With less students and media vultures occupying the campus grounds, this day had so far promised to be quieter than the last—at least, that’s what Andrew is praying for as he proceeds once more into his classroom with Edmund back in tow, whom he had barely said a word to since meeting up with him again.
For whatever multitude of reasons, Andrew had also yet to apologize to this man for his outburst the other day, and even now, he is still biting his tongue. Better yet, if he still had his sight, would he even be able to look at him straight? He knows that Edmund would forgive him in a heartbeat and probably has already—he just doesn’t feel like he deserves it, at least not yet.
“Mr. Coffey!” His lecturer, Ms. Starling, spots him entering the doorway from her desk as usual. “Anything I can help you with today?” she inquires before motioning the two inside; there’s no hint of any scorn in her tone, just pure courtesy.
She usually just calls me Andrew, though…
Nervously, the young man steps through with his aide, carefully analysing the room’s ambience to find it thankfully empty. “Actually, there is…” he states a little comfortably now, “… I think I have a pitch.”
The woman curls her mouth with an arched eyebrow. “You think so?”
“Yeah, well… it’s coming together roughly still,” suggests her student haphazardly, “but it’s a step in the right direction, I feel.”
“And what is this idea that you have in mind?”
“Like I said, it’s rough… but it’s something that deeply connects with me.”
“Pitch it to me, then.”
“Wha—?” Her straightforward request staggers Andrew.
“You said you had a pitch, Andrew…” casually, his lecturer circles to the front of her desk to give her full, undivided attention, “… so let me hear it.” With an eager smile, she laces her hands appropriately. “Let’s see if it doesn’t connect with me too.”
“Uh…” Andrew swivels his head between her and Edmund before sucking in his breath to accept her challenge, “… okay, then.”
Clearing his throat, he shuffles to the centre of this room to compile his thoughts, his words, before facing his ‘client’ with a more confident posture, his back straighter, chest wider, and shoulders broadened. “What if I could get you to see things the way I do right now?” he begins, relaxing himself now. “To ‘see’ without sight?”
“Go on,” she urges, equally puzzled while all the more curious.
“What I’m seeing right now, I can’t describe with words…” Andrew waves a hand in front of his own face, which vaguely obscures the indoor light from his frosted eyes, “… so what if I could show it instead?”
“And… how will you do that, exactly?”
“I was just waiting for you to ask that.” With a smirk, he giddily produces his phone to show her the video of his dad in the park, which he wisely prepared in advance. “I took this just the other day, believe it or not. Press play.”
Leaning forward, she taps his screen to play it. Not more than ten seconds in, her lukewarm expression sparkles into astonishment while crinkling with disbelief. Granted, his framing and composition may be offset from what they used to be, but his ability to consistently hold his subject in frame is what truly impresses the lady.
“You really did this?” she asks while pointing loosely.
Andrew nods, widening his smile, before pocketing his phone to affirm, “What I couldn’t see with my eyes, I could capture with my other four senses.”
“I see…”
“Very funny,” he quips. “But seriously, I think this is something I can really sink into, Miss. This right here is what I want to centre my theme around.”
“Seeing without sight…” echoes Starling, her head bobbing slowly. “I already like your idea, Andrew. It’s certainly a unique catch.” She rubs her chin lightly. “I’m just wondering how you’ll string this all together in a coherent narrative?”
He stiffens at this question before weakly replying, “I’ll, uh… figure it out.”
“Will you, now?” His lecturer raises another eyebrow; noticeably, her tone is more playful than serious. “You also know that you have to use a real camera.”
“I know, I know…” he politely assures her, “… but I lost mine in the forest, and I…” pausing, he sighs while flailing his arms, “… I can’t really afford another camera right now, so I don’t know if there’s maybe… one that I can borrow in the meantime?” Andrew winces afterwards, worried that he might have suggested something taboo.
“In your case,” replies Starling thoughtfully, “I’ll make an exception.”
This surprises the young man, who had expected a blunt refusal. “You will?” He wants to be sure he understood right. “You’re serious, right now?”
“Yes,” she states.
Turning away, she walks behind her desk to extract a zip-up bag from one of her drawers before placing it down between them. Opening it, she carefully pulls out her very own camera and hovers it in front of Andrew as he approaches.
