When tomorrow indeed arrives, Andrew sits with his dad in the same diner Alice had taken him to, having requested this to be their pickup location rather than the college that had steadily grown to alienate him; his dad was more than generous to drive him here. Together, they drink from the bottled soft drinks they ordered.
“Careful with how much of that Fanta you consume, considering you’ll be on the road for a while.”
“I know, dad.” Andrew takes another sip before capping his bottle tightly.
“So, you’ve made sure you got everything?” the man asks.
“Yes,” answers his son, patting the bloated camera bag seated next to him.
“Absolutely?”
He repeats with a sigh, “Yes, dad. I’ve quadruple-checked everything. Even had your help, if I remember brightly.”
“Alright, then.” With his hands raised, James pulls back to glug his own lemon soda. “Next time,” he goes again, “just get yourself a lemonade like mine. I promise you won’t regret it later.”
“Okey-dokey.”
Brief silence follows… that is until the curious father speaks again.
“So, this ‘project’ that you and Alice are doing…” he laces his hands, raising his eyebrows, “… do you guys even know what you’re doing?”
Andrew drums the table with his fingers, hesitating. “Sort of…”
“Sort of?”
“Yeah.” He nods defensively before hurrying to explain, “Since my eyes are currently useless, I’m going for a more… run-and-gun approach, if that makes any sense.”
His dad doesn’t respond—he’s more than likely making a face right now.
Andrew sighs again. “Look, my teacher said that any approach works as long as it comes out well in the final product.”
“Just well?” challenges the older man.
“Well…” the boy pauses, wincing, “… better than well, I hope.”
“If you say so,” concludes James before sweeping up his bottle to finish it for good—he’s always been a fast drinker.
Andrew, however, reads too much into his tone. “I’m just trying to work with what I have, alright?” he protests softly. “Well is at least better than nothing.”
“Relax, son,” assures his dad with a quick wave. “I believe you.”
“Alright, then.”
Despite this assurance, the younger man can’t help but detect his lingering worry.
With an up-nod, Andrew decides to ask him, “What’s up?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re clearly troubled about something,” he points out. “I can just feel it.”
“Well…” with a sigh of his own, James straightens himself while glancing out the window beside them, “… I’ll confess that I do find the distance of this trip a little fishy, especially for just a project.” He gazes at Andrew intently. “You sure there’s nothing else going on?”
Andrew chooses to ignore the implications. “Didn’t you once tell me I had to get off my ass?” he echoes with a cross-armed shrug—anything to hide the truth.
“I did,” the older man acknowledges, “and I am proud of you for that. Don’t get me wrong…”
“But…?” prompts Andrew further, sensing the incompleteness of his statement.
His dad inhales before stating, “I just hope Alice doesn’t get you into any more trouble, considering what happened last time you joined her group.” A noticeable dislike laces his voice when he mentions the girl’s name.
Andrew makes haste to defend her. “That wasn’t her fault, dad. I told you already that she didn’t want to go in, but…” casting his eyes down, he exhales, “… we made her.” He slouches back, shaking dispiritedly now. “She was actually the smartest person that day, whereas Edge and I… we were the idiots.”
“Anyway…” James clears his throat purposely, “… if you’re done flagellating again,” he points outside with his thumb, “I think your ride’s here.”
He’s right—as soon as he directs Andrew’s attention, he not only hears a car pulling up to the sidewalk nearest to them, followed by a jangle of keys as the ignition clicks off, but there is this sweet aroma too, which can only be perfume, occupying the inner canals of his nose before the girl in question makes her entrance.
“Hey,” greets Alice with a modest wave before walking up to their booth.
Andrew returns her gesture. “Hi, Alice.”
But when this young man stands up with his cane to properly greet her, he hesitates between shaking her hand and hugging her—it’s not like they’ve known each other for long.
To his surprise, Alice warmly embraces him—she smells even better up close. This hold lasts for a second before she pulls away to accept the older man’s handshake. From the feel of her clothes, she seems to be wearing her leather jacket again too.
