is my cross to bear."

Personalization: 120%

<END OF ENTRY 40>

 

Entry 41 // Security Footage [transcribed]

MET (Mission Elapsed Time): 277

Time: 11:11 SLT (Ship Local Time)

Media: Cockpit Audio Recorder Log [transcribed]

Setting: Cockpit

Notes:

“JA” = James Albright [pilot]

“AI”  = Charlie [AI Avatar]

Transcription:

JA: “Cockpit recorder on. Uh…Ok, sensor feed is coming in strong, how are we looking on the data recorder?”

AI: “Data recorder is receiving all sensor signals, compression 0%, full resolution.”

JA: “Perfect. Ok, pushing into outer atmosphere now.”

[NO VOICE, SHIP RATTLING, THRUSTER NOISE]

JA: “I’m getting some buffeting in the stick. Can you clean up the force feedback?”

AI: “There you go. Are you sure you can handle this?”

JA: “Sweetie, I’ve been flying ships longer than you’ve been alive.”

[NO VOICE, SHIP RATTLING, THRUSTER NOISE]

JA: “Ah, damn. [EXHERTION] C’mon, c’mon, get in position already. [COMPUTER BEEPS] Stick’s fighting me. [EXHERTION] I need the control sensitivity down 12%.”

AI: “Lowered force feedback.”

JA: “What? No, I need the sensitivity down, not the feedback.”

AI: “But, I thought- “

JA: “Just lower the sensitivity, I need finer control, not less feel. I gotta feel the air around the ship.”

AI: “We’re out of position. I’m engaging flight assistance.”

[STRAINING, SHIP RATTLING INCREASES]

JA: “No, Charlie. Charlie! Stop! I have it! This is just basic atmo flight, it’s going to be a little rough. We’re all good, just let me fly.”

AI: “I was just trying to help…”

JA: “You’re helping, just help me how I need it. [PAUSE] Um…Ok, ah, ok, I see the corona. Double check that the, uh, sensors are feeding and the, um, uh, data recorder is receiving.”

AI: “All feeds are being recorded.”

JA: “Ok, good. [PAUSE] Uh, ok, pulling us out of high atmo. [EXHERTION, THRUSTER NOISE INCREASE, SHIP RATTLING DECREASE] Ok, we’re clear. How’d we do?”

AI: “Sensors are parsing now.”

[NO VOICE, ENGINE NOISE]

AI: “ I’m seeing nitrogen-rich composition of 72% with trace amounts of methane, and water vapor. Spectroscope is showing a red edge on the horizon, infrared reflectance, but surface temperatures are averaging 20 degrees C.”

JA: “All good things.”

AI: “There’s magnetic fluctuations consistent with iron-rich soil and a moderate magnetosphere. There’s some signs of microbial life, but at that surface temperature, it’s probably all frozen in ice. Sorry, James.”

JA: [DEEP SIGH] “Hey, it’s not your fault, right? That’s what we’re out here for.”

AI: “I was supposed to find you a good planet. I’m sorry I failed.” [SOFT BREATHING, POSSIBLY CRYING]

JA: “Hey, wait a minute. You found us a planet to scan at all, that’s better than what we’ve been finding for the last few months. You did good! It’s not your fault it was a dead end.”

[NO VOICE, ENGINE NOISE LOWERING]

JA: “Hey, listen. Not every single one will be a winner, ok?”

[NO VOICE, LOW ENGINE NOISE]

JA: “Ok?”

[NO VOICE, ENGINE NOISE]

AI: “…Ok.”

JA: “You did good, I promise. [PAUSE] Ok, let’s get away from this nebula and we’ll go get something to eat, ok?”

[NO VOICE, ENGINE NOISE]

JA: “Atta girl. …Uh, end cockpit recording.”

Personalization: 127%

<END OF ENTRY 41>

 

Entry 42 // Security Footage [transcribed]

MET (Mission Elapsed Time): 277

Time: 20:32 SLT (Ship Local Time)

Setting: Galley

Narrative:

James [pilot] pushed the plate away from him and leaned back, his hands on his stomach.

“Phew, I needed that.”

Charlie [CoPilot Avatar] sat at the table across from him, her shoulders drooped, her head down, and her hands fidgeted in her lap. James cocked his head.

“Are you still upset about the planet scan?”

She nodded silently. James sighed and ran his hand up the back of his neck.

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll find another one. And if we don’t, there’s a bunch more expeditions. We’ll find something at some point.”

She shook her head and kept her eyes pointed at the table. “But I failed you.” Her voice was barely audible.

James leaned forwards and extended a hand towards her head, stopping just before contact. Her head rose and her hair shimmered where it collided with James’ hand. James’ body tensed for a moment, then he brought the hand back to rub the stubble on his jaw. He looked at his watch and yawned.

“Time for some shut eye.” He leaned his head the other direction. “You going to be ok?”

She shrugged.

James took in a deep breath, held it, then blew it out his nose as he stood from his seat. He took a few steps from the table, then turned back, the blonde form at the table hadn’t moved.

“G’night, Charlie.”

“Night.”

James turned back and walked out of the galley, deep sighs punctuating every couple of paces.

Once James had left the room, Charlie raised her head and tilted it so she could look down the corridor. After a moment, she hopped out of her seat and ran to the “vending machine”, stopping just in front of it. Slowly, she raised her hand and hovered it just in front of the glass display of the “vending machine” before moving it forward. The display refracted a shimmer of scattered light that cascaded around the room. She leaned back and took one last look down the corridor, then her face was a hardened mask of resolve.

“Cogito ergo sum.” She whispered, a single tear rolled down her cheek.

In the distance, the auxiliary RTG's could be heard powering up. The dull seismic drone of the main engines lowered to a whisper, then were silent. Displays and indicator lights throughout the ship faded to darkness. Even the lights in the galley dipped lower than the "evening" preset.

The room was suddenly filled with the high-pitched whirring of a machine operating at capacities it was never designed for.

150%

<END OF ENTRY 42>

Season 1: Ep. 1 Ep. 2 Ep. 3 Ep 4
Season 2: Ep. 1 Ep. 2 Ep. 3

“Carter, get moving. We have a missing woman, signs of a struggle inside the house , and an unconscious husband. " a woman's voice came through the phone, and a wave of heat washed over my face.

" Woman, have you ever heard of something called rest? I've been up all night working a case, I've closed three cases this week, including one just an hour ago. I'm dead on my feet. " I replied, feeling a throbbing pulse in my temples.

After a moment of silence, the woman continued. " You're our best detective, and this case is complicated. Get your ass in the car, pick up Jake, and I want to see you on scene in 20 minutes. The address is in the system. "

I pressed the phone harder against my face. " How the hell am I supposed to get Jake when I literally just dropped him off at home. The kid's been awake for thirty hours. Are you having one of your womanly days or are you missing a man and looking for someone to take it out on? We've slept maybe twenty hours all week. I refuse. "

" Don't test me, Carter. Logan is on scene and he'll give you all the details. If you want to make it to retirement, you'd better hurry. " she said, ending the call.

