#'why is the tv so loud?? its at the usual number!!' *clicks down from zero like 18 times before it actually is registered at 0*

[clumsyhusky06]

me: I hate loud sounds

every single piece of technology in my home: what if I got stuck at max volume, for no reason?

[alolowrites]

Everyone’s Got a Sweet Tooth!

Summary: Bakugou hates sweets. You don’t think this is true and begin a mission to discover his favorite candy. After all, you are the brilliant Candy Master who won’t stop until Bakugou’s sweet tooth is satisfied.

Author’s Note: Hello everyone! I’m so glad I was finally able to write a full fic for Bakugou; it’s been so long. Originally, this was supposed to be for the bingo event, but had trouble fleshing out the story’s direction. I really wanted to write this story since the plot was hilarious to me, idk why. 

Please enjoy!

10.30.21 UPDATE: HI!!!!! I went back and edited the heck out of this baby since it’s my favorite Bakugou story I’ve written. I hope it is now decent lmao. Happy Halloween!! 

Word Count: 2.4K+

“Katsuki, what is the meaning of all this?!”

“The hell are you talkin’ bout?”

“This!” 

You marched with purpose and plopped down on the couch where he sat. Bakugou remained unfazed, clicking on the remote control. He mindlessly surfed through the channels with an attention span of an HR recruiter combing through a mountain pile of resumes. Stupid sitcoms, fake ass “reality” tv shows, QVC advertising their products like it's Black Friday all day, every day. Bakugou frowned—why does he pay so much for these useless channels? 

His eyes teared away from the screen as the phone waved frantically on his left. 

You huffed. “According to Maximus Heroes, you—and I quote—‘bleeping hate sweets!’”

Bakugou clicked his tongue. “Damn idiots censored my words.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Then what is?”

“That you hate sweets!” 

You viciously smacked a pillow at him, ignoring his yells. Bakugou snatched the weapon with a growl. For a soft pillow, it felt like a firm foam roller. You stood up and paced around, arms flailing in the air. 

“How can my boyfriend say such a thing?!” You pointed at your signature black top hat. “Do you know who I am? I’m the lovable Candy Master, CEO of the Candy Basket Factory!” 

Bakugou shrugged. “So?”

“So, you can’t say you hate sweets!” You gripped your chest, sniffling a bit. “I feel as though I’ve been betrayed.”

“Would you sit your ass down?” 

Bakugou tossed the pillow at you and crossed his arm; he was too tired to deal with this nonsense. Somehow the QVC channel looked more appealing now. You begrudgingly plopped on the couch, a small pout growing on your face. Bakugou snuck a glance and sighed, tossing the remote aside. 

“Are you seriously so upset about this?” Instant regret flooded through his mind as he remembered that ridiculous day. “It was a freakin’ answer to a stupid question in a stupid celebrity article.” 

“…maybe…”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. You took off your signature hat and examined it; the hat was firm yet soft and had three peppermint candies artistically attached like a beautiful brooch. You moped silently for an eternity until an exciting idea rushed into your mind. Bakugou jumped as you squealed, his mouth ready for snarl, but you beat him to the punch. 

“I got it!” Two hands eagerly cupped his sharp cheeks, your whimsical eyes meeting his feral ones. They did nothing to damper your beaming smile. “You don’t hate sweets; you just haven’t found your favorite candy!”

Bakugou grabbed your wrist yet didn’t pull them away. Another giggle rang throughout the living room as you shot up from the sofa. A specific look crossed your face—one that both irked and frightened Bakugou to no end; he was through dealing with your shenanigans. 

“Whatever you’re thinkin’ about, the answer is no!”

“Too late! The mind is churning,” you piped, taking a cheerful step toward the doorway. Spinning on your heel, you gave a hat tip to Bakugou and declared, “I won’t rest until that sweet tooth of yours is satisfied!” 

Yup, it was too late. Bakugou had no choice but to go along with this dumb idea. Closing his eyes, he slammed a pillow over his face and screamed.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Ground Zero’s hero agency was buzzing with life. Phones rang off the hook, yet all were answered to avoid the voicemail machine. Interns carried endless stacks of papers, their dying arms begging for relief and fingers stinging from brutal paper cuts. The afternoon shift sidekicks clocked in their arrival while the morning ones yawned out the door.