The boy cringes at himself… Don’t be weird, okay?
“How have you been?” James asks the young woman welcomingly.
“I’ve been okay…” she replies while brushing the strands from her face, unsure of what more to say. “And, uh, you guys?” she asks back, returning her attention to Andrew.
“Better,” he simply states, nodding sideways while fixing his shades.
“Thanks for asking,” adds James while shooting his son a knowing smirk, which obviously goes unnoticed. “I guess you two will be off, then?”
Andrew smacks his lips. “Pretty much.”
“In that case…” with a snicker, the older man picks up Andrew’s camera bag from where he was sitting so he can hand it to him, “… shouldn’t you be taking this, then?”
“Right…” Andrew takes the bag from him, chucking the strap over his shoulder in a feeble attempt to distract everyone from his embarrassment, “… thanks.”
They laugh at him regardless—it’s all good, he hopes.
When the blind man is led to Alice’s car, a standard blue Captiva, he can’t help but notice how extensive Alice gets while assisting him especially, such as holding his arm, guiding him into the passenger side, and taking his bag off so she can neatly put it in her backseat; it’s all in good faith, he presumes.
“Thanks, Alice.”
“Don’t mention it.” She winks, which of course goes unseen.
With that done, Alice enters the car herself.
“Stay safe, you two.”
“I will,” Andrew guarantees to his dad before shutting his door rather briskly.
James Coffey watches, his arms crossed with veiled trepidation, as the blue Captiva pulls away from the sidewalk and vanishes into the forthcoming traffic before he turns away, jiggling his keys, to leave in his own car.
What he doesn’t notice is another vehicle, a plainer model, following in Alice and Andrew’s direction with discreet haste—he catches it in his peripheral vision for maybe a second but thinks nothing of it.
About half an hour had passed since Andrew and Alice made their departure from Port Rhapsody. They are still on the road, which had grown emptier the farther they travelled, narrowing into single lanes both ways. Alice, who is behind the wheel, focuses ahead while bouncing glances at her phone’s GPS frequently to make sure she is staying on course.
“Want any music?” she questions the passenger sitting beside her.
Andrew, who is enjoying the peace and quiet, shrugs. “I’m good,” he answers generously. “It’s up to you.”
“Okay.” She nods, biting her lip.
An awkward pause stretches out the air of silence between them. Andrew, realizing shortly that this girl would rather have a conversation after driving for so damn long, picks the easiest topic he can find.
“What music do you listen to?” Easy enough.
Alice clicks her tongue, then sips through her mouth as she ponders. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m having a brain fart…” for a moment, she drums the steering wheel. “Oh! Do you mind Taylor Swift?”
Andrew shakes. “Nope.”
She proceeds then to suggest some more artists. “Well, I also have The Weeknd… if you’re interested.”
“Sure!” He lights up right away. “I actually wasn’t a fan until I started hearing some of his stuff recently.”
To this, she arches an eyebrow while still gazing front. “Which stuff, exactly?”
“Well…” Andrew screws up his face, thinking himself, “… Less Than Zero, for one.”
Now, it’s Alice’s turn to light up. “I love that song! Let’s put that on!”
With one swift hand, she turns on the stereo and raises the volume. Surely enough, The Weeknd begins blasting through her speakers, washing away the cold, drifting ambience from outside indubitably.
As the song plays, Alice mumbles along with the lyrics while her friend rocks to the beat, his body slightly turned, facing his side window. It’s a subtle gesture, but whilst they may be enjoying each other’s company, even Andrew knows better than to act too friendly with his best friend’s girlfriend—that has always been an unwritten rule.
Even still, she’s in a noticeably happier mood than when he last saw her and quietly wonders if this behaviour is genuine or just a well-fortified front—either way, it’s none of his business. His sole focus should be on helping her, nothing more.
But truth be told— No!