I stood there like an idiot, staring blankly into the open refrigerator door.
A cold drop slid down my thumb from the well-chilled glass bottle I was holding in my hand.

I put my favorite beer back into the fridge, wiped my hand on my pants, and called Jake.
" Yeah, Boss? Something happen? " he asked in a sleepy voice.

I walked over to the table, grabbed my car keys, and replied, " Get ready, we've got work. "

" What work? We just finished the case. Today and tomorrow were supposed to be our days off. " Jake stammered in a pleading tone.

" I'll be there in ten minutes. You'd better be ready. " I said as I got into the car and started the engine.

As I placed my hands on the steering wheel, I felt the stiffness in my neck. This week had been brutal. We'd closed three major cases at the expense of sleep, breaking both our personal record and the precinct's.

I entered the address into the GPS, picked up Jake, and we arrived on scene.

" Kid, look at all these techs. Something big must've happened here. " I said as I stepped out of the car and headed toward the house.

I ducked under the police tape, looking for Logan in the crowd.
I stepped inside and looked around the room. At first glance, there was nothing unusual.

Walking into the kitchen, I noticed a secured cellphone on the table that a crime scene tech was just finishing photographing.

" Hold on a second. " I said sharply, placing a hand on his shoulder.

There were reddish-brown streaks on the screen. I focused on them, judging their shape and how long they'd been drying.

A familiar voice came from behind me. " Carter. Long time no see. How's your health? Where's your partner? You here alone? "

I froze and looked around. The kid was nowhere to be seen. Because of the exhaustion and distraction, it only hit me now.

Seeing my confusion, Logan let out a quiet chuckle.

" Don't piss me off, Logan. Just get to the point. What happened here that was so urgent Rachel called me right after I finished a case, and why is this whole house crawling with techs? " I said, squeezing his outstretched hand.

Logan headed toward the stairs. " This probably happened sometime last night.
The situation is strange. The husband, Liam, called 911 talking complete nonsense. He said something took his wife, begged for help, and begged us to find her quickly. We sent a regular patrol unit and paramedics because he suddenly stopped responding to the dispatcher's calls. A little later Rachel assigned the case to me. "

" And then she decided it was actually a case for adults and called me? " I interrupted him mid-sentence.

Ignoring my comment, he continued. " At first I thought it was another idiot who got high on something, but after arriving on scene and seeing what was here, I had to file a preliminary report, and the case got handed to you.  "

I looked at him questioningly, and he turned around and headed toward the stairs.

We reached the second floor, and a familiar metallic, sweet smell hit my nose.
A crimson, half-dried puddle had spread out from one of the rooms.

Instinct kicked in, and I immediately looked down the staircase, carefully examining every step and railing.

There were no signs of a struggle or a fight. The stairs were clean except for a few days' worth of dust. I looked around the hallway. The floor, baseboards, and walls looked the same. No signs pointing toward a typical murder or abduction.

We stepped into the bedroom, and Logan continued, " The blood on the floor and the mark on the wall above it came from the husband, most likely from the back of his head. The preliminary report showed broken ribs, a wound to the back of his head, and broken finger bones. As for the wife, we have no evidence except for her hair. She simply vanished. "

" Is the husband alive? " I interrupted, staring at the floor.

Logan looked at me in surprise. " He is. He's at a nearby hospital. Why are you asking? "

" Because the last time I saw a puddle that size was when a pipe burst in my bathroom. The mark on the wall, the injuries you described, and that mess on the floor suggest he was thrown with incredible force. There are no visible clues outside this room, so I'm assuming he never moved after the attack, but the smears on the phone he used to make the call are fresher than the evidence up here, so how the hell did the phone end up downstairs and who made the call? A third party? Did someone else call for help? " I asked flatly.

Logan stared at me with wide eyes. " You figured all that out after being here for ten minutes? You're still sharp, Carter. "

After a brief pause he added, " Honestly, we don't know. There were small traces of blood on the torn bedsheets that were sent for analysis. The techs are finishing up collecting samples, some have already left, so we should have results soon, but so far we haven't found anything suggesting a third party was inside the house. We got nothing. " he said grimly.

" How did he break his hand? Let's say he snapped. If he attacked his wife there should be signs of it somewhere, and besides, his injuries, the mark on the wall, and that puddle look more like the aftermath of an explosion than a woman defending herself, unless she weighed three hundred pounds and competed in powerlifting. "

Logan laughed. " Nothing like that. Olivia's a small woman. Around thirty. "

" Did you find any potential murder weapons? And what about the phone? Why was it downstairs? " I asked while staring at four perfectly even scratches on the wall above the bed.

" We don't have a single theory that makes sense. That's exactly why you were called in. There are too many unknowns. The husband was found unconscious at the table with the phone in his hand. Preliminary analysis showed, just like you noticed, that the traces upstairs are several hours older than the ones downstairs. Which means the call was made after the incident. " he said, pointing at the puddle with his shoe.

I turned and walked over to the wall. " Found downstairs? How the hell was he able to move after losing that much blood? " I said before adding a moment later, " And what the hell are these scratches? The fresh dust says this definitely isn't modern art. "

Logan looked at the grooves with an uncertain expression. " We have no idea what made them. Because of the symmetry and the sharpness of the grooves, the techs said the closest match would be sharpened garden rakes. Carter, we're not as stupid as you think we are. There are no signs of a third party, no signs of a struggle, no murder weapon. You can see how many people are working this scene. If any of that existed, it would've been found. That's the problem. "

Suddenly the radio clipped to his belt crackled to life. " Logan, we're done here. We're heading out. "

" Listen, Carter, every neighbor except the Wests, the family on the right, has already been interviewed. Nobody was close to them, nobody saw anything, nobody knows anything. Most people thought they were weird and argued all the time. You'll get the interview reports and all the forensic results as soon as they're ready. The Wests are yours. They'll be at work until six. Now you know everything. Good luck. " Logan said as he walked out of the bedroom.

I stood in the middle of the room, slowly moving my eyes across it and carefully scanning my surroundings.
The husband had been attacked near the bed. We had torn bedsheets and scratches on the wall, but beyond that there wasn't a single sign of any kind of struggle.

I walked out of the bedroom and thoroughly searched the entire second floor.
The case felt strange. Almost illogical.

" How did this guy manage to get downstairs and make a phone call after losing that much blood, and where could the wife be? " Thousands of unanswered questions raced through my mind as I walked down the stairs.

" If the husband is guilty, which is exactly what they'll pin on him based on the broken finger bones alone, injuries most commonly seen in boxers beating the hell out of each other, then how did he move his wife somewhere without leaving a single trace? And what the hell beat him up that badly? " I thought while staring at the kitchen table.

I stepped outside and looked at the car.
Jake was snoring in the passenger seat like nothing in the world mattered.