Everything ran like a well-oiled machine, just how Bakugou liked it. He took great pride in this, hiring only the best and brightest. However, none of them held a candle against him—the number two pro hero. Unfortunately, being a prominent hero brought lots of reports he needed to sign.

And he was not excited about this.

“Um, sir?”

“Damnit, Small Head,” Bakugou growled, halting his pen’s movement. Fiery eyes glared at the man peeking around the ajar door. “If you bring me another paper to sign, I will stab this pen in your damn eye!”

“I-I assure you that I bring no reports, sir!” Kioshi, Bakugou’s personal assistant, waddled inside the office, fixing the tie that was strangling his neck. He slid a peculiar package toward his boss and bowed his head. “You have a special delivery from the Candy Master.”  

Bakugou scrunched his eyebrows. On his desk was a white box with an orange ribbon wrapped neatly in the upper left corner. A tiny card sat underneath it, and with closer inspection, had his first name written across in gold letters. Bakugou shooed Kioshi away, waiting to hear the door close to ensure absolute privacy.

At first, Bakugou had a mini stare-down with the gift. When it didn’t burst into flames, he sucked his breath and snatched the card. Bakugou turned it around to read the following message:

Everyone knows you got a sour attitude, but only I get to see that sweet side of yours. Figured these treats might do the trick. I made them just for you!

Enjoy,

C.M

P.S. These are an ~exclusive~ batch from my top-secret collection! So hush-hush!

Bakugou snorted at your writing, tossing the card aside and opening the box. His eyes narrowed at the vibrant gumdrops nestled above the black tissue paper. White sugar lightly coated the green and orange candies, each twinkling under the natural light that shined through his large window. A smirk curled on his lips; the whole package reflected his hero costume.

“Let’s see how good these are.”

Bakugou ate the green gumdrop. It was chewy and sour, the lime flavor making him twitch a bit. The sweetness kicked in ten seconds later. Bakugou tried the orange gumdrop next, and the acid was strong too but enjoyable. He soon devoured the entire box in one sitting.

Once that was done, he marched out of the office to start his daily patrol. It didn’t take long for a stupid thug to cross his path. Bakugou slammed him against the concrete wall, hauling him up with just one hand. The man trembled in fear but stopped squirming and cocked his head to the side, dumbfounded. 

Bakugou growled. “What the hell are you looking at?”

“Your tongue...it got weird colors, man.”

“Eh? The fuck are you talking ‘bout?” 

Bakugou peeked at his reflection on the store’s window. He recoiled when he saw the horrible swirls of green and orange covering his tongue. A vicious scowl crossed Bakugou’s face, his iron grip tightening around the thug’s collar. The guy’s high-pitched yelps fell on deaf ears. 

“Fuckin’ gumdrops!”

They were crossed off the list.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

“I don’t want it.”

“But, sir, the gift—”

“I know who it’s from, and I’m telling you no.”

“Sir,” Kioshi gripped the massive, cherry red treat in his hand. A black ribbon with long strings almost reached the floor. The assistant sighed. “It’s just a lollipop.”

“Do I look like a fuckin’ baby to ya?” Bakugou crossed his arms, refusing to budge on his childish decision. The irony made Kioshi roll his eyes mentally. “Give it away or something. Now get out.”

“Yes, sir…”

Lollipops were crossed off the list.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Another day, another gift Bakugou received from you.

They came sporadically and kept the hero on his toes. He never understood why you sent the gifts directly to his office; you both lived in the same apartment for crying out loud! Worst of all, he could never get a single hint on what candy he would receive next. Every time he asked—or more accurately, demanded—you shot him a coy smile and purred, “Ah, ah, ah! It’s a surprise!”

Bakugou wanted to rip his eyeballs out.

However, he reluctantly played along with your stupid game. Whenever Kioshi entered his office, Bakugou masked his slight interest with the usual scowl. If the assistant didn’t bring candy, then Bakugou blamed him for interrupting his private time. The anger was worse if Kioshi brought more reports for him to sign.

Kioshi was thankful for the days when a new candy gift arrived.

Unfortunately, the last three gifts were complete failures. The first was the strawberry licorice, which dangled in Bakugou’s hand. He took a few bites and complained that he was eating a rubber wheel. Next was a bag of colorful gummy worms. Bakugou shoved a couple in his mouth and swore he felt one of them move on its own. Finally, there was the lemon green jawbreaker; it was the size of a baseball. One look and Bakugou shouted over the phone: “You tryna give me dentures?!”

