“Can I tell you something that’s funny, Ollie?”
“Honestly, no… but go ahead.”
“If I had a nickel for every time this ‘Andrew Coffey’ got himself involved in a shady incident that our local sheriffs are being all secretive about, I would have two nickels, which I know isn’t much, mind you—I just find it funny that it’s happened twice now within two weeks… roughly.”
“Remember, Will… no assumptions or insinuations.”
“I know, I know. Got nothing against this kid, I’ll say that. I’m just making an observation based on what I’ve seen and heard from other sources.”
“He seems to be having it rough lately… poor guy.”
“That’s true. At least this time, no one got killed or went missing… all except for that poor moo—”
Carol Marston, who had been tuning in to the Twin Peakes’ latest podcast on her phone, ends it with a quick swipe on her screen before setting it down on her kitchen table. But with her hand still draped over the device, the blonde woman deflates her chest with the steadiest exhale she can muster while running her other hand through her loose, straight hair, which captures the outside glow from her windows.
Thanks to her injury, the sheriff had been granted some time off to recuperate in the security of her home, as evidenced by her plastered foot bridging her leg to an adjacent stool where her crutches lay within reach. Her partner, Dylan, had even scribbled on her cast a standard Get well soon message with hearts and all.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she was able to refresh her psyche with a good night’s rest… at least somewhat.
Her other partner and best friend, a female Scottish Collie named Mars, keeps her good company, her chest puffed out regally while her tail wags spiritedly. Gently and affectionately, she nudges the woman with her snout, her flopped ears and beady eyes implicating worry.
“Have I not spoiled you with enough attention, girl?” coos the off-duty officer as she proceeds to pet her dog furiously. “Here, is this what you want? You satisfied now?”
Mars smiles with her tongue out, confirming this.
At the same time, Carol finds that she doesn’t like being this inactive. But in her current state, there isn’t much that she can do, making her feel both absolved and useless; it’s a good thing her flat isn’t too big for her to move around in.
It had been less than a full day since she had checked out of the hospital, and she is already fighting the urge to call up her station, even if it’s just to check in on their progress.
One call shouldn’t hurt… right?
Giving in, she raises the phone to her ear, drumming her fingernails on the counter, until Dylan answers with a stumped, “Hello…?”
“How’s the interrogation going?” she questions with a light smirk.
“Er… alright, I reckon.” The breathy hesitation in his voice suggests otherwise. “I’m trying to go easy on this girl… but she’s quite stubborn.”
“What have you asked her so far?”
“Pretty much everything about the incident just to see if I could slip her up…” he follows this with a harsh sigh, “… but her answers have all been consistent so far.”
“So, what’s the issue?”
“My intuition is telling me to dig deeper… but I know what you’d say.”
With an understanding nod, Carol perks in her chair when a new suggestion formulates in her mind. “Ask her about the strobe.”
At first, there is background noise—he either didn’t hear her or is processing what she just said. It lingers for a moment, causing the woman to second-guess.
“Dylan?”
“Yeah, I’m still here. Just…” he trails off, pondering some more, “… what does this ‘strobe’ have to do with anything… and why are you only now bringing it up?”
“I’ll…” she thumbs her temple aggressively, “… I-I’ll explain later, okay? Just do it.” Before forgetting, she then adds, “And whatever answer she gives you, pay close attention to her demeanour… got it?”
Again, there is a pause from the other end before the man replies with a stern, “If you say so,” then hangs up shortly, leaving his partner to contemplate in the silent ambience of her kitchen once more.
It was right before she had passed out on that wet road that she saw it in her peripheral… the blinding flash—she is sure she didn’t imagine it.
For God-knows how many hours now, Alice had been kept in this interrogation room where its walls feel like they are boxing her in every minute. Isn’t she supposed to be just a witness? Why does it feel more like she’s being treated like a suspect?
