Every morning in Port Rhapsody, a pair of twins named Oliver and Wilson Peake would broadcast their lively voices and fill those hours with their unique perspectives until midday and so forth. During which, the two men would sit side-by-side in their professionally equipped studio while covering topics they deem newsworthy.
The first host, Oliver, begins their introduction. “Every day, once a day, we give you all a present. I’m your host, Oliver Peake. I’m here with my brother, Wilson, and I thank you all for tuning in to the Twin Peakes where the owls are not what they seem.”
Wilson follows up. “And if you’re watching this live from any streaming services, leave a like and subscribe to our channel with the notification bell turned on for more content where we cover—you guessed it—the hottest trending topics today. If not, then we’ll hopefully see you again in less than twenty-five years.”
In this normally relaxed interior, there’s been an uncomfortable rigidness that has lingered in the air since the disappearance of their local alumna, Chord ‘Edge’ Castor, which has shown in their latest sessions, despite their best efforts to carry on as usual. From then on, they have decided on a different approach.
“I don’t usually start our streams like this,” begins Wilson with a slight monotone, his head bowed to the table, “but there are a lot of things I wanna get off my chest, so it’s better if I do it now than later.”
“You sure?” asks his brother.
“Yeah, I mean…” Wilson straightens himself while raising his voice, “… you gotta do this so you don’t go insane, right? It should be therapeutic.”
“That’s true.” Oliver nods concernedly.
“Edge… look, we may not have known him as well as others, but we had him on our show a few times, haven’t we? I don’t know what to describe this feeling I have. There’s this chill I have, not knowing his fate.” Wilson makes sure to acknowledge their audience again. “If you guys wanna click off or change the station, you can go ahead. I don’t wanna dampen your day, so I apologize.”
“I know how you feel, man.” Oliver extends a hand to his brother’s shoulder, patting him. “We’re all dealing with this. This is a guy who once sat at our table and drank with us while talking about his favourite movies, hobbies, and TV shows.”
“With all that said… what was he thinking going into that forest??” continues Wilson passionately. “No one should have been in there in the first place. Did he make that decision on his own or did his friends pressure him into it??”
“Will—” Oliver tries to stop him.
“No,” Wilson brushes him away, “this needs to be addressed!” He darts his eyes to their live camera defensively. “I know this is gonna piss a lot of you off, and again, I apologize, but I know for a fact that I am not the only one who is thinking this.”
“I know, but maybe—”
Wilson ignores his brother’s pleas. “Many people before him have gone into that same forest and were never seen again. What were they even thinking?? Did no one in that group think to do any research about the place beforehand??”
“B-But, Will…” Oliver interjects keenly, “… we don’t know the full story.”
“Doesn’t mean we can’t speculate, can we?” This counter response earns him deafening silence from every other person in the room. “And you know what else I don’t get?” He faces front again with a narrowed glare. “How did his friend, uh… Andrew, come out of the Black Forest with his eyes looking like that?” Wilson motions to one of their tech producers. “Can someone pull up a clip of him, please? Or just a photo, even.”
Within seconds, a picture of Andrew’s face pops up on their plasma screen behind them—a somewhat unflattering frame grab from his troubling encounter on campus the other day.
Oliver glances away while fidgeting with his hands, wanting little to do with this next segment that his more stubborn twin is about to unravel before the very eyes of their viewers and subscribers.
“You guys really couldn’t have found a better still? Never mind.” And so, he proceeds. “How does this kid, who could take photos on his campus, suddenly come out of the dark wilderness looking like a member of the Hyūga clan with those milky-looking eyes some hours later, huh? Like, how did that even happen?” Wilson looks to his brother for answers. “What? You don’t find that even a little strange?”
“Honestly, man,” the latter shrugs, “I’m still trying to figure out where you’re going with this.”
Wilson lets out a sigh of exasperation. “Let me put it this way…” he takes a moment to gather the right words to clarify with, “… this is the same forest where the UFO supposedly landed.”
Oliver’s expression remains unchanged. “I still don’t follow, sorry.”
“Do you normally get an injury like that from bushwalking?”
He pauses before answering with a light shake, “No.”
“And you don’t normally develop white cataracts that quickly, do you?”
“No,” he answers again casually.
“You’d more likely lose your eyesight to physical trauma like a thorn or a branch or even an animal attack, wouldn’t you?”