All three candies were crossed off the list. Still, you didn’t give up and sent another gift to Bakugou. He read the simple message on the card:

Chew and blow to your heart’s content, babe!

Love,

C.M

P.S. I promise this won’t change the color on your tongue, haha!

Bakugou opened the sleek, rectangular box and found a bubble gum packet inside; there were three thin pieces. He slipped one in his mouth, surprisingly pleased with the bold raspberry flavor hitting his taste buds. Bakugou skimmed the card again and did as instructed—he chewed.

Typically, an ordinary bubble gum would lose its flavor after five minutes. But the flavor in your gum only got juicier; it encouraged Bakugou to continue chewing. He then blew a tiny bubble before popping it in his mouth. Not bad, he thought as another bubble expanded in front of him. His chews became more aggressive, and the bubbles more prominent than the previous ones. Stupidly, he puffed out a massive bubble, and it grew…

…and grew…and grew until there was a loud pop.

Bakugou’s roars shook the entire building, spilling cold tea all over Kioshi’s shirt. 

Bubble gum was crossed off the list.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Everything was going well down at the Candy Basket Factory. People lined up outside for the magical tours that ran every hour. Kids bounced off the walls as if they were on a sugar rush while their parents felt a migraine pounding on their heads. Inside the factory, the ceilings were high, and the walls were vibrant like the sun. Laughter rang from every corner as employees chit-chatted about their daily lives; they were relaxed yet efficiently worked to the same drumbeat.

A soft smile crept on your face. You were glad everyone was happy; it was the driving force behind your factory’s joyful spirit. Eventually, that spirit would leave these doors and touch billions of people’s hearts with your precious candies.

Just as you closed your eyes, someone barged into your office and barked your name. You chuckled, spinning the leather chair around to meet a furious Bakugou. His nostrils flared like a bull, and his menacing eyes looked ready to kill. However, the gum’s blobs stuck on his porcupine blonde hair squashed the pro hero’s intimidating aura.

“You—”

“—I’m so sorry, boss!” Nozomi panted into the room, hands on her knees as she caught her breath. “I tried stopping him, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“It’s quite alright, Zomi!” You chirped without breaking Bakugou’s intense eye contact. “I can handle him. Please let everyone know I’ll be busy with an important meeting.”

Nozomi bowed and closed the door behind her. Bakugou wasted no time complaining, his hands slamming on your desk. 

“Quit sending me your cavity-infested garbage! I’ve had it with this fuckin’ game.”

“Oh, come on, babe!” You rolled forward and rested your chin on your gloved hand palm. “Can’t I just send my dashing boyfriend some sweet gifts? Get it!” You jokingly slapped his forearm. “Because candies are sweet? Man, I crack myself up at times…”

“You’re insufferable.”  

You winked at him. “But that’s what you love about me!”

Bakugou gritted his teeth and looked away. A light blush tainted his cheeks; he hated how right you were. You walked around the desk and stood beside him, wiping off the fairy sugar dust on his shirt. He probably barged through the sample stand near the entrance, scaring off the poor intern. 

“Alright, alright.” You gave a gentle pat. “Sorry for going a little overboard with the gifts. I was just excited about finding your favorite candy! I don’t want you hating them.”

Bakugou’s anger subsided. “Why is this so damn important to you?”

“Because I love spreading endless joy through sweets.” 

The answer was simple and innocent. Bakugou blinked and was taken aback by the gentleness in your eyes. 

“Candy makes everyone happy,” you chirped. “Knowing someone’s favorite candy helps me bring their smile back whenever they’re upset or lost. Can’t have the world be all mopey now, can we?”

Your fingers hovered above Bakugou’s head. The gum moved under your command and floated in the air. You flicked it into the trash bin with ease, and Bakugou murmured a quick ‘thanks’ under his breath. After ruffling his hair, you suddenly remembered something sitting on your shelf. Bakugou stared at the small pyramid of chocolate truffles coming toward him.

“I made these babies a few minutes ago,” you said, eying the plate with a proud grin. “Normally, I do a taste test and then send the gift if it satisfies my expectations. But, I got a feeling you’ll love them.”  