At the very least, these interrogation rooms don’t look like they do in the movies. This interior is brightly lit, the table isn’t cold nor metallic, the floor is nicely carpeted, and the chairs are rather soft and cozy too. None of this, however, makes the atmosphere any less oppressive to her—rather, it makes it all the more deceptive.
This and the one mirrored window on her right are the only two things that remain consistent. Each time she spares a glance, she knows that an extra pair of eyes—maybe more—are staring back through her reflection with academic concentration.
But finally, after a short break by herself, a sharp click from the door directs her attention to the front where Officer Dylan re-enters to once again occupy their table—by now, the girl isn’t nervous anymore, just numbed and irritated.
While sorting through his file, he dares to ask her, “You good?”
Alice glares at this man, her lips pursed tightly—the audacity… but she nods in a rehearsed manner. Her tongue rolls to the back of her mouth as she restrains the compulsion to give a kneejerk response.
Instead, she answers with a question of her own. “Why am I still here?”
“Because I’ve got some more questions.”
To this, a loud groan escapes from the young woman’s throat as she straightens up to his eye level. “How many more times do I have to tell the same story, officer?”
“Alice…” the officer waves his hand in an attempt to placate her, “… I understand your frustration, but please calm down. I promise you this isn’t personal.”
To this, she snickers humourlessly. “Those are two words you should never use against an angry woman… calm down.”
Dylan, however, remains unbothered; to him, this is just another Tuesday. “While that may be true, Alice… different rules apply here, and you must abide by them.”
“I know…” she spits out, “… but this is getting excessive!”
The man raises his finger next, but not to hush her. “One more, how about that?” he suggests calmly. “If you answer me this one question, you can go… alright?”
Alice leans back in her chair, her arms crossed dubiously. Left without much of a choice, she gives this deputy sheriff the go-ahead with a spry nod.
With a faint inhale, he proceeds. “What can you tell me about… the strobe?”
This one question disarms the witness entirely, causing her to short circuit…
… checkmate.
“W-What…?” The girl begins to stammer. “I-I-I don’t…” Her eyes dart like pinballs, her lashes flapping like bird wings caught in the rain. “H-Hold on, just…” Her lips oscillate, unable to stay open nor closed while her tongue wriggles stupidly between her teeth. “W-What kind of… strobe?” she finally musters.
Dylan leans in, his studious, unblinking glare absorbing the bounced underlighting from their table. “You tell me, Alice,” he simply replies.
“I d-don’t… know…” is the weakest, non-committal response that this young woman can conjure—it quickly dawns on her that this prick now has her trapped between a rock and a hard place… and without even trying.
Suddenly, the LED lights above are buzzing right in her ears now, the still air constricting every subtle movement of her body. Suddenly, she doesn’t know anymore where to look, what face she should be making, or how she ought to sit.
“Take your time,” says Dylan, his posture relaxed in contrast—it looks to him like Carol was right as he tacks on, “Where did the strobe come from?”
Again, Alice is choked for words…
“Did it come from inside or outside the car?”
… the cogs in her brain bustle into a frenzy, only to produce more blanks.
“If you tell me the truth, Alice, I promise that you’ll be doing everyone a great solid. We’re all just trying to help each other.” His statement does sound genuine…
… but can she really take his words at face value?
But more importantly, can she truly snitch on her friend for the ‘greater good’? Who knows what these people might do with such information? For all this girl knows, this could just be an elaborate bluff— no, it’s too accurate.
Then again, if she does share this information, it could bring them one step closer to finding Edge… right?
But how… she can’t yet grasp.
Maybe, just maybe… she can find a loophole… an answer that can both satisfy this man and protect Andrew’s secret… but what? And will it even work? She can’t lie to this deputy, nor can she throw her friend under the bus after he had saved her life.
“Please…” Dylan heaves a long sigh, “… make this easy for both of us.”
It’s now or never…
With a deep sigh of her own, Alice takes this pause to compose herself and gather her thoughts to formulate the best possible answer.