Oliver pauses to think for a moment.
Wilson points back to Andrew’s ungrazed eyes. “Does that look like a physical injury to you? You see any scratches near his eyes?”
This time, Oliver shakes at his brother with a mix of bewilderment and frustration. “This still doesn’t prove whatever point you’re trying to make, Wilson. There’s a visible scratch on his forehead. Just tell me what you’re actually trying to say. Are you suspecting Andrew of foul play? Is that what you’re suggesting on this live podcast?”
“I’m not assuming anything!” Wilson replies, raising his guard again. “I’m sure that some of our viewers can agree that there’s something a little fishy about the circumstances of this guy’s blindness and survival.” He throws his hands up. “That’s all.”
With veiled dread, Oliver faces away from the cameras while drumming the table nervously—he’s already anticipating the backlash. “Let’s just move on,” he concludes.
Therapeutic, my ass…
Andrew was right. Despite his father’s advice, the boy couldn’t let go of his curiosity, which had since swelled into an obsession later in the day. After a good shower and healthy breakfast, he spends most of his time trying to meditate in his room, his goal to reopen his third eye. His attempts, as of yet, have been predictably fruitless—there are just too many thoughts and distractions.
The session is cut short, however, when his sharpened hearing picks up the sound of a car approaching their home, the rev of its engine distinct from their own. They’ve got guests… but he wonders who invited them.
Hurrying downstairs, he meets his dad near the entrance, who currently seems oblivious from his laidback demeanour to answer it. By now, the former is growing accustomed to navigating their house with the use of his cane, spatial memory, and other heightened senses… as well as a few other things.
“What’s up?” greets James. “Everything okay?”
“Someone’s coming,” tells Andrew while pointing over his shoulder.
The man raises an eyebrow. “Who?”
“You don’t hear the car outside?” Andrew scowls at him.
Puzzled at first, his dad’s mood changes when he hears it for himself soon after. Brushing past Andrew, he approaches their door with caution.
“Wait here,” he requests before squinting through its peephole.
Complying, the boy hangs back while listening attentively. The car engine stops, and he hears two people stepping out—yes, two. They slam their doors shut before lumbering towards their porch, their boots crunching the soil then bending the steps, items jingling on their presumed uniforms. He can hear their whispers too, one of which he can identify straight away.
“It’s Officer Carol, isn’t it?” guesses Andrew.
His dad whirls his head, stunned. “How did you know that?” he asks faintly.
“Intuition, I suppose…” answers the young man with a meek shrug.
“You sure you’re still blind?” quips James before opening their front door.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Coffey,” greets Carol with a tip of her hat, her other hand holding her waist “You must have heard us coming.”
“Yes, we did.”
She motions to the man beside her. “This is my partner, Dylan.”
“G’day,” says the latter, extending his arm for a firm handshake.
Andrew recognizes his strong accent—he was with Carol when they found him back in the forest, the jibing male officer. Having both of them on their doorstep puts him on edge… even though it shouldn’t.
“I’m guessing you’re here with a warrant,” implies the father.
“No,” Carol denies with a headshake, “we’re still working on getting that.”
“Then why are you here?”
“We just wanted to check on you two.” She looks past James to see his son, Andrew, giving her a casual wave from inside. “I was wondering if we could speak to your son again. Would that be okay?”
Andrew, unable to help himself, calls the woman out. “You know you can refer to me in second person, right? It’s not like I’m out of earshot.”
“Right you are,” she admits, smirking.
“Alright,” his dad cuts in, “just give us a moment.”
“Not a problem.”
Turning away from their visitors, he leans into Andrew’s ear. “Whatever you do…” he whispers warningly, “… remember your rights. Got it?”
“Got it.”
With an affirming nod, Andrew steps forward to meet the deputy sheriffs. Up close, he can see and feel their hazy profiles shadowing him from the outside warmth. To steady his nerves, he practices breathing through his nose evenly, which seems to work for the most part.
“So…” he begins awkwardly, “… how’s the, uh… investigation going?”
“We’re still progressing…” Carol responds rather vaguely.
“No luck, then?”
Scratching her face, she changes the topic. “So, how have things been?”
“All good,” Andrew lies, crossing his arms. “Still haven’t leaked the footage to anyone, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Good, good.” She gives him a nod of approval before adding, “And you haven’t backed them up into any third party devices?”