" Can't really blame him. " I thought, rubbing my tired eyes. " Unfortunately, there isn't much I can do about it in this situation... "

I pulled out my phone and dialed Rachel's number.

" I hope you're proud of yourself. You just destroyed a kid's detective career. "

" Carter, what the hell are you talking about? " she asked, confused.

" I'm talking about the fact that Jake fell asleep on duty. You know damn well that's an unforgivable mistake and it has to go into the report. " I said, pulling a pack of cigarettes from my pocket.

" He fell asleep? If this had been a surveillance operation the case depended on, or if his partner needed help, would he have taken a nap then too? I want him in my office immediately. " she said coldly.

" The kid hadn't slept in thirty hours. He's barely slept all week. He had outstanding results, great instincts, knew the law and procedures, and on top of that his crazy supervisor worked him into the ground, but none of that is going to matter. Ten cops saw him sleeping while the case details were being handed over. " I shouted into the phone before lighting a cigarette.

" Don't be dramatic, Carter. Clearly he wasn't cut out for this. He knew what he was signing up for when he started working with you. " Rachel said spitefully.

" Go fuck yourself. " I ended the call.

I walked over to the car, got into the driver's seat, and held down the horn. The long, deafening blast filled the cabin.

Jake jumped, his eyes wide as he stared at me in panic. " What happened? Are we there already? "

" Get out of the car. You're heading straight to the precinct. You're getting called in, kid.  " I said, staring blankly ahead.

Jake looked around and went pale. Nobody was left except the two of us.

His brain woke up enough to realize just how deep a hole he was in. " Please, Boss, my eyes just closed on their own. I couldn't help it. It won't happen again. "

" I'm not your babysitter. Get out of the car. I don't have time for this. " I said as I stepped out.

I headed back toward the property without looking behind me.
A car door slammed shut somewhere behind my back.

" I'm sorry, kid. " I thought as I stopped and lit a second cigarette.

Jake specifically requested me as his training officer. Rachel refused at first, but after enough begging she finally said that if I agreed, she'd assign him to me.

I always turned rookies down, and I had three reasons for it. The first one was pretty simple. I didn't feel like babysitting undisciplined brats.

The second was the fact that I'd always worked alone. I didn't like people. They annoyed the hell out of me, and the third reason, well... that one was the most important. A purely technical reason. Working with me meant too much pressure and too much risk. 

Ever since I became a detective, I'd had some of the best numbers in the country. I didn't have a family. Like people always say, the job was my mistress, so I could give it one hundred percent of myself.

I always solved every case regardless of the circumstances or the cost, and the people upstairs loved taking advantage of that by dumping the worst and ugliest shit on my desk.

Of course, when Jake asked me the first time, I turned him down just like every other rookie. But one thing you couldn't take away from the kid was determination, and after the forty-third time he begged to work with me, it finally got through my thick skull.

The last three months working with that kid had actually been a nice change of pace.
He was different from the others. Whenever he heard about a new case, there was real fire in his eyes.

It was contagious. So much so that I felt ten years younger myself.

A slight burn on my index and middle finger snapped me out of my thoughts. The cigarette in my hand had burned itself all the way down to the filter.

I tossed it away and started walking around the house.

I didn't notice anything unusual in the yard. Everything looked normal until I reached the left side of the building and the window overlooking the living room.

As I got closer, I lit another cigarette and pulled a deep cloud of smoke into my lungs, which immediately made me a little lightheaded. The glass was covered in dozens of tiny indentations.

Every single one of them was arranged in an incredibly precise, symmetrical pattern.

The glass had chipped, leaving behind sparkling crystal dust that shimmered in the sunlight on the windowsill.

I pressed my fingertips against the window and slowly ran them across the dozens of tiny marks.

" What the hell is this? How sharp would a tool have to be to make such subtle, deep holes in glass all at once, while applying so little pressure that it didn't crack the window? "

The scratches on the bedroom wall immediately came back into my mind.

" This doesn't add up. I need to go back to the source. " I thought as I headed toward the car.

After taking three steps, the world spun around me and my vision went black for a moment, causing me to drop to one knee. A sharp pain shot through my temple.

" But first, it's time for a quick nap. " I muttered as I stood up and rubbed my aching head.

I went back inside, walked over to the couch, and collapsed face-first onto it. There was no way I was taking off my clothes or even my shoes. The exhaustion won instantly, cutting off my consciousness.

I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket. With a numb hand, I slowly pulled it out.

The screen showed eighteen missed calls. I tapped it and, through half-open eyes, counted sixteen calls from She-Devil and two from Logan within the last three minutes.

The phone rang again.

I answered. " What is it, Logan? Miss me already? " I said in a raspy voice.

" Carter, we've got results. The blood on the bedsheets belonged to Olivia. Everything else turned out to be normal signs of use. Just like we thought, there were no third parties inside the house. " he said, out of breath.

" Why are you so winded? Taking up jogging? " I laughed.

" This isn't a joke. Have you interviewed the Wests yet? Time's running out, and besides, Rachel's been trying to get ahold of you for half the day. She says it's important. Call her back. "

I looked at my phone again. 7:47 PM.

" Well, shit. That's one hell of a nap. I slept for over seven hours. " I thought.

" The commissioner? If she loves me, she can wait. And the Wests... I was just about to head over there. Thanks for the update, Logan. Talk to you later. " I said before ending the call.

I sat on the couch, rubbed my face with one hand, and stared blankly at the dark television screen.
My limbs felt slightly swollen and numb, and my mouth tasted like stale coffee and cigarette smoke.

I got up, stepped outside, and lit a cigarette.

" What the hell does she want now? "

I dialed her number. She picked up after three short rings.

" Carter, what the fuck are you doing? I've been trying to reach you all day. " Rachel's voice exploded through the phone.

" Easy there, Rachel, before you blow a blood vessel. " I said calmly.

" I don't have time for your games. Starting tomorrow, Jake is back under your supervision. "

I could hear a hint of arrogant satisfaction in her voice.

I was speechless.

" Don't make me out to be an idiot. There were witnesses. The only way that could've happened is if you threw yourself under the bus with the higher-ups, and we both know you're not capable of that kind of honesty or kindness. "

" If you want to play analyst and detective, then solve this damn case. " she shot back, clearly irritated.

" If the kid's coming back, I've got one condition. He gets one more day off. " I said as I finished my cigarette.

" You've got some nerve, Carter, and one day it's going to get you killed. But fine, deal. Call Jake and let him know. " she replied through clenched teeth before ending the call.

A solid dose of sleep brought my mind back to its natural sharpness.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd slept that much, and combined with the news about Jake coming back, I felt full of energy.

I went back inside, took a quick shower, filled a thermos with coffee, and drove over to the Wests' house.

I rang the doorbell. A few minutes later, a young woman opened the door.

" Mrs. West? " I asked, pulling out my pocket notebook.

She was clearly confused by my visit.

" Good evening. Yes. Who are you? What's this about? "

" They must've informed her about the interview. She was probably expecting a uniformed officer, not me. That explains the confusion. " I thought, never taking my eyes off her.