Bakugou’s face was unreadable. You gave him a gentle nudge and encouraged him to take one. He sighed before picking a chocolate truffle; it was warm and soft, the cocoa powder dusting his fingertips. After suspiciously staring at the truffle, he ate the entire thing in one go. His eyes widened as all the flavors exploded at once. The crushed red pepper flakes, the hints of rich cinnamon and orange zest, and the bittersweet dark chocolate made from the finest quality found on Earth all danced perfectly together with every bite. 

“So…” You placed the plate on the desk, watching Bakugou swallow the truffle down. “What do you think? Give me your honest opinion! Don’t sugarcoat it, haha! I’m on fire today!”

Bakugou turned away. “I’m leaving.”

“No, wait!” You hugged his bicep with a pout. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop. Just tell me if you liked the chocolate truffles.”  

“They’re good.”

Your smile grew. “Good enough to be your favorite?”

“Sure,” he smirked, shoving another truffle into his mouth. You cheered on the spot after weeks of constant failures. Of course, some of the complaints were nonsense which didn’t surprise you. Bakugou was a picky bastard; the lollipop fiasco served as a great example. You were glad he thoroughly enjoyed the chocolate truffles.

Before you walked away, Bakugou pulled you close to him and crushed his lips on yours. He caught you off guard, but the surprise was certainly welcomed. You soon melted into the kiss after tasting the rich dark chocolate and spices on his lips. Bakugou’s arms snaked around your waist as your hands gripped his broad shoulders.

“You know,” Bakugou’s hot breath tickled your right ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I think I got a new favorite candy.”

“Is that so?” You hummed, a coy smile plastered on your face. 

“Let’s hope it satisfies your sweet tooth then, Ground Zero.”

“Oh, it will.”

After all, you were the one and only Candy Master.

As always, thanks for reading!

10.18.20 UPDATE: Story’s sequel, Gold Coins and a Gold Heart now uploaded. 

[artificialqueens]

Malibu (Trixya) - DenDenMonMon

Of Lovers, Friends and Everything in Between. Part 4.- Picnic

Title: Malibu Category: F/F Summary: You’ll be fine, when you learn to move slow. Notes: If you are anything like me, you have had Malibu on repeat ever since Trixie released the single, and, since I can’t get it out of my head, well, this story came to life lol Written: Feb 2nd-3rd, 2020.

Malibu

Trixie hated Tinder, or any dating app for that matter.

Being a gay woman turned her into a target in those platforms. She’d lost count of how many men had offered to ‘change’ her, or the amount of couples that wanted to ‘spice things up’ in the bedroom. Those were the kind of comments that made her leave the app, and forget about it for months, until loneliness hit her again. It usually happened during a Friday or Saturday night, when most of her friends were out having fun, and she found herself eating cheese curds alone in her living room, with nothing good to watch on TV. That was when she would go through the cluster of apps she had labeled as ‘useless’, and click on the infamous flaming icon.

When she promised to take care of her family’s beach house for the weekend, she thought it was going to be so much fun. LA people had proven to be wild, and everybody was supposed to be beyond beautiful in Malibu, but, either her standards were too high or she had been lied to her entire life. Profile after profile and she couldn’t find a single soul that called her attention.

Just when she was about to close the app and maybe take care of herself out of pure boredom, an image appeared.

The blonde girl smiled widely at her with insanely white teeth. Her blue eyes pierced Trixie’s, making her feel as if she were drowning in their depths. There was only one picture, and the obligatory name at the bottom said Katya next to the number thirty-four, stating the girl’s age. Trixie didn’t remember having changed the age range on the thing, she never dated anybody more than five years older than her. Everything seemed off, a bit too suspicious. Nonetheless, she clicked the space that would tell her more about the person. Laughing, she finally swiped right when she read the bio, which could be called anything but that.

Take me to the beach somewhere so I can meet my dead dad.

It was a match. Trixie’s first message had been a joke about absent parents and her being alone in the beach house. Katya replied right away. The string of laughing emojis had seemed a bit of an exaggeration but, after a short exchange, Trixie was already inviting her for lunch the next day.

That was the reason why she was preparing a picnic basket, for them to eat out on the sand. Her favorite pink gingham cloth was folded and placed on top of cucumber sandwiches and fresh fruit. Right after she put a bottle of chilled wine in the basket, the doorbell rang.