“This is one of my older models,” she explains while uncapping its lens to fiddle with the adjustments. “I think… this is the one I used when I was a student here.”
“Hold up, wait just a minute…” Andrew backsteps, realizing what his teacher is offering, “… you want to entrust me, a blind guy, with one of your older cameras that you’ve cherished since your college days?”
“High school, actually… but yes.”
“You sure?”
“Positive… now come on over here so I can put it in your hands.”
With great reluctance, he shuffles towards her while protesting, “I don’t know, Miss. What if I misplace it somewhere and—oh, wow!” It shouldn’t have been this easy—as soon as his hands are around the new device, his muscle memory kicks in. “This is…” he rotates the model, his fingers roaming all over the familiar buttons and components, “… this feels just like my own camera!”
Ms. Starling smirks at her student. “You were saying?”
“I…” Andrew remains stunned, “… I should know what to say, but…”
“A simple ‘thank you’ will do.”
“Alright, uh…” he bounces his hair while hurriedly nodding, “… thank you.”
“Now that you have a camera, what’s your plan?”
This time, he doesn’t falter nor trip over himself. Rather, he points the lens at his teacher to begin recording her, having set the focus to auto; it’s almost second nature, despite the few learning curves.
“My plan…” speaks Andrew, steadying the instrument, “… is to go out and shoot as many references of sound as possible before… my eye surgery next week.”
“And then?” prods Starling.
“I’ll, uh… string it all together in my editing software.” This last part, he sounds less certain. “I’m sure there’s a way,” he adds with haste.
“You think you can do that?”
“Yeah.” He nods again while getting some help to seal the camera back in the bag. “I’ll figure it out,” he tries to assure her, but more himself. “I’m sure there’s a program for the visually impaired.”
“There are,” the woman confirms half-heartedly. “Though some may require a subscription, I don’t know.” She shrugs. “You’ll have to do some research.”
“Then again…” Andrew palms his head comically while slinging the camera bag over his shoulder, “… I could just wait until I get my vision back to save me that trouble, which reminds me…” he turns back to Ms. Starling, “… would my theme still count if I decide to shoot more footage after the fact?”
“Sure,” she answers easily.
“You mean that?”
She tilts her frown like he had asked something silly. “Of course, why not? It’d actually be better for you, I think— oh!” She clicks her fingers, another idea lighting up in her head. “You could perhaps then do a juxtaposition! A before and after!”
“Heeeey!” Andrew points back with an open smile, loving this idea. “So, does this mean I have the green light?” he questions next, almost pleadingly. “I mean, that wasn’t really much of a pitch…”
“Yes, Andrew… you have the green light.” She pleasantly concludes while motioning him to the door, “Now go and do your thing so I can leave soon.”
“Thank you, Miss.” Bowing to her, he proceeds off.
“One more thing…” she adds with a sly undertone, pausing him, “… did you remember to turn off my camera before putting it back in the bag?”
It takes him maybe a second or two to realize that he hadn’t and cuss under his breath. With the nearest table he could find, the young man scrambles to rectify his mistake before leaving with Edmund for good.
That’ll teach you to get all excited about yourself...
After his somewhat successful pitch for his final film project, Andrew exits to the outdoor campus grounds with Edmund, who remains close by without having to hold his client by the arm anymore.
“I must say,” speaks the aide, “you look like you’re really getting the hang of this.”
“Am I?” Andrew pauses uncomfortably. “Which part, exactly?”
“You sure know your way around this place.”
“Oh, yeah.” He nods. “Is this what you call dead reckoning?”
Edmund nods back. “I was going to say cognitive mapping, but yes. Matter of fact, I think that sounds cooler.”
Andrew chuckles to this.
Even though they’re steadily breaking the ice, the younger man remains nervous for the same reasons as before; he knows that the longer this draws out, the harder it will be for him.
Just stop being a pussy and apologize already!
Be a MAN for once!
But before Andrew can pause in his tracks to do just that, a couple of familiar voices divert his attention… it’s Klaus and Mariah. He can hear them just up ahead conversing with their own group of friends.
But as soon as this group notices their blind peer approaching them, they hush all at once, almost too abruptly.
“H-Hey, guys…” Andrew waves to them, his chest thudding for seemingly no reason now, “… how are things going with y’all?”