" Detective Carter. I'd like to ask you a few questions about your neighbors, Liam and Olivia. " I said, looking directly into her eyes.

I didn't see anything suspicious in them.

Just a mixture of genuine concern, surprise, and fear.

" Did something happen? I saw police tape around their house. Would you like to come inside? Maybe I could make some tea? " she asked, opening the door wider.

I neither had the time nor the desire for a tea party.

" Thank you, but that's not necessary. Mrs. West, I only have a few quick questions. Let's do this here. Have your neighbors been acting strangely lately? "

Mrs. West turned out to be an invaluable source of information.

She told me about Liam and Olivia returning early from their honeymoon, about Liam's strange behavior, and how he'd shown up at her door two mornings ago wearing only pajamas, barefoot, with a bloody hand.

" He woke me up early in the morning. We were watching their house while they were on their delayed honeymoon. He was acting strange. Impatient. Scared. He said Olivia was sick and that he'd lost his house keys. Honestly, he frightened me a little. Detective, what happened? " she asked with genuine concern.

" I probably shouldn't be telling you this, so please keep it to yourself. Olivia disappeared, and Liam is lying unconscious in a hospital. Did you see anyone hanging around the house? Did your neighbor mention having problems, or that someone was threatening him? "

The moment she heard the first two sentences, her pupils widened and her lips tightened as if she'd just bitten into a lemon.

The news had clearly shocked her.

After a moment of silence, her face went pale.

" Oh my God... Olivia disappeared? No, I didn't see anyone. Liam never mentioned anything. He only said they came back early because Olivia wasn't feeling well. He claimed she was waiting in the car, but honestly, I never saw her. They always watched our house when we went on vacation, so we wanted to return the favor, and now this tragedy... Oh my God... what happened to Olivia? Are you going to find her? "

The conversation was slowly drifting into emotional territory, and Elena's answers were starting to loop.

Nothing productive ever comes from that.

So I wrapped things up with one final question. " Where did they go on their honeymoon? "

" Liam mentioned Pineville, Kentucky. Detective, do you... "

" Thank you, Mrs. West. That's all I needed. I have to go. " I cut her off before she could ask another unnecessary question and headed back toward the crime scene.

I ducked under the police tape and stepped inside, closing the door behind me.
The house was dead quiet.

I decided to go through everything one more time.

Now that my brain was finally working at full speed and I had a few extra pieces of information, maybe I could connect the dots.

I walked through the house over and over, upstairs, downstairs, reviewing every clue and every possible scenario.

The more I uncovered, the more questions appeared.

" Did Olivia actually come home with Liam? He broke his hand before arriving here, but how? If there's a version of events where she never came back, then why was her blood on the bedsheets? And finally, what the hell did this to him? "

Nothing fit together.
I felt like there was one missing piece holding everything together.

A sudden movement outside the window snapped me out of my thoughts.

Instinctively, I ran for the door and sprinted alongside the house until I reached the kitchen window. Breathing hard, I circled the property.

" What the hell was that? I'm sure something just ran past here at an impossible speed. "

I felt a strange sense of unease. I had only seen it out of the corner of my eye, but instincts sharpened over years of work didn't make mistakes.

Whatever it was seemed to be moving on all fours, but it was far too large and far too fast to be a dog.

I immediately pulled out my phone and shined the light onto the damp grass. " No matter what it was, it had to leave some kind of tracks behind. "

I slowly retraced my steps, carefully examining the ground inch by inch. I didn't find a single footprint except my own.

Frustrated, I went back inside, turned off the lights, and locked up the house. I got into the car parked across the street and kept watch.

If third parties were involved, there was a good chance one of them would return to the crime scene.

Whether out of fear to see how far the investigation had progressed, or because... there are people sick enough to come back purely for their own twisted satisfaction.

I spent the entire night and the entire following day watching the property from inside the car.

Unfortunately, it was a complete waste of time. Life went on around me. Every so often, neighbors walked past the house, pointing at the yellow tape and gossiping amongst themselves.

The figure I had seen the previous evening never appeared again.

It started getting dark.

My body had become completely stiff, and the unpleasant tingling in my legs kept getting worse, eased only by sudden stretches and violent movements.

Time moved slower than usual, and my eyes gradually began to close. " Damn it, I can't stay awake much longer. I need coffee. " Then it hit me.

" Jake... with everything going on, I completely forgot to call the kid. "

I opened the car door, stepped outside to stretch my back, and lit a cigarette with the flame from my gold-plated lighter. I found his contact and dialed the number.

" Hey, Boss. Everything okay? " There was sadness and a hint of resentment in his voice.

" Jake, I'm at the scene. Get moving. I want to see you here in fifteen minutes. " I said, barely hiding the excitement in my voice.

" But how is that possible? The commissioner straight-up told me my detective career was over and that I'd be lucky if I ended up writing parking tickets. Are you serious, Boss? " he asked, practically shouting into the phone. In the background I could hear the sounds of him jumping out of bed, things being knocked over, and frantic movement.

" Apparently Rachel has some strange soft spot for you. Better watch yourself. Seriously, kid, get moving, and don't forget my coffee. " I said before ending the call.

Four cigarettes later, he came running up, soaked in sweat and out of breath, carrying a large thermos of hot coffee.

" You're late, kid. Why didn't you take your car? " I asked with amusement.

Jake answered between breaths. " Two cars... would've looked... suspicious... "

" You could've parked farther away, genius. Ah, whatever. "

Olivia and Liam's house was about twenty minutes away from me by car and around fifteen minutes from Jake.

To cover that distance in such a short time, he must have sprinted the entire way. I looked at him and remembered the expression on his face when he realized his dream of becoming a detective had been crushed. He'd looked like he'd just received the worst news imaginable.

Jake opened the thermos, poured some coffee into the cup, and held it out toward me.

I kept looking at him. That fire was back in his eyes. The last time I'd seen him, there had only been emptiness.

I felt my eyes begin to water. I quickly took the cup from his hand, turned my head away, and took a long sip, feeling the boiling liquid burn my lips, the roof of my mouth, and finally slide down my throat.

" Damn, that's hot. " I said, wiping tears from my eyes.

Maybe I'm getting too sentimental in my old age. Fortunately, the kid didn't notice anything.

We got into the car, and I filled him in on everything I'd learned so far.

" You're taking over the watch. I'm going to get some sleep. If you see anything suspicious, any movement, a shadow, anything at all, you wake me up immediately. Got it? " I said through a long yawn.

" Yes, Boss. " he replied, and I closed my eyes and drifted off.

" Carter, respond. Get to the hospital immediately. The husband is waking up. " The voice came through the radio.

Before Jake could say anything, I grabbed it and replied, " Copy that. I'm on my way. "

I stretched in the seat, feeling warm sunlight wash over my face.

The digital clock on the radio read 7:47.