With a deep sigh, Trixie rubbed her sweaty palms on the skirt of her dress, and checked her hair on the distorted reflection of the fridge. The heels of her sandals resounded loud in the open space of the living room, she liked that, it made her feel extra feminine. As if the pink flowy dress, the many layers of makeup, and the styled curls were not sufficient statement of that.

Even when she had seen the one picture of the girl, she had not been expecting the person that showed up at her front door. Katya was an unconventional kind of absolute gorgeous. She was shorter than Trixie, and her black chucks didn’t help to increase her height. She wore matching black jeans and an oversized gray t-shirt, the round neck of it was slightly darkened with sweat.

“I just drove forty-five minutes on the Pacific Coast Highway, so this better be a good lay,” were the first words Katya pronounced.

Trixie’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, wow! I–”

Before she could continue, the girl burst out laughing. Her hand reached to get a hold of Trixie’s forearm as she shook her head. “I’m joking!” Her face suddenly turned serious as her grip turned tighter. “It can be medium good, I’m not picky.” Without giving Trixie a second the reply she was laughing again. “No, I’m just kidding.”

“You are, like… a lot, aren’t you?” Trixie struggled to find words to describe the ball of energy slightly bouncing in front of her. For a moment, she was afraid her unfiltered mouth had insulted the girl she had just met, but luckily it wasn’t the case.

“Oh, Momma! You haven’t seen anything yet,” the girl promised as she let go of Trixie and extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Katya.” The smile that she shot Trixie was brighter than the sun burning above them, and warmer too.

Chills ran down Trixie’s spine as she took Katya’s hand, feeling electricity running through her veins as she shook it. “I’m Trixie. Hello.”

“Oof,” Katya winced, shaking her head and physically taking a step back, away from Trixie. “You need to work on your greeting. That was way too aggressive.”

A scream left Trixie unannounced. She threw her head back in joy as a small ‘you bitch’ left her mouth. She wasn’t complaining, though. Their interaction had been entertaining, to say the least. Trixie could already feel herself liking Katya right from the intro. She invited her in with a smile nailed to her mouth, and a giddy feeling invading her body. It was unlike anything she had felt before, never in her twenty-seven years on Earth had another human made her feel so nervous, yet incredibly comfortable. She was really good at reading people, she could quickly put them in categories and know if they were gonna click or not. Katya was in a category of her own. Trixie, as much as she wanted, couldn’t find a mental compartment where she could place Katya.

The blonde wavy hair bounced with Katya’s steps as she moved around the house. “So, you are rich. I mean, like, Richie Rich rich, huh?” She looked at the expensive furniture, extending and retrieving her hand, almost as if she were scared to touch and ruin anything.

“Not even,” Trixie answered with a roll of her eyes. “My family is, but they always made it very clear that it was their money, not mine.”

Katya nodded, her lips pursing slightly. “Alright. I respect that.” She stopped her examination of the room to look at Trixie. “You’ve got any plans for today?” She stuffed her hands in her pockets, fully indicating she had no idea what to do next.

“I thought we could have a picnic, outside by the water,” Trixie replied proudly, she had thought things through carefully. She started walking, making her way towards the kitchen, wordlessly asking the girl to follow her. “Hopefully, you will like what I made.“ She picked up the basket and looked over her shoulder, just to confirm that Katya was indeed walking right behind her.

“Do-do you have any water?” Katya seemed almost anxious as she asked. “I-I don’t drink,” she said pushing her chin towards the basket, where the neck of a bottle stuck out from.

Trixie quickly apologized for not asking, taking the wine out and putting it on the table. She opened the refrigerator and leaned forward. Her short dress was sure to ride up at the position. She could only hope Katya liked what she saw as Trixie pretended to find something else to drink.

“Would you like some kombucha?” She asked as innocently as possible, noticing how Katya’s eyes bolted back to her face.

“Absolutely not,” Katya spoke punctuating her words. It sounded like she was approving of the beverage until the last word was spoken. “I would rather drink the salt water straight from the ocean than that hipster excuse of a drink.”

With a roll of her eyes, Trixie put the glass bottle back to its place. “It’s really good for you, FYI. It has all these–” she turned around, and stopped midsentence when she noticed Katya was no longer in the room. Stretching her neck, Trixie saw that Katya had walked out through the sliding doors and was impatiently waiting for her.