For a moment that feels like forever, no one answers him—it’s like someone had butt-dialed the pause button or something.
But finally, Klaus speaks first. “We’re alright,” he mutters… and that’s it.
“That’s, uh… that’s good.” Andrew glances off, his anxiety only worsening. He fidgets while grasping at straws for something else to say. “And you… Mariah?”
“I’m good too,” she replies hastily. “I’m just, uh… in a rush, that’s all.”
“Oh…”
“Yeah, so…” the girl fixes her bag and hurries to leave her friends, “… I’ll see you later.”
“Okay…” Andrew responds, but she’s already off—she probably didn’t even hear him. From her dismissive tone, something in his gut tells him that this ‘later’ really means never. Can the same also be said for—?
“I gotta get going too, man,” says Klaus.
“Are you sure?”
Klaus is taken aback by this sudden cold question. “What do you mean?” he asks while adopting that same wary tone, crossing his arms.
“It’s just…” Andrew stammers before sighing, “… I’m just wondering if anything’s… wrong?”
“Wrong with what, exactly?”
He swallows a lump before answering, “Me?”
Klaus falls silent again, gnawing his bottom lip. He swivels in place, taking his sweet time to decide his next response before settling with a clear, “No.”
Andrew, frowning doubtfully, lets him continue anyway.
“We’re all just dealing with this situation in our own ways. You need to understand that, Andrew.”
“Of course, you’re right…”
Though Klaus’ words make sense, his stern and somewhat accusing tone, paired with Mariah’s quick getaway, isn’t exactly helping the latter’s case; it reminds Andrew of when the officers tried to interrogate him yesterday—especially that asshole, Dylan.
“That doesn’t mean you have to exclude him.”
Edmund steps in, causing Andrew to freeze up.
Klaus shifts to the man with an irate scowl. “I’m sorry, who the fuck are you?”
“I’m his personal aide,” he answers without flinching.
“How about you keep your nose out of other people’s business?”
“Hey, hey, hey! Come on, guys.” Andrew, not liking where this confrontation is going, jumps in between them, almost tripping over Edmund’s foot while spreading his arms, the cane dangling from one of his wrists, to hold them apart. “Let’s just go, Edmund…” he pleads.
Edmund, quickly realizing what he had done, backs away while being ushered off with clear regret on his face. “I overstepped my boundaries,” he stammers to Andrew, “I shouldn’t have done that… I’m sorry.” He looks over his shoulder to see Klaus still glaring after them.
“It’s okay, man.” Andrew pats him on the back with a grateful smirk.
“It’s not,” he insists while shaking. “It’s against policy to confront any associates of my client. I don’t know what came over me, but it won’t happen again.”
“Don’t worry, you’re good.”
Once they arrive at the main entrance, they wait in front of the passing cars in silence. Here, Andrew’s brief exhilaration melts away in favour of betrayal and isolation as the reality of their encounter sinks in—Klaus and Mariah have only ever been Edge’s friends at the end of the day, not his. How could he have been so clueless? And without his best friend, he is back to square one—no, square zero.
That’ll teach me to get my hopes up…
“Hey…”
Edmund turns to his young client again, an eyebrow raised.
“… if anyone should be sorry, it’s me,” the latter says finally. “The other day… I treated you like shit when you were just trying to help me.” He inhales shakily, continuing. “I was just so fucked up about everything that…” he trails off, batting his eyes.
“You don’t have to be sorry, Andrew.” With a kind smile, Edmund places a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I know what you’re going through. In fact, it pissed me off watching that happen to you.”
“Yeah, but… I still shouldn’t have lashed out at you.”
“You clearly had some steam to blow off,” assures the aide. “Plus, I’m used to it.”
This detail staggers Andrew. “That is sad, man. Doesn’t that get exhausting?”
Edmund laughs while fixing his shirt. “I take the good with the bad,” he says nonchalantly, “as long as it pays well… and you were nowhere close to bad that day.”
“That’s… good to know.” Andrew nods meekly. “But I’m sorry regardless.”
“It’s all good, man.”
“Cool.” After another lengthy pause, the young blind man extends a hand to his personal aide. “Clean slate, then?”
With a wink, Edmund daps him. “Clean slate.”