“Okay…” she begins.
As soon as the interrogation was over, Alice was free to go as promised. She wasted no time getting the hell out of there; had she stayed for even a second longer, she might have imploded from the suffocating tension.
But once she is outside, the girl decides to idle in front of the main entranceway so she can refresh herself under its protective shade; as keen as she is to get away from the Port Rhapsody Sheriff’s Department, she is less inclined to walk out in the unfiltered sunlight just yet, which in itself is rare to see during autumn. Instead, she’ll just wait until the deceptively cold breeze ushers her off eventually.
So much hesitation…
… so little action.
This mere thought compels Alice to open up her phone and sweep through her contacts, mainly to shut out that inner voice. Because of the alphabetical order, Andrew is one of the first names that roll into view. For maybe a second, she pauses on him, then scrolls further down, pausing briefly on Edge, until her thumb lands conveniently on Emily, her other friend and roommate whom she has known for far longer.
Her previous words echo in her head: “My door is still open.”
Taking her chance, she calls her.
“Alice?” answers the girl in no time.
“Hey, Emily?” The goth woman heightens her voice. “How are you?”
“I’m good! You?”
“I’m…” she hesitates, “… fine, I guess.”
“What’s up?”
“Nothing much,” she lies with a swift shoulder check. “I’m just… wondering how busy you are today?”
There is a brief pause from the other end until Emily gleefully responds with, “Sure, I’m free this afternoon! Is there… anywhere in particular…? Or are we just going to rendezvous in our room as usual? Your choice.”
The goth bites back a smirk as she sways. “You’re making me choose?”
“Why not?” challenges her friend, who is likely pulling the same face. “Let’s do it on your terms for a change.”
“Okay, then…” Alice presses a finger over her lips while arching her eyebrows higher than they have ever stretched before, “… you feel like jogging?” she suggests with an almost sadistic grin.
“No!” protests Emily with a nervous giggle.
But Alice bares her teeth wider. “Yes!”
“No way!”
“Come on, it’ll be fun.”
“That is cruel! You know I can’t outrun you!”
“Don’t worry, it’s not a race.”
Her friend scoffs. “Yeah, sure…”
The caller shifts into a more pleading tone as she begins pacing now. “Come on, Em’… I’m trying to reach out here, like you said I should.”
“I know, babe…” a loud sigh wisps through the speaker, followed by a lengthier pause, until her roomie finally caves in. “Oh, alright! I’ll see you soon!”
“Great!” yaps Alice delightedly. “I’ll see you soon!”
“Okay!”
“Bye!”
“Bye!”
“Bye!”
“Buh bye!”
“See ya!”
Click.
James Coffey had always known his son to be somewhat of a hermit, but never a complete shut-in. Ever since his failed surgery yesterday, Andrew would refuse to come out of his room, except to eat or use their bathroom. He would hardly even speak now, unless it’s to give short responses or make some strange requests.
Normally, the old man would chalk this up to another frustrating rerun of his self-defeatist attitude, but given their current circumstances, which are anything but ordinary, he knows that this situation requires a far different approach…
… but in all honesty, he has no idea what to do anymore, let alone say to this young man who is unstintingly convinced that he had been robbed of his whole future by that damned obelisk. Anytime he tried getting through to Andrew, his words would either bounce off or pass right through him.
Nonetheless, he has to keep trying… for both their sakes.
And so, as James once again approaches the door to his boy’s room, he knocks gently. “Son… can I come in?” He hangs back patiently, hoping he will respond…
… which he does. “Not now, dad.”
The audible dejection disheartens him, but he refrains from entering, respecting the boundary as he instead tries to reach him with more words… but again, what can he really say? This thing that they’re dealing with… it’s completely uncharted territory.
Andrew, however, beats him to the punch. “I already know what you’re going to say…” there is a breathy pause before he proceeds, “… you should stop feeling sorry for yourself, Andrew. You can’t stay locked up in your room forever, Andrew. The world isn’t going to wait for you, Andrew.”