“Come on!” She encouraged as she started walking, the basket dangling in her hand as she easily carried it with her.

Despite the small shake of her head, Trixie found herself smiling. She followed Katya’s path and reached her just when Katya was done setting the sheet down. Trixie dropped next to her on the pink and white piece of fabric, removed her sandals and extended her legs, hoping to get them at least a little bit tanned. Her hand dug into the basket and took out a small container with grapes, offered them to Katya, who gratefully took a handful, before relaxing on her spot.

“What is it that you do, then?” Katya asked around a mouthful of fruit. “How do you make your own money?”

“I’m a hair and makeup artist,” Trixie said with a smile. She loved her job and could talk about it for hours. Katya, however, didn’t seem like the type of person that could hear about hair and makeup for hours. “What about you? You have like zero information on your profile.” Trixie rested her chin on her own shoulder, squinting to get a better view of Katya, who sat on her heels next to her.

There was a sigh and a groan as Katya physically deflated, before she uttered an actual reply. “I just hate those things, you know? I never know what to say. Like, I can’t say I’m a good person. Good people don’t say they are good people! Honestly, I just wanted to put actual facts like: I’m this old, this tall, I weigh this much, and I’m in this area.”

Trixie tilted her head in wonder. “Are you a kitten up for adoption?”

The sounds that came out of Katya were frightening and charming, all at the same time. It was a genuine laughter that sounded more like an old squeaky toy. She spotted a napkin and tried to throw it at Trixie, but the wind pushed it to land on Katya’s lap instead. They both laughed openly, freely, happily. The conversation flowed easily from that point on. They touched on the most basic topics, from immediate family to likes and dislikes. They ate with the sound of the crashing waves as background noise.

It didn’t take an expert to notice they were complete opposites, but it didn’t bother Trixie. She liked the simplicity with which Katya talked about complex subjects. She would quickly jump from one thing to another, seemingly unrelated, but Trixie was sure there was some connection between topics that only Katya understood. If she could have one wish granted, Trixie would like to see inside of Katya’s head, witness how the information bounced off of the walls of her skull, tangled with the wiring of her brain, before coming out of her mouth at a rapid speed.

Something warm filled Trixie’s chest. She had no idea what it was, but it was a nice feeling. She liked the sense of comfort and instant connection she had with the girl bending in laughter next to her. Trixie wanted to run her hand through Katya’s hair, let her fingers caress those sharp cheekbones, touch every single one of her soft curves and create a mental map of her body. Katya was so beautiful, so smart, so out of her league.

“Why did you agree to meet me?” Trixie suddenly asked without even thinking about it. She sat up straight, realizing she really wanted to know the answer. “Like, I’m clearly not your type, why did you even swipe right?”

The question took Katya by surprise. Her eyes opened wide as she stared at Trixie intensely. Although, Trixie had to wonder if there was anything about Katya that wasn’t intense.

“Okay, first of all, you don’t even know what my type is.” Katya pointed an accusative finger at Trixie before continuing. “I don’t have a type. Never had. I like people, and I like sex even more, preferebly with people.” She extended her hands in front of her, as if highlighting the relation between the two. “Now, about you. I don’t know. I liked your tits, and then you got my Contact reference… I knew I had to meet you after that.” She punctuated the end of her speech with an approving nod.

Trixie’s nose scrunched up. “What reference?”

“The dead dad on the beach one?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Katya’s mouth opened in surprise. “Contact? Jodie Foster?” She asked, getting a head shake in return to each of her questions. “Didn’t you message me about wanting to meet your dad, who was dead, at the beach somewhere?”

“Yeah, ‘cause I never met my dad, so he’s probably dead, and I’m currently staying in Malibu.”

“Oh, my God!” Katya brought her hands to her hair as she yelled. “I can’t believe this. It’s all a lie. I’ve been tricked. When were you planning to tell me? When–” The rest of the question died on her lips as Trixie’s mouth crashed with her.

It was clumsy at first, Katya wasn’t done ranting, and Trixie was only trying to shut her up. Their faces bumped into each other a couple of times before they both relaxed and finally kissed. Trixie sucked Katya’s bottom lip, biting slightly. The sound that came out of Katya was so sexy that Trixie had to press her thighs together, putting pressure where she needed it the most. The moment didn’t go unnoticed by Katya. Her hands landed on Trixie’s hips, pulling her to a kneeling position. Their torsos pressed together, breasts rubbing to the erratic movements of their heavy breathing.