Sometime in the late afternoon, Officer Carol Marston arrives with her squad at the edge of the Black Forest, no one daring to cross the tree line, which had since been marked with yellow tape and other warning banners. They station their vehicles, including a production van, in a clear, unmarked space just off the road.
Carol exits her car, followed by her partner Dylan and the rest of the uniformed team, to meet up with their accompanying drone pilot, Benjamin Shore. She takes note of the name, Shorely Productions, lettered in bold, stylized caps on the side of his van, before approaching the vested, spectacled man around the back to find him already unpacking his instrument.
“You work fast,” she comments observantly.
“You pick up a thing or two after nine years,” Benjamin responds without sparing her a glance, busying to set up his drone’s controls and infrared. “I’m just making sure this’ll all work okay,” he adds, “so it may take a minute or more before we start.”
She nods supportively before Dylan leans into her ear.
“You really think this will work?” he inquires subtly.
“We have to try everything,” says Carol with a light shrug.
Her partner throws a soft sigh before giving the woman her space back.
“Before we start…” Benjamin shifts his attention to the officers finally, holding the drone in one hand and its controller in the other, “… I want your word that if anything permanent happens to this baby, I’ll be properly compensated.”
“We have it in writing,” she confirms resolutely.
“Alrighty, then.”
The enthusiastic operator begins by placing his drone on a flatter patch of ground, then steps back with his controller to begin piloting from his mini-screen. A buzzing noise stems from its four contra-rotating propellers, their speed and power kicking dirt up in the shape of a ring. The rest of the group, now intrigued, gathers round to watch this display before the drone makes its spring-like ascent and flies off.
“Thing’s pretty fast too,” remarks Dylan, admitting his own amazement.
Benjamin states with smugness, “Technology, man.”
For a while, nothing much happens. His drone surveys the forest from its bird view in a steady, sweeping motion, continuing for hours until the early evening. Once it’s dark enough, Benjamin switches its view to infrared while keeping his focus lasered on his small screen for any suspicious activity—by now, his eyes have gotten sore and droopy.
By now, his audience had long since dwindled out of boredom and exhaustion, most having retreated into their cars to sit it all out. Carol remains at his side, looming over his shoulder, while Dylan stands apart for his third smoke of the night, the wispy trail twirling from its glowing, charred tip.
“Anything yet?” he beckons, expecting the same usual answer.
Benjamin replies with a hard sigh, “Still nothing, sorry.”
Frustrated now, the male officer takes one last sip from his cigarette before putting it out with his boot—this had gone on for too long already.
“Wait!”
Dylan whips his head to see his partner stumbling backwards from the drone pilot, whose knees had bent alarmingly—had something spooked them?
“What is it!?” he demands, running to them.
“I saw something!” cries Benjamin, his eyebrows arching above his glasses. “Just there!” He points somewhere on his screen, near the lower left.
“What??” Rejoining the two, Dylan cranes over the man’s shoulder to squint where his finger is. “What am I supposed to see??” he demands again, frowning.
Benjamin stammers, “I don’t know how to—there it is again! Right there!” He points harder while screwing up his own face. “It looks like…”
“What in the goddamn hell is…?” mumbles Carol, equally bewildered.
It’s right there… they can see it partially through the leaves… its long, tapering, sidewinding form. Its imaging shows up as purple… cold-blooded, just like a reptile or amphibian. It moves quickly… slithering… no hint of fur, no limbs… just pure skin. But its size… it’s too ginormous to be any other creature they know of.
“No fucking way…” Dylan can barely move his mouth, his face almost tightening like leather, “… that’s too far out.” His masculine voice his even quivering.
What they can’t yet make out is this creature’s head—it’s too obscured by the habitat. But too late, it’s gone now.
“Shit!” curses the operator.
“No, wait!” Carol holds him steady, calming him with a pat. “It could still be there. Just hold it for a moment. Maybe it’ll rear its head again.”
Benjamin obeys, idling his drone over that last area while they wait… and wait… and wait. Their soundly alertness regains the interest of their spectators as they hurry over around to see what the commotion is all about.
Still, they see nothing, even with a full three-sixty from their vantage point—it’s gone for sure now.
“I think we should stop here,” suggests Benjamin while glancing between the leading officers. “I can’t risk—HEY!! GET OFF!!”