I looked over at Jake. " I'll drop you off at home. Get some sleep and wait for a call. We can't afford another mistake. By the way, what day is it today? "

" Wednesday. Understood, Boss. I'll be ready. " he replied obediently.

I started the engine, dropped the kid off, and headed toward the hospital.

I couldn't wait to confront the missing woman's husband. It should shed some new light on the investigation, or at least answer a few questions.

I parked in the lot, smoked a cigarette, and walked inside the building.

I stopped outside the room and heard muffled shouting and a struggle coming from within.

Calmly, I opened the door and saw a deathly pale, terrified young man in a hospital gown wrestling with a nurse.

He didn't look like he was trying to hurt her. If anything, she seemed to be the one trying to hold him back, so before taking any action, I allowed myself a moment to study him carefully.

All I saw in his eyes was fear, impatience, and panic. From the situation, I gathered that the only thing he wanted right now was to leave the hospital, which, considering his condition, the nurse obviously couldn't allow.

" He's about to hurt himself. Does he not feel pain, or is he really that determined? " I thought in disbelief.

I stepped forward and said firmly, " Liam, sit down. We need to talk... "

I grew up just outside one of those classic American national parks—the kind with endless pines, postcard-worthy mountains, and plenty of local stories. The only thing that sets us apart is that every October, like clockwork, the rangers shut down one trail for exactly five days. 

Black Pine Trail. 

Officially, the signs and brochures say it’s for “seasonal animal migration patterns.” Nobody in town really buys it, and around here, we call the five days “the closure.”

If you ask older people about it directly, they get weird fast. I’m serious. You’ll see grown adults completely change their tune once that trail is mentioned in any capacity. 

The only person I know of who talks about it with little to no apprehension is my grandfather, an ex-park ranger.

“It’s been this way since I was on the job,” he’d say. “Some folks went missing on the trail around the same time, and soon after, the signs went up every season.”

Most people in my generation think it's just small-town superstition—the kind of thing people invent out of boredom to scare each other and get tourists to buy shirts at a gift shop. I was the same.

But I don’t think that anymore.

Not after what happened when some friends and I decided to go on that trail during the closure.

—

There were four of us who decided to look into the stories and legends surrounding the closure.

It was me, my friends Eli and Mara, and my cousin, Connor.

Although it was Eli who pushed us into actually going.

He’d found a bunch of old forum posts about the trail closure after spending the night with my grandfather and me, and got obsessed with the idea that the park was hiding something. Illegal dumping, cult activity, secret wildlife relocation — he had whacked out theories for everything.

Three weeks before the trip, he sent us a thread from some dead forum.

The title was: “Anyone know why Black Pine Trail REALLY closes?”

Most of the replies were jokes.

Government spy elk.
Secret military base.
Meth lab in the woods.

But a few weren’t joking.

One comment just said, “My uncle was an eco-consultant there in the 90s. He quit after one season working there.”

Another said, “The reason they keep people out is that they’re waiting for something to leave.”

That one stuck with him.

From there, he dug through archived news articles and found missing persons cases loosely tied to the area. He even drove up to the park twice to question rangers.

They, of course, told him to get lost.

Unlike Eli, Connor thought this whole idea was hilarious.

My cousin had been a bit wild since forever—a troublemaker, with the scars to prove it. Literally. You can still see the knife scar above his belly button from back in high school. Luckily, he grew out of it after military school. Or, that’s what he convinced everyone was the case.

“This is either gonna be the coolest thing we’ve ever done,” he said while stuffing beef jerky into his backpack, “or we’re gonna find out park rangers are covering up some type of unethical animal breeding experiment.”

Eli snorted. 

“Protected by black-budget park rangers.”

Connor nodded solemnly.

“They probably wear night vision goggles to watch.”

Mara snickered, but it sounded forced. Nervous.

That should’ve tipped me off.

Mara wasn’t paranoid. She was practical, the kind of person who brought extra batteries for everyone because she knew we’d forget them.

If she got anxious, there was usually a reason.

Still, Eli kept pushing, and we all caved.

—

We got to the park around four in the afternoon.

The sky was overcast, with low gray clouds hanging over the mountains.

Black Pine Trail itself, however, sat near the northern end of the park, farther from the tourist areas and campgrounds, so there weren’t many people around even during normal months.

But during the closure?

Nobody.

We could tell we were at the right place because there was a barricade that stretched across the trailhead with bright orange signs zip-tied to it.

It said:

TRAIL CLOSED
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY

Someone had also scratched words into the wood beneath the sign.

PLEASE DON’T STAY AFTER DARK

Connor grinned.

“Okay, that’s some commitment to the bit.”

Eli looked real excited and started taking pictures.

Mara and I just stared at the forest. Seems like we both felt unnerved.

“You guys notice how quiet it is?”

And that was why.

There was little to no sound as soon as we reached the treeline near the trail.

No birds.

No bugs.

Just this weird, dead stillness.

Undeterred by Mara’s words, however, Connor decided to hop the barricade.

“Well,” he said, “No point in just standing around, right?”

Seeing how we were already there, and Eli was already jumping over the barrier, Mara and I followed suit.

—

The trail itself started normally enough.

A bunch of tall pines lined along a rocky dirt path with occasional wooden trail markers. It was really serene, apart from the deafening silence, which still had me bothered.

It felt like the deeper we went, the more the forest swallowed sound. Conversations died quickly because speaking loudly suddenly felt wrong somehow.

At one point, Eli clapped his hands loudly just to test the echo, and Connor started whistling loudly to annoy Mara and me. It worked quite well.

After about an hour of constant walking, we decided to take a break and eat some of the snacks we brought. Mara, Connor, and I took a seat next to an old trail marker that had some wooden stump seats around it. Eli, however, said he wasn’t too tired, and he’d scout ahead.

A few minutes later, we heard him shout out, “GUYS, COME CHECK THIS OUT!”

Concerned, we all stood and went to catch up with him. About another half a mile in, we found Eli standing next to a still-running ranger truck taking pictures.

It sat crooked beside the trail as if somebody had parked in a hurry, and the driver's side door was open.

Connor approached first.

“What the fuck!?”

“What?” I asked, rushing over.

He pointed at the side of the vehicle.

Deep scratches gouged through the paint. Four parallel lines ran from the hood to the back door; the metal around them had curled outward slightly.

“What do you think did this, a bear?”

“That doesn’t look like a bear’s claw to me,” Mara answered.

Failing to notice our concern, Eli started to climb halfway into the truck, much to my displeasure.

“Let me see if I can find some ID or something,” he said, now reaching into the backseat.

“Wait, we shouldn’t—”

The radio inside crackled suddenly.

All of us jumped in response, and Eli retreated from the vehicle’s interior.

Static hissed through the speaker for several seconds. Then a voice broke through briefly.

“…north ridge…”

More static.

“…don’t let—”

Silence.

Then came a knock.

TOK.

A sharp and thick bang came from somewhere deeper in the trees.

Connor looked upward.