“Is it okay if I have the window open?” he asks her abruptly.
Alice turns to him with a slight look of surprise, then shrugs. “Um… sure.”
With the feel of his fingers, Andrew finds the button that lowers his screen, leaving it halfway so he can stick his head out and feel the breeze ruffling through his hair while fanning his ears.
“The air’s getting cooler,” he mentions casually.
“It means we’re getting closer, according to the map.”
“That reminds me…” Andrew dips back in to properly face her, “… how exactly are you going to approach this?” He pauses before clarifying, “I mean, what are you going to say to this Sarah Wood when you meet her… if she is even home, that is?”
“I’ll, uh…” the girl screws up her face while muttering doubtfully, “… I’ll just run-and-gun it,” she answers finally.
This earns her a lopsided scowl. “What does that mean?”
“It means that I’ll go with whatever approach the situation calls for,” she clarifies with a hint of annoyance. “You know… just go with the flow?”
The young man, still uncertain, sees it best not to argue. “If you say so.”
“Look…”
The sudden forcefulness in Alice’s tone startles him.
“… maybe I am just grasping at straws, but this is something I have to do!”
“Alright, alright…” Andrew recoils defensively, “… I’m sorry!”
Alice leaks a sigh out of her nose, calming down shortly. “Me too.”
After this exchange, the two fall silent again—if not for the music persisting indifferently, it would be too deafeningly quiet for comfort.
“I’ll follow your lead, then,” concludes Andrew before he leans out of the car window again, needing the fresh air once more; he makes a mental note to avoid using the words, ‘If you say so,’ in that order again for the rest of the day.
With his shades protecting his sensitive eyes from not only the direct gust, but also the sunlight gleaming from high above with the clouds, he decides to satisfy an itching curiosity by removing them. Blinking thrice, he dares a squint at the ever- irradiating brightness that has graced their planet for millennia.
Strangely, the searing pain he had expected to shoot through his retina doesn’t come to pass; he knows it should affect him worse than a normal pair of functioning eyes. Granted, the sun is still too blinding for him to stare at for too long, but there’s also this… strange energy… it’s like a conductive current. He doesn’t know where it’s coming from… only that it feels like a rejuvenating bath... similar to what he felt last night.
This feels… good.
Meanwhile, a quick side-eye from Alice—or what she believes to be her imagination —catches something right then… on his hand, the one resting on his lap.
Did it just… glow??
But when she turns her head to see it better… it’s gone now.
Or perhaps… it just never was.
Yeah, that’s it…
… just me losing whatever is left of my fucking mind.
Sooner than later, the clouds in the sky thicken as they steadily dim the sunlight, signalling a shift in the weather.
When another half an hour passes, the young adults find themselves cutting through a forest on a much tighter, sidewinding road, the terrain steadily rising, the altitude bringing a sharper chill than before. Despite this being an entirely different forest, its haunting similarity stiffens Andrew instinctively—even with his window sealed up again, he can hear the passing trees closing in on them progressively.
Surely enough, they whoosh past a sign that reads, Welcome to Cherrycradle.
“We’re finally here,” says Alice, trying to bring some excitement back.
“Really?” He leans forward, clearing his throat. “What’s this place called again?”
When she tells him, he lets slip a cackle.
“What’s so funny?” she asks, smirking herself.
“N-Nothing,” he lies, covering his mouth with a fist. “Just… it’s just the name.”
“What?” Her grin turns devilish as she repeats, “Cherrycradle?”
“Stop!” he begs, now blowing raspberries as he fights back more laughter.
“I don’t get it. What is so funny about that name?”
“It’s not! That’s the problem!”
“Then why are you laughing??”
“I d-don’t know, I…” feeling idiotic now, the young man buries his face in utter embarrassment, “… it just sounds weird, that’s all.”
“Why?” The girl hangs her jaw crookedly, enjoying this too much. “Is it because you once used it as a safe word or something?”
“What!? No, I never—” Andrew stammers, his face reddening by the minute.