Out of nowhere, a frizzy-looking owl blindsides his drone, its talons bared, eyes venomous.
“GET OFF MY DRONE!!” he shrieks while helplessly thrashing the joysticks.
But it’s no use; the damage is done. All he can do is watch in horror as the display on his screen devolves into a frenzied spiral before his prized possession crash-lands into the forest, just like a helicopter. The screen goes blank after that— NO SIGNAL.
“No, no, no… FUCK!!” Benjamin falls to his knees, screaming at the heavens. He clenches the controller, wrestling the urge to break it in half.
Warily, Carol lays a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to console him. “I’m sorry.” Her apology, of course, doesn’t reach the poor man—he almost wants to cry. Patting him regardless, she gazes into the tree line hauntingly.
As a deputy sheriff who is handling an abominable investigation, she knows better than to lead with assumptions, but what she saw in that forest…
… could it be true?
Could Andrew be right, after all?
Could ‘it’ be real?
After promising to compensate Benjamin for his lost drone, the fatigued woman collapses into the driver’s seat of her car and slumps her forehead on the steering wheel. Dylan joins her on the passenger side.
“That could have gone better,” he states.
She barely responds, shaking her head defeatedly.
Noticing her turmoil, the man softens his tone. “Oi…” he waits for her to look at him, “… we will get through this, alright?” His eyes are encouraging.
Pausing at first, she nods… but without a hint of a smile.
“What are we doing, Dylan?” She gazes through their windscreen again. “Just tell me what the fuck I’m supposed to do now.”
“First…” he takes her hand gently, “… you need to get some rest.”
Carol wipes her eyes, acknowledging the suggestion, before taking some deep breaths to relax herself. Right now, her mind is too cluttered and needs a refresh. While glancing back to her partner, she wonders whether or not to tell him what she suspects—she can feel her tongue dangling.
“I do have one proposal…” Dylan adds, as if reading her mind, “… we ought to keep a closer eye on that Andrew, don’t you think?”
To this idea, she sucks in her lip, lowering her eyes—it’s a start.
Back home, Andrew lingers in his room, mulling over the same events as always. He should be feeling better after today. After all, he wasn’t hounded by the media nor hassled by the authorities this time. Plus, he now has a direction for his final film project—an achievement in itself…
… so, why is he so melancholy?
His mind fixates on Klaus and Mariah, two people that he thought were his friends. The way they had coldly dismissed him, treated him as if the fun times they shared on that fateful trip never happened—it felt like a punch to the gut, a pain that lingers even now.
Why am I letting this one encounter ruin my day?
I could just be overreacting… right??
But he can’t help himself… if some of the sheriffs are suspecting him of foul play, then what’s to say that his own peers won’t start thinking the same and try to distance themselves from him?
His thoughts drift next to Alice—what could her intentions be?
On cue, Andrew’s phone dings from his bedside table. Unlocking it, he uses a text reader to play her message: ‘C u tomorrow?’
With a sigh of uncertainty, he texts back: ‘Yea. I’ll c u tmr’
About a minute later, she replies with: ‘Awesome! Goodnight 😊’
‘Gnight,’ he answers back before setting his phone back down to plug in its charger; its assistive function for the visually impaired makes his digital life much easier at least.
Okay… now what?
Andrew sits on his bed, his feet drumming on the floor, when he decides to get up and take something out of his drawer. It takes him a minute to sift through his belongings until his hands find exactly what he’s looking for—his old sound mixing console, which is no bigger than a laptop. It could use a good wipe—he can feel dust particles coating its knobs and faders, but that can wait.
He places it on his desk, right next to his computer’s keyboard, and leaves it there. He hadn’t used this console in so long, let alone bothered to keep it in a proper box. Can he rely on his memory alone, and will it even work properly?
Anything’s worth a try…
Downstairs, something else rather unorthodox happens to Andrew while he sits in front of the fireplace again—it’s something he can’t see but can feel beyond just his skin.
It happens as he hovers his hands in front of the licking flames, this strange warmth conducting through his body, travelling inwards from his fingertips—it’s even pulsing, like a swell of energy.
But there is no one to witness this—not his dad, and not even the boy himself, his mind too busy to pay any real attention. What he can’t see are his veins glowing, bulging through his entire forearms—they look like glistening rivers.