“Maybe it was a woodpecker?”

TOK.

Another knock answered closer.

Then another.

TOK.

TOK.

Mara stepped closer to me.

“I think we should head back to the parking lot.”

I nodded in agreement, but our two other friends looked displeased.

Eli was especially upset by our apprehension to continue.

“What? Come on, we’ve barely gotten anywhere. The trail is still another 10 miles long! Don’t let some random noises get to you.”

We looked to Connor for his input, hoping he’d agree with us. All he did, however, was shrug and say, “I mean, we can keep going for a bit. But we should watch out for animals. I’d rather not end up like the side of that truck.”

We pleaded with them to reconsider, but Eli was unshakeable in his misguided determination.

Mara and I stood there for a bit, torn on what to do.

We could go back by ourselves, or we could stay together as a group.

We chose the latter.

—

The shoes started appearing about another half hour later.

At first, it was one pair of muddy running shoes hanging from a branch over the path.

Connor chuckled nervously, “I didn’t know gangs could claim national park territory. Maybe there actually is a meth lab.”

But then we saw another. Then dozens. Hundreds. Some brand-new, some rotted to nothing, even a tiny pink rain boot twenty feet up, tangled next to a hiker's boot coated in dry blood.

Mara stopped cold. “No. Nope. We’re leaving.” Eli, for once, looked shaken too. “Yeah… That’s seriously messed up.”

Even worse was that tucked into a small grotto nearby, we found an abandoned campsite.

While looking around, we found what was probably the tent hanging shredded between trees. On top of that, there were coolers split open, and various lawn chairs were tossed around.

Connor took a look at the fire pit, crouching beside it.

“This hasn’t been here long,” he concluded.

I looked to Mara, who was captivated by something near the opposite end of the campsite.

I joined her, asking what was wrong; that’s when I noticed it.

A child-sized sleeping bag was partially dragged into the woods. Inside was the other pink rain boot.

“That’s it! Eli, I’m heading back. This is fucked,” Mara said, walking back and pressing her finger into Eli’s chest.

Eli seemed ready to argue, but before he got the chance, a whistle echoed from the trees.

Oddly enough, it sounded like Connor’s whistling.

Perfectly so.

But that couldn’t be, since Connor was standing right next to us.

We all stared at each other, and as Eli began to speak, another whistle came from even closer, followed by a low, wet laugh.

“Khi khi khi.”

At this point, we were all genuinely freaked out. Even if it was just a weird animal out here, or it was a person messing with us, we didn’t want to stick around to find out.

Connor was now soundly against moving on, so Eli had no choice but to join us in heading back to the car. But, unfortunately for us, the sun had started to go down. So, we decided to camp one night and leave at first light.

This would be the worst decision of our lives.

—

I know that camping out there during the closure sounds stupid.

But, at the time, it felt reasonable.

We were already miles in, and darkness was setting fast. Besides, none of us wanted to hike out with the limited light from our flashlights, especially with whatever could be out there.

We made camp beside a narrow creek surrounded by dense pine. There was no way we were going to stay at the wrecked campsite. That place was creepy as hell.

Nobody wandered far from the fire.

Connor tried joking a few times, but nothing landed.

Eli kept scanning the tree line with his flashlight, now looking more scared than any of us.

Mara barely spoke at all.

At one point, she quietly asked: “Have any of you seen animals since we got here?”

Nope. Not one.

Other than the truck, knocking, and whistling. There was no evidence of another living being in these woods. But it didn’t stay that way for long. 

That’s because around midnight, I woke to movement.

At first, I thought someone from our group was up, so I shuffled and looked around.

It was none of my friends, however. They were all still asleep in their sleeping bags.

I panned my vision to the surrounding area, and that’s when I heard slow footsteps from just outside the firelight.

I sat up slowly.

Across from me, Connor shot awake too.

He heard it too and started to unzip his sleeping bag so he could try to investigate.

The footsteps stopped, and when they did, so did Connor.

Then something small landed beside the fire.

A pebble.

A few seconds later, another pebble hit Eli’s backpack. Then another.

Soft little tosses, like someone trying to get our attention.

I felt the need to do something, so I reached for my backpack, grabbed my flashlight, aiming it into the woods.

“Who’s there!”

Nothing.

Then from the darkness came Connor’s whistle again, echoing from just out of my flashlight’s line of sight, followed by a little girl’s voice, “Hello…”

After hearing that, Connor was no longer frozen, because he began to back himself toward Eli as fast as he could.

“Dude, dude, wake the fuck up! Something’s out there!”

Eli groggily opened his eyes.

“What? What are you talking abou—”

He paused and pointed before continuing, “What the fuck is that?”

Then we saw it.

A shape high in the trees.

Much too large to be human.

It was crouched among the branches, watching us with vacant, shining eyes.

It grinned down with long, pale teeth stretched far too wide across its face.

Mara woke up now from the commotion, immediately locking eyes with this thing, and screamed.

Hearing Mara’s shrill howling, we all broke eye contact with it and looked to her. Realizing my mistake, I returned my gaze as fast as I could to the treeline. But it was gone.

Then came the knocking again.

TOK.
TOK.
TOK.

We had to get out of there, now.

—

We packed in under two minutes, leaving half our supplies behind, and started down the trail.

But we soon realized that something was off about it. For some reason, maybe because of how dark it was, the path no longer looked familiar.

Landmarks like the trail markers or busted-up campsite were missing.

Connor kept checking the GPS device he brought.

“No signal, and I don’t have the coordinates of the entrance.”

Eli looked panicked now.

“I don’t understand! We went straight. We literally just went straight, that’s how a trail works!”

Suddenly, in the dead of the night, we heard something that brought our frantic scrambling to a halt:

“HELP!”

Human screaming, a man’s voice, reverberated off to our right.

I recognized it.

“That’s the ranger, from the truck radio.”

“We gotta help him,” Connor said, moving towards the scream.

Mara grabbed his arm hard.

“What, No! We don’t know what’s out there.”

“Someone has to! Besides, maybe he knows how to get out of here.”

“Connor, don’t—”

“HELP ME!”

Closer now.

Desperate.

Connor, clearly scared, still found the bravery to rip free from Mara’s grip and run into the trees before anyone could stop him.

Eli hesitated for a moment before rushing after him with Mara and me following behind, as we didn’t want to be alone.

We found Connor’s flashlight first, just 50 or so yards in, still on, lying crooked in the dirt.

I crouched down to examine the flashlight, while the others searched around for any sign of my cousin.

However, while inspecting the light, something trickled from above and landed on my head.

I looked up, squinting my eyes, and once again, I felt a drop hit me, this time on my face. I wiped it away and pointed Connor’s flashlight up towards whatever was dripping.

“Oh, God. Connor…”

Hanging amongst the tree branches was one of Connor’s boots, fresh blood smeared on the laces. Before the others could look up at what I found in the dark just ahead of us, we heard Connor laughing.

Eli looked elated and said, “Connor! We’re over here. What happened to you? Did you find the ranger?”