“Nope,” he answers truthfully.
“Just to make sure…” all heads turn to Officer Dylan, who steps in front of her, “… may we take a look inside?” There’s a firm tone in his request that feels more like a demand.
Andrew pauses at the man, his unfocused gaze shifting between the three individuals, mainly his dad, before remembering the latter’s advice. “Do you have a permit?” he inquires fast, straightening his posture.
Dylan gives a half-sigh while backtracking, which draws some satisfaction from the boy as he imagines his subtle look of disappointment.
“Is there anything else?”
“Actually, there is…” responds the male officer, hunching now.
His partner side-eyes him.
“… did your friend really disappear that night?”
This loaded question catches everyone off guard, even Carol, whose side-eye turns into a disbelieving scowl. Andrew freezes on the spot, his gut tightening. He almost doesn’t know what to do now, whether to hold his glance, blink, or shift his face away. He can’t move his feet either.
“E-Excuse me?” the boy stutters.
Dylan repeats himself. “Did Chord ‘Edge’ Castor really go missing that night?”
“Yeah!” answers Andrew, fidgeting with confusion. “Why are you asking this?”
It’s a simple question, but like his earlier request, there’s an underlying tone that unsettles the young man—a hidden accusation.
“I’m just curious,” Dylan claims.
“About what?”
He hears the man shrug. “You tell me, Andrew.”
The boy’s mouth hangs open. He turns to Carol, his frown hinting a sense of betrayal as her silence lingers. He gets it now—they’re basically cops, after all. If he gives the wrong response, they could somehow and someway use his words to incriminate him.
“No… I don’t think I should,” he states decisively, hugging his chest tighter.
“Why not?” demands the officer.
Again, Andrew chooses his right to silence. “I don’t answer questions.”
Carol, realizing what’s happening, tries to interfere. “Dylan, maybe we should—”
But Dylan’s not having it—he doubles down with a steely glare. “Why won’t you answer my questions? Do you think I’m suspecting you or something?”
“Alright, that’s enough!” Pulling Andrew away, James puts himself between them. “We’ve answered enough of your questions. You two need to leave, now.” He locks eyes with the uniformed man in a tense stare-down.
“Come on, let’s go.” Patting Dylan’s shoulder, Carol ushers him off the porch. “We’re really sorry,” she says to the occupants, her sincerity in question.
When she leads Dylan into their police car to drive away, Andrew’s ears catch wind of her muffled yelling—he can’t hear her words, but she’s clearly angry at her partner for going rogue and ruining whatever plans they had here.
What’s done is done…
Once the patrol vehicle zooms out of earshot, out of sight, and out of mind, the Coffeys re-enter the house, shutting their door behind them.
“I can’t be a suspect!” complains Andrew, his voice trembling. “I mean…” he spins to his dad, nearly tossing his cane across the room, “… why would anyone think that I’d hurt my best friend!? To make him disappear!?”
“That isn’t your fault, son!” his dad tries to reassure.
“Yesterday in college, this one reporter asked me the same thing!” He jabs his finger at the ceiling violently. “If I was somehow responsible for his death! Next thing you know, this whole town’s going to turn against me!” His mind festers with more scenarios, driving him berserk—he can feel his blood boiling, his skin crawling.
Without a second thought, his dad swoops him in an enveloping hug, his big hand brushing the back of his hair. “It’s okay,” he speaks softly.
“It’s not!” Andrew protests some more.
“Okay… so it isn’t,” James concedes, changing his mind. “But we will get through this.” He pulls away, gripping his boy’s shoulders. “You will get through this, okay?”
Calming down, Andrew nods to him, thankful for not bursting into tears.
A sudden idea worms into his head, which leads him to make a surprising request. “Can we get out of the house for a while?”
This indeed surprises the man. “Where would you like to go?” he asks with hidden delight.
“Anywhere…” the young man shrugs, “… maybe the park?”
“The park?” repeats James worriedly. “That’s a pretty public area. Are you sure?”
Again, the blind young man shrugs. Of course, he isn’t sure, but what he needs right now is somewhere in the open to clear his head… risks be damned.
Meanwhile, Alice Brook spent the better part of this same day holed up in her dorm room, her bed unmade and curtains drawn, allowing minimal sunlight to spill through—from the bags under her eyes, she hasn’t had much sleep either.