“No, Andrew…” the father denies, “… that’s not what I’m here for.”
“Then whatever it is, I’m not in the mood.” The bitterness is equally evident.
“I’m just…” he trails off momentarily, nearly tongue tied, “… whatever you need, I’ll be right here,” is all he can think up. “I’ll always be here… you know that, right?”
Andrew answers his dad with another deep sigh… nothing else.
Faced with yet another crushing defeat, he turns away from the young man’s door and strides off down the stairs, each step slow, deliberate, and heavy, until they fade almost out of the latter’s earshot.
Inside his room, Andrew sits on his bed uncomfortably, his sheets wrinkled, his hair unkempt, and his clothes fitting loosely, despite maintaining his hygiene and appetite; it’s only been twenty-four hours, after all, which means there will be plenty more to go around…
… but will all of them—extending to days and weeks—be spent in this passive, debilitating state? Because unlike before, he now has the best excuse… right?
No, this isn’t right at all…
… he doesn’t have that option, not anymore.
He can’t just sit here behind the shade of his blinds and expect things to get better. He can’t stay locked away while expecting these enclosed walls to keep him safe forever. But more importantly, he can no longer subject his dad to his own depression, because by letting himself down, he’ll also be letting him down…
… no more.
But he wonders how and where the hell to start.
That dream of the obelisk—so vivid yet so vague—still hangs over his head. There is so much to unpack, yet so little to dissect. What the hell does it all mean??
Yes… that’s it!
For the first time since yesterday, Andrew straightens his back as he veers towards his window with renewed determination; whatever it takes, finding this out will be his first step—no… his new purpose moving forward. As soon as he opens those blinds, warm radiance dispels the shadowing abyss, restoring the snowy brightness in his poor vision… which he finds visually poetic.
Next, he hops off his bed to sit at his desk; by now, the blind adolescent knows his room like the back of his hand. Reaching for his sound mixer, he pushes his laptop to the far back so he can make space to bring it close in front of him, then finds the button to switch it on before putting on his headphones, which he had already plugged in.
Once he confirms that the console is indeed activated, he begins playing with the knobs and faders while losing himself in its manifold synths. It’s not about finding a rhythm, not yet at least. Rather, it’s more about matching his vibe… or his theme, perhaps.
Whichever the case, any direction will do…
… so long as it moves him forward.
“A-Alice…? Can you p-please… slow down a little?”
The girl in question checks behind to see her friend, a pink-faced Emily, lumping a fair few metres back in a trail of sweat. “Oh, sorry…” she blurts out, allowing her then to catch up, “I, uh… forgot.”
“F-Forgot what…?” huffs the other girl incredulously. “That I’m not as… fast as you… or that I was even here?” With her knees clutched, she gives herself a minute to catch her breath before straightening back up to the former’s eye level.
“Don’t know what came over me,” mumbles Alice.
Emily, knowing her friend too well, chooses to look past her obvious lie as she then guides her onto a nearby park bench so they can both laze off for a bit.
“I hate the sun,” she grumbles before glugging a mouthful from her water bottle. “How the hell can it be this hot during fall?” She shortly drapes her towel over her head and shoulders while adding, “I knew I should have worn suncream.”
“That’s swing season for you.”
With their sports bras and tights clinging to their skin, the two girls are seated amidst the Bohemian Botanical Gardens, its vastness both a blessing and a blight. Unlike most days during this season, this public area is packed, which leaves little room for peace and quiet; in particular, there is a man playing frisbee with his dog just across the track where they are facing.
But none of this concerns Alice as much as the loud silence from the person beside her—it’s that kind of silence which no one can ignore. “Go on,” she urges. “I can tell it’s dangling off the tip of your tongue.”
Emily gets straight to business. “How’d the interrogation go?”
Alice snickers to this; of course, that would be her first question. “Discounting their military form of psychological torture, I breezed through it.”