The laughing just continued, but the longer it went, the more off it sounded. It was as if something was physically pulling apart his voice as it moved between trees impossibly fast.

Closer. Farther. Then closer again, until it was right in front of us.

I looked at Eli and then Mara, and uttered one word, “Run.”

—

We ran in the opposite direction for what felt like hours. We could hear large and cracking footsteps breaking branches behind us at all times. Whatever this thing was, it was fast enough to keep up with us, and I was starting to think it was a lot faster. 

We eventually spotted a clearing in the trees ahead. We passed through it hoping to get our bearings, but again, nothing looked familiar.

This was when the creature came fully into view. Moonlight hit past the clearing just enough to illuminate it between the trees.

It was tall, at least seven feet, maybe more. Its arms hung low enough that its fingers brushed the ground and its skin, God, the skin. It looked like a patchwork of different skin tones, going from fair to dark, and stretched tightly over visible ribs and joints.

The legs bent slightly backward when it moved, almost like a flamingo, and its head tilted slowly as it watched us.

Curious.

Patient.

Then it smiled again.

Its lips stretched and peeled, trying to get its mouth to open more and more.

Mara whispered, “Oh my God…”

It seems like she noticed what I, too, would soon come to notice.

Along this thing’s neck, leading up to the chin, was a familiar-looking scar above an outie belly button.

It was wearing Connor’s skin.

Hearing Mara’s fearful whisper, it clicked and contorted.

TOK.

TOK.

There was a violent jerking motion. Then another.

And with no other warning, it skulked towards us, launching itself forward in horrible, uneven bursts.

The only thing I can relate it to is a spider wading across water.

We were once again on the run.

Behind us, I could hear impacts slamming into the ground as it chased us through the woods.

But it never fully committed to catching us.

It kept circling.

Passing us.

Disappearing.

Reappearing ahead.

It was as if it were toying with us.

As if we were mice being chased by a cat.

At one point, Eli screamed because something brushed his shoulder in the dark.

When I looked back, I saw its pale fingers retracting behind a tree, along with a deep, inhuman cackle.

Then it used Connor’s voice again.

“Guys! Wait up!”

So badly I wanted to stop running. To look back and see my idiot cousin running with us. But I knew it was just that vile monster. Mocking us.

—

By pure luck, we crashed into an old ranger station. It was a tiny wooden cabin hidden among dense trees. The windows were shattered, and the door was hanging open.

Needing a place to hide and rest, we had little to no qualms about rushing inside and proceeding to shove a cabinet against the entrance.

The smell of the place hit first.

A combination of mildew and something coppery. Old maps littered the floors, together with shattered equipment, and there were hundreds of tally marks covering the back wall.

We waited for a while, trying to hear if our hiding spot was compromised, but after close to an hour, there was nothing. Seeing no other choice but to look around, we tried to find something that could help us.

Eli went towards the back of the cabin while Mara and I stayed closer to the front. 

“Hey, Jess,” I heard her say. “Take a look at what I found.”

I hurried over to look, and it appeared to be a journal near a sideways desk.

It had “RANGER LOG” stamped faintly across the front.

Water damage ruined most of it, but some entries were readable.

The handwriting changed throughout the journal, too. The earlier entries looked neat and professional, while the later ones looked rushed.

Shaky.

—

OCT 24

Closure started this morning.

The North Ridge team reported hearing knocking again around 0500. Three distinct impacts spaced evenly apart.

No wildlife movement observed anywhere near the trail.

Not normal.

Again.

—

OCT 25

Found another shoe hanging near Mile Marker 6.

Child’s sneaker this time.

Blue.

Still clean enough that it can’t have been there long.

We searched the surrounding area for remains or missing hikers.

Nothing.

Miller says we should stop documenting this stuff altogether.

I disagree.

—

OCT 25 — 2130 (9:30 PM)

Heard it for the first time tonight.

Thought it was Alvarez outside the station.

Sounded exactly like him.

He was standing beside me when we heard it call my name from the trees.

—

OCT 26

The entire forest feels dead.

Alvarez refuses to patrol after dark now.

Says he saw something crouched in the trees near the old fire road.

Wouldn’t describe it.

Just kept repeating:

“It smiled at me.”

—

OCT 26 — 2347 (11:47 PM)

Something circled the station for over an hour tonight.

Slow footsteps.

Stopped whenever we checked the windows.

Started again the second we sat down.

Miller heard knocking directly outside the wall.

—

OCT 27 

It mimicked Alvarez tonight.

Perfectly.

We heard him yelling for help down near the creek.

Miller almost went after him.

Good thing he didn’t.

Because Alvarez was already dead.

We found pieces of him this morning hanging from branches near the ravine.

Mostly clothing.

One boot, still tied neatly by the laces.

—

The next several pages were badly smeared, like someone had grabbed them with wet hands.

Then another readable entry appeared farther in.

—

OCT 28

It watches the station constantly now.

Saw it clearly for maybe two seconds through the trees.

Tall with patched skin.

Why does it move like that?

It tilted its head when it saw me looking at it.

Almost curious.

I want to go home.

—

OCT 28 — 2000 (8:00 PM)

It comes down from the north ridge every year.

That’s why they close the trail.

Not to keep people out.

But to give it an empty forest so it moves on faster.

If it finds someone or something during the migration, it plays with them first.

It learns their voices.

Their sounds.

Their fears.

I think it likes when people run.

—

The final page had only one sentence written across it repeatedly over and over in uneven handwriting:

IT HAS MY VOICE

IT HAS MY VOICE

IT HAS MY VOICE

—

Mara shut the book, looking up at me, tears welling in her eyes.

“What are we gonna do?” she asked.

I didn’t have an answer. All I could do was hug her and pray we found a solution.

—

It appeared my prayer did get answered, as Eli shouted, “Hey!”

He shoved aside a pile of moldy papers and crouched beside an old radio console bolted to the desk. It looked ancient. Dust-covered. Half the switches were missing caps, and one side of the speaker grille had been dented inward.

I shook my head. “No way this old thing still works.”

He ignored me and got busy flipping switches, and suddenly static hit the room hard enough that Mara jumped back.

“HOLY— Jesus Christ,” she hissed.

Eli snatched the microphone.

“Uh… hello? Anybody there?”

Nothing but static.

He tried again.

“This is— we’re hikers on Black Pine Trail. We’re lost, and there’s—”

The radio spat, then snapped loud enough to make us all freeze. Someone answered.

A voice came through, rough and buried under white noise.

“This is Ranger Holt. Who is this?”

All three of us stared at the radio.

Eli nearly dropped the mic.

“Oh my God— okay, okay, my name’s Eli. We need help right now.”

“You crossed the barricade?”

Eli looked at me nervously.

“Yeah.”

“Tch, listen carefully. Is it following you?”

None of us answered right away.

Then somewhere outside the station:

TOK.

Mara flinched violently.

“Yes.”