This only fuels her savagery. “Hey, hey… if you’re into that stuff, I won’t judge.”
“J-Just… sh-shut up…” he attempts feverishly to calm himself down with a few deep breaths. “I shouldn’t have asked,” he comments lastly.
“Well, it’s too late,” Alice clicks her tongue, biting back another grin. “You, sir, just gave me some lethal ammunition to use against you later.”
With a hard sigh, Andrew nods, conceding defeat. “Already regretting it…”
Cherrycradle—an elderly town situated on a bushy hill. Its aesthetic, while similar to Port Rhapsody in terms of style and architecture, is more suburban than commercial with tighter streets to navigate; this kind of setting requires great patience and care to drive through.
“Glad I don’t live here.”
Andrew seconds his friend’s statement with a gentle hum as she props forward, her chin near the steering wheel, in full concentration—some exits here are quite deceptive, as they don’t appear to exist until she’s right around the corner to turn in. The steeper paths as they climb up are especially challenging, even for a small car like hers—a few times too many, she ends up having to wait on the far side of her lane just for other vehicles to pass by from the opposite end so she can progress.
“I’m really glad I don’t live here,” she repeats moodily.
But soon enough, they reach the supposed street of their destination, a twisting maze of neighbouring houses. Now, it’s all just a matter of finding the right one among these overlapping rooftops, hedges, trees, and fences.
Alice peers to the sidewalk on their left. “Should be just here…”
At last, the voice of the GPS confirms, “You have arrived at your destination.”
“Thank you, robot.”
Shutting off the app, she carefully pulls up to the sidewalk in front of the entrance, then shifts her car into park before removing the keys from its ignition. The engine begins its long cooldown, granted its hard-earned rest.
Alice exits from her side before she rounds the front to assist Andrew on his end. Instead of brushing the girl off, he humbly accepts her help as she eases him out of his seat, spiritedly retrieving him his camera bag from the back right after.
Together, with her tender hand on his arm again, they approach the gate.
“You really think this is her place?” questions Andrew.
“Absolutely,” she raises her screen before remembering that he can’t see, “it, uh… matches the picture in the app.”
Andrew takes no offense to her evident mistake. “Alrighty, then.”
There it stands, the home of Sarah Wood, with its brick walls and ornate windows bearing a chimneyed roof that once used to shelter her daughter, Savannah. The front lawn is somewhat maintained, its yellowish-lime grass even, its flowers generously watered. All of this, paired with the history of its residents, provides a hauntingly beautiful aura, neither welcoming nor spurning… just there.
But none of this, Andrew can see whatsoever—instead, his other senses paint him the scenery. The air tastes fresh on his tongue while caressing his nose with a strong, earthly fragrance, which could mean that it rains quite often here. He can feel stone steps under the base of his shoes leading them to the porch. His hearing, on the other hand, drafts him a story… a trickling fountain beside him, wind chimes jangling close ahead, and even pinwheels fanning in the breeze.
“Let’s hope the lady’s home…” he says rather hesitantly.
Inhaling precisely, Alice finds the doorbell and presses it…
Ding-dong.
… no answer.
Of course, she didn’t expect anything on the first try, so she tries again…
Ding-dong.
… still no answer, no problem.
Ding-dong.
… third time, but no charm.
Alice waits a little more patiently between her next two attempts, but again, there seems to be nobody home— this is just perfect.
Flailing her hand uselessly, she veers to Andrew with a forlorn sigh. “Looks like we’ll be here a while. Who knows when she’ll get back…?”
But the boy’s ears tell him otherwise—inside the house, close behind the door, he hears movement. It’s subtle, but he picks up the sound of feet shuffling on the floor, causing its wooden boards to creak. Whoever is inside was trying to be sneaky…
… but not sneaky enough.
“Or… she might just not want to talk to us.” Not that he can blame her—this already feels like trespassing.
But the young woman, ever as superstitious as she is persistent, catches on right away. “Wait, can you hear her??”