“Damn…”
“I know—”
The frisbee scrapes the dirt as it lands near her feet.
“My bad!” cries the man who threw it while his dog peddles over to retrieve it.
After that brief interruption, Emily continues their conversation with a new probe, her voice low and eyebrows high. “How’s Andrew?”
For the second time today, Alice’s body language betrays her as she whips her head fiercely. “Andrew?” she echoes with a weird frown, shaking in annoyance. “Why does everyone keep asking me about him?”
“Well…” Emily winces, “… you were on the news with him last weekend.”
Alice sighs with an eyeroll— fair enough. “Not whatever they’re insinuating.” She leaves it at that, then gazes down. “But I just don’t know…”
“Was he mean to you or somethi—?”
“No!” she cuts her off quickly. “It’s… it’s, uh… very complicated…” she fidgets tensely, “… and I’m not sure… how I’m supposed to move forward with it.”
Emily absorbs this information with no indication of bias. “Have you spoken with him yet?” she suggests.
Alice shakes. “I don’t know if I will… but—”
Before she can finish her fragmented answer, a round, flat object jets into her peripheral. This time, however, she swings her head while her hand snaps up to catch that same frisbee.
“Sorry!” cries the man again while putting his hands together.
Emily scowls at him while Alice stands up, unbothered.
“It’s fine,” she says.
As she offers the toy back to the approaching dog, a strange chill licks at her spine. She doesn’t comprehend why until the dog clamps its teeth around the hard plastic and just… freezes there… like someone had hit pause on the animal…
… and then she pales.
Its eyes…
… slitted…
… crimson.
The dog blinks once, and its eyes are suddenly back to their usual brown. The frisbee slips from her still fingers, and the world resumes its rotation as if nothing had happened.
“Hey, you okay?”
Alice jolts out of her daze, blinking speedily as she rescans her surroundings—the dog had gone back to its owner while her friend, Emily, is now physically supporting her with an arm around her back, her head angled with visible worry.
“Yeah, yeah… I’m fine,” she replies with haste, pulling away.
But Emily doubts her. “Are you sure?”
“I’m fine,” she insists, nodding with an off-glance- another blatant lie.
“You look like you just short-circuited, that’s why.”
“Did I?” Her face turns blank until she gathers herself. “Let’s just get out of here.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah…” she nods again, forcibly this time, “… let’s just go.”
After leaving the park and parting ways with Emily, Alice finds herself clinging to her own chest for dear life, her guard up and unwavering even in broad daylight. No longer can she fix her gaze straight as it restlessly sweeps all angles of her surroundings, hypervigilant—what can she do now?
Unpocketing her phone, she stares through her paranoid reflectionas she once again isolates Andrew in her contacts. Just like before, her thumb hovers unsteadily…
… it’s now or never, Alice…
… until at long last, she presses it down on the call button.
A similar thing happens during sundown as Carol Marston, who is currently lounged on her living room sofa with Mars nestled in her lap, reviews her classified footage for the umptieth time… as if her fixation will change anything.
You had ONE JOB, lady…
… ONE JOB.
She had plentifully cursed herself for not capturing the supposed Gazer’s face on her phone—such a missed opportunity. But alas, there is no use crying over spilled milk. All she can do now, even while out of commission, is find another way forward…
… and then it strikes her.
Eureka!
Propping herself forward, she speed-dials her partner.
“Please, pick up! Please, pick up!” She bounces on her cushion urgently, her fingers crossed. “Come on, Dylan! I’m begging you—”
“Hey, Carol.” His yawny voice speaks through the phone. “You alright?”
“I’ve got an idea,” she proclaims. “Just hear me out, okay?”
“Uh…” there are sounds of ruffling—she must have woken him up, “… alright,” he then says. “Shoot.”
With vigorous enthusiasm, she pitches her idea. “Have you ever heard of… a VR first-person camera?”