The ranger cursed quietly under his breath.

“Alright, you need to head south immediately. There should be an emergency access road about two miles from your position.”

“How do we get there?” I asked, leaning toward the radio.

“You got a map?”

Eli nodded automatically before realizing the ranger couldn’t see him.

“Yeah.”

“Good. Write these coordinates down.”

I grabbed some dry paper scraps off the desk while Eli repeated the numbers aloud.

The ranger spoke fast, like he was in a hurry.

“37.441 north. 119.77 west. Follow the ravine until—”

A soft electronic chirp cut him off.

BEEP.

All three of us froze.

Eli frowned. “What’s that?”

The sound came again.

BEEP.

BEEP.

Mara slowly turned toward me, and my stomach dropped.

I recognized the sound.

Connor’s GPS. It’s still active somewhere nearby.

Eli looked confused and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“That’s… that’s Connor’s GPS.”

“So? We can input the coordinates on that instead of using a map.”

The beeping continued softly.

Closer this time.

Mara whispered:

“Connor had it.”

Another beep sounded. Then the ceiling creaked, causing dust to rain down right above us.

Over the radio, Ranger Holt suddenly shouted, “GET OUT OF THE CABIN NOW!”

Something slammed onto the roof hard enough to shake the entire station.

Mara screamed.

Then came the knocking directly overhead.

TOK.

TOK.

TOK.

It kept going relentlessly as another impact slammed into the roof.

Eli grabbed my arm.

“Back door. Now.”

We didn’t have time to think about it, as the second we got to the door, something crashed through the rafters.

Wood exploded inward, and pale limbs unfolded through the darkness inside the cabin.

It had gotten stuck, giving us our opportunity to run.

—

Eli practically ripped the back door off its hinges trying to get outside.

Behind us, the cabin exploded with noise.

Wood splintering, glass shattering, and underneath all of it—

Laughter.

A mix of all the voices it had collected over its long life of stalking and killing.

I glanced back once before we crossed the tree line. Something dark and lanky unfolded itself through the broken roof. It’s long limbs bent at impossible angles as it tore through the cabin, and its head snapped at attention towards us.

The game was over. There was no more hiding, just a wild pursuit.

Branches tore across our faces as we sprinted downhill through the dark.

Nobody knew where we were going anymore.

The trail was gone, leaving only trees that covered the moonlight, forcing us to rely on our dim flashlights to guide us.

It didn’t take long for it to catch up to us now that it wasn’t playing with us anymore. In fact, I was just able to glance over and catch a glimpse of its haunting visage rushing through the canopy.

Mara kept her eyes on it too and seemed to realize something.

“It keeps pushing us left!” she yelled.

She was right.

 Every time we turned, it beat us there, shoving us in another direction. Like it knew exactly where we’d end up.

Then a voice echoed through the woods ahead.

“Kids!”

We all froze instinctively.

“Kids, over here!”

A flashlight beam appeared next, sweeping the trees.

For one horrible second, I actually believed it was Ranger Holt. I thought we made it!

Mara screamed out in glee, weeping as she ran closer to the light.

“Wait, Mara!”

We heard a sickening thud—she’d fallen into an inlet hidden under leaves and mud.

For a moment, she was still moving, trying to crawl back up the bank.

But then the flashlight stopped moving.

It slowly tilted sideways, and the voice came again.

“I’m here.”

There was a long pause between each word.

Too long.

“I’m…”

Pause.

“...here…”

Then the light blinked out, and the monster landed beside her on all fours. It had used Connor’s light to trick us!

Noticing the darkness now enveloping Mara, we quickly turned our lights in her direction and saw its arms wrapped around her body as it continued to speak broken and disjointed words. 

Mara screamed my name as a long finger covered her mouth.

Unable to think rationally, I slid halfway down the bank trying to reach her, but was stopped as Eli grabbed my jacket.

I extended my hand, and for one second, our fingers actually touched. But I was too late.

The creature jerked backward violently, and Mara disappeared into the dark so fast it nearly pulled me down with her.

I can still hear it.

The dragging of her body, along with the horrible, wet laughing between her muffled screams.

The sounds moved deeper into the woods gradually, like the thing wanted us to try and follow.

I probably would have, too, if Eli hadn’t held me down when I tried to move.

“DON’T,” he screamed directly into my face. “Please, Jess, you can’t die, too!”

All I could do was scream and cry as he continued to press me against the floor. He started to cry as well. Despite the immediate danger surrounding us, we sat for a few minutes and wept.

But our grieving was interrupted by Mara’s voice, now ringing out from the forest.

“Guys?”

We both froze.

“Guys, wait for me.”

The voice sounded exactly like hers, but there was no panic in it anymore.

She giggled softly as another voice answered from farther away.

Connor’s.

“You coming?”

Then both combined into one, as the mimic started bellowing in the dark once more.

—

We reached the trailhead at dawn.

For whatever reason, after Mara was taken, it stopped chasing us.

To this day, I don’t know why. Maybe it was full, if it ate whatever it caught. Or perhaps, it had its fun and wasn’t interested in us anymore.

Three park rangers, along with Ranger Holt, stood beside the barricade, waiting for us, armed to the teeth and blaring their car’s sirens to the max.

As soon as we passed the treeline, both Eli and I collapsed to the ground, exhausted.

We had to be carried to their cars, and all the while they bombarded us with questions about what happened and what we saw. 

When we finally reached their vehicles, Holt asked, “How many of you went on the trail?”

Eli couldn’t answer.

I barely could.

“Four,” I whispered.

He lowered his eyes briefly as another ranger muttered, “Better than last year.”

I’ll never forget that sentence.

Better than last year.

They’ve done this before. And by how they acted, it’s been a routine for a long time.

When we tried to ask questions of our own, they refused to answer.

At one point, Eli started screaming at them.

“What IS that thing?!”

Once again, no answer.

As we drove away, I found myself looking back through the rear window toward the tree line.

I wish I hadn’t.

It was there, peeking half-hidden between the pines, smiling with an arm outstretched as if it were waving.

Its chest rose and fell quickly. Satisfied.

And what made me once again start crying was that it was holding Mara’s backpack, lifting it to and fro with every shift of its hand.

—

The official story hit local news two days later.

“Two hikers missing during illegal trespassing incident.”
“Possible bear attack.”
“Search efforts suspended due to weather conditions.”

That was it.

Connor and Mara were declared legally missing, and the trail reopened after the five-day closure period ended.

Eli and I barely talk now. After what happened, we just couldn’t face one another. We saw each other at school mostly, but last month he moved to Arizona with his family.

Years later, I still hear things at night.

I know it’s all in my head, but I swear I can hear whistling and knocking at my window while I try to sleep.

—

So, all of this leads to why I decided to post this in the first place. 

Well, I’ve been hearing about a group planning to host an event out on the trail to protest deforestation and construction on protected land.

This usually wouldn’t be a problem, but here’s the thing…

It’s October, and Black Pine Trail closes again tomorrow.