Trixie felt turned on beyond knowledge, all she knew how to identify were Katya’s lips wrapped around hers. Katya tasted sweet and salty, like the fruit they had shared mixed with the breeze of the ocean. There was an almost unidentifiable flavor, a strong aftertaste that lingered in Trixie’s tongue after it ran against Katya’s.

“Do you smoke?” Trixie asked against Katya’s lips, not breaking the kiss, but pulling away enough to speak.

Katya’s hand ran up Trixie’s thigh, squeezing slightly. “Would you mind if I said yes?”

Gasping to the touch of Katya’s cold hand, Trixie threw her head back. “As long as you don’t…” She lost her train of thought as Katya’s hand went higher. “If you do– oh!” She yelped as a finger ran against her underwear. “God, just fuck me, okay?” Her knees spread, giving Katya better access.

“Not here, though,” Katya spoke as she kissed Trixie’s chin. “This is not exactly a private beach.”

Trixie opened one eye, among the fog of desire she could see the figures of a family playing ball. “Fine. Let’s go inside.”

Taking Katya by the hand, Trixie stood up and started walking towards the house. She didn’t care about the stuff they were leaving behind. Nothing really occupied her mind other than having Katya on top of her, inside of her, all around her. She could feel her legs shaking with expectation. It had been a long time since she last had sex, but she wasn’t nervious. She, somehow, knew she could trust Katya. They seemed to have some sort of astral connection, and Trixie wondered how they could apply that nonverbal communication in the bedroom.

Unfortunately, the bedroom proved to be too far away. As soon as they entered the kitchen through the glass doors, the kissing restarted. Trixie pushed her own back against the nearest wall and allowed Katya to press her entire body on top of hers. It was all too much. The heat emanating Katya tickled her skin, making Trixie shiver. Their mouths attacked each other as hands landed on every spot of uncovered skin.

Katya snaked her hands under Trixie’s dress and squeezed her ass, forcing Trixie to release her mouth as she gasped in pleasure. Katya caressed the soft skin of her butt lovingly, taking her time to enjoy the feeling of the fleshy cheeks under her fingers.

“I’m gonna eat you out now, is that okay?”

Trixie could do nothing but nod at such formal request. Still in disbelief, she saw how Katya dropped to her knees. Her big smile was the last thing Trixie saw before her eyes shut by themselves. Katya’s hands found the hem of Trixie’s dress and lifted the skirt, before disappearing inside and pulling the small thong down slowly. Trixie felt a finger running up and down her entrance, circling around where she so desperately needed to be touched.

“Katya, please,” Trixie shamelessly begged, and it worked.

She felt the wet tongue pushing flat against her most sensitive spot. Her knees bent slightly, she extended her arms and tried to find support between the glass door and the cabinets next to her. Katya licked her skillfully. Her lips sucked and released her just right, her tongue flicked at the perfect pace. And as if fucking her with her mouth wasn’t enough, Katya pushed a finger inside without warning. Trixie screamed loudly, thankful that the houses were fairly far apart so the neighbours couldn’t hear them. Her sounds only grew higher in pitch as another finger was introduced, and then a third.

Time fully stopped as Trixie sunk down on Katya’s fingers, pleasuring herself at the rhythm she wanted. Her senses felt on the edge of an overload as Katya ate her out simultaneously.

“Pluh-please, stop,” Trixie asked, panting.

In a quick move, Katya removed the dress from around her head with her free hand. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I’m gonna cum.”

“Then why you asked me to stop, bitch?”

Trixie looked to the side, almost shying away from the question. “I don’t wanna… not like this, not without you.”

Sighing deeply, Katya removed her hand carefully, and stood up. “So you are one of those lesbians, huh? You don’t wanna fuck, you want to make love.” She drawled the last word, making fun of the concept.

“Excuse me?” Trixie didn’t try to hide the annoyance in her voice.

Katya took the short sleeve of her shirt and tried to dry her chin as she spoke. “C’mon. You know what I mean. I thought we were just gonna get laid, and you put together a-a stupid picnic date? For fuck’s sake. Who does that? Gross.”

“Well, I’m sorry if I wanted to do something nice for us.”