Andrew cringes regretfully—she’s a sharp one, this Raven.
“Mrs. Wood?” she starts calling through the curtained windows, all of which are drawn shut. “Mrs. Wood? I need to talk to you! My name’s Alice—”
Andrew makes a feeble attempt to pull her away. “Maybe we should leav—”
“No!” She shoves his hand away, aggressive now. “I came all this way!”
He lowers his head, biting his lip—she has a point, but still… this is getting rather intrusive for his liking.
“You can wait in the car if you want…” her voice quivers, “… but I need my answers!”
Despite his understanding, her words sting deeply for some reason… though he remains at her side regardless.
“I know you’re in there!” she continues, pressing her forehead against the glass. “I know you don’t want any visitors, but I need to talk to you about the Black Forest!”
“Go away!” bellows an elderly female voice from inside, at last confirming her presence. “I don’t want visitors!”
“I know, but—”
“Get off my property before I call the cops!”
“I know about your daughter, Savannah!” Alice becomes breathlessly hectic. “I don’t know what I’m doing here, but I…” she chokes out a stunted sigh, “… I know what you’re going through! I’m desperate… so, please…”
Once more, there is deliberate silence from the other end—they can only imagine what the lady inside could be thinking right now… the audacity of these ‘youngsters’ to mention her daughter like that.
Andrew, for no reason whatsoever, unbags his lent camera to use it—he may as well make use of his own time here. But as he turns away to film one of the lady’s spinning pinwheels near the steps, and then her wind chimes dancing directly above, a sharp click from the doorhandle yanks him back.
The lady of the house, Sarah Wood, thunders the veranda as she finally steps out to confront her unwanted visitors, her wrinkles accenting her glare of distress—her fury alone has them backpedalling in fear, but not enough to have them in full retreat.
“First, you trespass onto my property, then you have the gall to mention my daughter’s name, and now you’re taking unsolicited pictures of my hou—” she stops mid-sentence as soon as she gets a proper glimpse of the cameraman. “Y-You…” she stutters, scanning him frigidly, “… you’re that boy in the news, the one who survived.”
Oh, shit…
Andrew’s chest tightens, his heart skipping a beat, when he flashes back to his last encounter with the media—it triggers his flight response. “Uh, y-you know what? I’ll just go wait in the car.”
“No, wait!”
He freezes before he can take his first step off the porch, but he hesitates to face the now-eager lady, only doing so with caution while his mouth hangs speechlessly.
“Right, uh…” Mrs. Wood, having settled herself down now, fidgets with her hands while batting her anxious gaze between him and Alice. With a messy exhale, she makes a hasty decision. “Fine… you can come in.”
This unexpected change of heart staggers the young individuals, their eyebrows stretching towards their hairlines.
“You serious??” questions Alice with a hint of relief.
The woman nods. “But only for a little while.”
Andrew, however, frowns at her suspiciously. “Why?”
“Because…” she ticks with her mouth, shrugging, “… I guess it’s been a while since I’ve last talked to anyone about this.” She returns her gaze to Andrew. “I have some idea of what you two are going through, so why don’t you come in?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Wood.” Alice bows, shaking her hand with both of hers.
“Just call me Sarah,” she replies, rolling her eyes at the girl, before stepping aside to let her in.
Andrew lingers for a bit, bagging his camera—having learned his lesson from last time, he makes sure to switch off the device and cap the lens beforehand. “It’s for a film project, I swear,” he defends with a raised hand.
Sarah doesn’t respond—she just waits for him to enter, guiding him with an arm around his back, so she can lock her front door shut again.
Unbeknownst to them, the same car that had followed the two college students out of Port Rhapsody is now sitting a fair distance behind Alice’s Captiva, next to the same curb, its vigilant driver waiting patiently inside…
… but unbeknownst to that driver, there is a second watcher—it circles above the house, its wings spread as it surveys through crimson eyes.