All this time had been spent mining the internet for every possible source about the Black Forest—as well as any updates about her missing boyfriend—on her laptop. Her compulsion, up until now, has her abusing the refresh button like never before.
Her roommate, Emily, enters shortly to set her bags down. She unpacks her stationaries near her own bed and desk while nervously inspecting her friend from the corner of her eye.
“Hi, Alice…” greets the girl, hoping she’ll get a proper response this time.
Alice, barely acknowledging the other person in the room, returns her gesture with a feeble wave… this had become their norm.
For the past few days after that fateful incident, Emily tried her best to be understanding and supportive while giving her goth friend her space… but this has since become unbearable. It breaks her heart seeing this once-spirited girl in such a morose state, not taking care of herself—the latter can only keep up her front for so long…
“How’s it going?” she asks next.
“I’m fine,” lies Alice in her accustomed monotone.
This was expected. With a heavy sigh, Emily marches up to their window to rip those curtains open, the sudden brightness causing her friend to wince.
“Babe, we really need to talk,” she states finally, “because you are seriously acting like a goth now.”
Pausing, she waits for Alice to turn her chair around and face her… which she eventually does, but begrudgingly. Her chin remains lowered, her eyes half-lidded. Without her makeup on, her stress lines are all too apparent.
Finding her own chair, Emily sits down to her eye level. “I know it’s not my business, Alice… but you clearly haven’t been taking care of yourself.” Her tone softens considerably. “I hear you’ve been missing classes now. You only come out for lunch breaks, and then you disappear again.” She takes her hand gently, her own eyes glinting. “I’m worried about you… we all are.”
Alice, having known that they would have this conversation sooner or later, recoils her hand. Right now, she can’t find her words, let alone think with this presently muddled head of hers—she has truly been changed for the worst.
“I don’t know what you want me to say…” her throat sounds dry.
“You can start with anything,” reassures Emily. “It doesn’t matter.”
Alice huffs through her nose while glancing out of their opened window. For a moment, she rolls her tongue, playing with the inside of her mouth. “That’s the problem…” she ultimately says, “… nothing else matters anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just don’t see the point anymore… doing anything.”
The implication jolts Emily to seize her hand again. “You shouldn’t feel bad for looking after yourself, Alice! I know you’re struggling, but this isn’t going to help!”
“I know!” cries Alice, her raised voice filling the space. “But I can’t stop myself! Nor do I want to!” She feels herself unravelling. “I can’t rest until I get answers, so don’t tell me I need to let go of this! It just won’t work, okay!? NOTHING WILL!!”
Her outburst petrifies Emily. Her mouth hangs open, hesitating to say more. She wants nothing more than to console her grief-stricken friend, but she also knows that no words she can conjure will ever be enough to ease her pain.
Deciding it best not to push the matter further, she gets up and shuffles away to give Alice back her breathing room. “My door is still open,” she reminds her lightly.
“Right…” mumbles Alice before wheeling back to her computer to further indulge her obsession—of course, there was no getting through to her.
“Well, son… is this what you hoped for?”
“Surprisingly, dad… that and much more.”
This open park within Port Rhapsody, otherwise known as the Bohemian Botanical Garden, serves as Andrew’s much-needed refuge from his worries. Before he went blind, he would always come here alone to relieve stress and experiment with his photography—such memories feel distant now.
Its idyllic scenery, he can only recall now. He remembers the tree trunks scattered all around this area, their large crowns casting shadows over much of the greenery. During spring, flowers of various hues would bloom here, painting the park in their vibrant colours. By autumn, dead leaves would blanket the grass and faded walkways almost entirely, some even filling the benches… like now.
“There aren’t many people here, it seems,” comments Andrew. “Am I wrong?”
“No,” answers his dad with a casual headshake. “We must be lucky.”
The young man already knew what a gamble it was requesting his dad to bring him here of all places in their current social climate. This place, which would generally be populated at this hour, is conveniently vacant today— lucky, indeed.
“Where do you think everyone went?” he asks jokingly.
“Who cares, honestly?” James smirks. “You have the whole park to yourself.”
“You’d think we’re under lockdown or something…” quips the boy right back.
They continue like this, father and son bantering like there’s nothing at all wrong with the world—it feels like old times, back when everything was simpler.
Wherever did these times go?
And then he remembers…
Despite Andrew’s best efforts to distract himself, those bluish-white embers from his lucid experience keep swirling in his subconscious, refusing to leave him be—or maybe, it’s the other way round. This is something he would perhaps call… an attractive annoyance? But for his dad’s sake, he tries again to bury these concerns.
“What’s on your mind?”
Damn it!
“Nothing,” he bullshits, quickly gazing away.
But James is all too observant. “That scowl doesn’t look like nothing.”
Andrew replies defensively, “So, what? It’s just a resting scowl.”
The man raises a doubtful eyebrow. “If you say so,” he declares, giving up shortly.
Suddenly, a wild idea pops into his son’s head, which prompts him to pull out his phone in an instant. “There’s something I want to try.” Using his touch memory, as well as the new voice-assisting interface, he activates its camera and begins aiming it around him.
“What are you up to?” questions James, genuinely curious.
Andrew, putting some distance between himself and his dad, proceeds to film the latter horizontally, not knowing how… but doing so in an almost second nature way. With his echolocation, he can pretty much ‘paint’ the setting while walking backwards measuredly—it’s almost like three-sixty vision… almost.
“Okay, uh…” James is taken aback, “… what would you like me to do?”
“Just walk like you normally do,” he tells him. “Don’t worry about me.”
“If you say so.”
The old man, doing as directed by the young man, strolls along the walkway, his hands in his pockets, the soles of his shoes crushing the leaves, other times sweeping them aside with their swishing motion. Andrew follows the rhythmic sound of his footsteps, his breathing, and the brushing of his clothes, while keeping him steadily within frame.
“And… cut!”
Ending his walk, his dad scoffs. “How come you didn’t say action first?”
“Doesn’t matter…” Andrew motions him, “… just come here and see this.”
James stoops over his son’s shoulder as the blind videographer plays back the video—the result floors him. “Well, I’ll be damned…”
“What do you see?” asks Andrew excitedly.
“That is a good-looking selfie of you.”
“Wait, what!?” He begins to panic. “How come—?”
“I’m just kidding,” chuckles the father.
This earns him a harmless punch to the shoulder, causing him to wheeze harder.
“That is NOT funny!” protests Andrew while holding back a smirk of his own—admittedly, it was a little bit funny.
“No, b-but seriously…” continues James, calming himself now, “… how did you manage to keep me mostly in frame without your eyesight?”
“Mostly?” Andrew frowns.
“Well, you had a few wobbles here and there…” the man motions his finger over the screen, “… but you’re not half bad for a blind filmmaker.”
“Not half bad?” This verdict doesn’t please the boy one bit. “I used to be better than not half bad.” But regarding his circumstances, he forgives himself. “I guess…” he goes on to explain, “… I was able to use my four other senses to paint a mental picture of you and this environment, which is why I was able to film you. This is basically how I see the world right now—”
He stops mid-sentence, a light bulb glinting above his head… I got it!
“Dad…” Andrew spins to his father, an enthusiastic grin stretching across his face, revealing his dimples, “… I think I just found my theme!”
After several more hours of wasted research that continued into the late evening, Alice is on the verge of finally giving up, her eyes strained from prolonged exposure to both her phone and computer screens—perhaps it is time to wave the white flag.
Rubbing her migraine, she looks over her shoulder at Emily, who is fast asleep in her own bed, her curled back facing her. Since her earlier outburst, her friend had gone radio silent, whether out of respect, preoccupation, or passive aggression—she’s more inclined to believe the latter, despite the girl’s reassurances.
Deciding then to call it a night, the sleep-deprived college student folds her laptop into an acute angle, almost shutting it, until a new thought slithers its way into her head, prompting her to reopen her browser one last time.
She searches up the name, Savannah Wood, which sends Alice down a different rabbit hole, each tunnel branching into newer territories, until she eventually uncovers the address of this victim’s mother, Sarah Wood, from a recent article that dates back a couple of days ago; she lives about an hour from this town, just as she did eight years ago with her daughter.
This aged woman had made comments about the most recent disappearance, expressing her sympathies most of all. Perhaps she can seek out this lady and talk to her, maybe find out what she knows about the Black Forest.
Now, there is only one other thing she needs to decide on: whether or not to involve Andrew in this prying affair—after all, he did make the offer… right?