“For us?” Katya spun around with her hands in the air. “There is no us, Brenda! We literally just met. We talked once, on a hook up app. We were not even having the same conversation! I thought it was all about Contact and you were spilling your childhood trauma. What the fuck! How did you even get picnic from that?”

Crossing her arms on top of her chest, Trixie distanced herself from Katya. It took every cell of will power to step away from her underwear without picking it up, and Trixie still didn’t know if leaving it there was less shameful.

“You need to leave.”

“Oh, but we were just gonna make playlists that reminded us of our first date.” Katya pouted theatrically, stomping her feet hard on the ground.

Trixie didn’t appreciate the sarcasm. “Now!” She shouted, pointing towards the door.

Without another word, Katya stormed out, slamming the door behind herself. Trixie stared at the piece of wood, expecting something from it without knowing what it was. She breathed deeply once, twice, the third time never came. A sob cut through her chest, coming out in a guttural scream. Katya was right. Trixie was smitten since the moment she laid eyes on Katya, and not even in person, just one look at the single picture and she was gone. She understood then that the first step of being let down was getting her hopes up. It had to stop.

One day. Trixie allowed herself one day to wallow. It wasn’t even about Katya, she reasoned. She needed a moment to analyze her motives, then she would pick the pieces back up and move on with her life. Her mind was blank for the entire day. She turned off her phone, put on some baking show on Netflix, and ate microwave popcorn straight from the bag. It had been a day of nothing but self pity and indulging in all the things she knew were bad for her.

Monday came and reality kicked back in. She went to her job at the studio and tried to entertain conversation with B-list celebrities as she got them ready for their low ratings shows. That was something she was good at, something she was confident about. Just like that, she fell back into a routine and the pity party was left behind. At least for the rest of the week. Once Friday reached her again, and she was in no mood to look after her drunk friends, she felt loneliness wanting to creep back in.

Her fingers found the useless folder and clicked on the app by themselves. Between the many unread messages sitting on her inbox, the red bubble next to Katya’s face called her attention. She opened the conversation, just to make the notification go away, but what she saw was something she hadn’t expected. There was a string of messages from Katya asking her to talk, the last one left her phone number, notifying Trixie that would be her last attempt and she should call her if she felt like it.

It took less than a minute of pondering before the call was already connecting.

Katya picked up on the third ring, just when Trixie was about to hang up.

“Who is this? I don’t have this number saved. Are you a scammer?”

Trixie had to laugh at Katya’s words, that were in no shape or form a greeting. Apparently, her laughter worked as an introduction because Katya’s voice immediately changed.

“Trixie, is that you? Fuck. I didn’t think you were gonna call.”

“Hello,” Trixie said as softly as possible, remembering what Katya had said about working on her greeting.

“Hey, that’s so much better! Hi. Listen, I want… please, don’t hang up. I will go straight to the point. I’m sorry. I was rude and mean, and you didn’t deserve all the fucked up things that I said to you.”

A small smirk was slowly forming on her lips. “Go on,” Trixie encouraged her.

Even when she couldn’t see her, Trixie could tell Katya was also smiling by now. “I like you, I like you a lot. This is just so new to me. I’m used to, you know, using the hook up app to hook up. I went there looking for a one time thing, not to, like, stay. Never expected to find… you. I’ve never been with a type like you before.”

For a moment, Trixie wished she was using a land line. She so desperately wanted to twist her finger around the phone cord. “And what is my type?”

“You know, pretty girls who are out of this world funny. All the hyper-femmes I’ve found are hot on the body but empty in the head; and boring. God, you have no idea how boring hot girls can be.” A frustrated groan escaped her, but she recovered right away, as if the actual reason for the call had suddenly hit her. “I just… could you, maybe, give me another chance? It’s stupid but all I can think about is being in Malibu with you again. I’ll prepare the dumb picnic this time. Although, I can’t promise we won’t be eating, like, old batteries and drinking Red Bulls. That’s probably all the things that can be found in my bag right now, but–”

“Oh, my God! Stop!” Trixie shouted between giggles. “If what you wanted was to annoy me into accepting, you can stop now.”

Katya’s whizzing laughter travelled through miles and miles until it digitally filled Trixie’s ears.

“So, is that a yes? Can we give it another go?”

“Yes, you idiot. I’ll go out with you again.”

“Marvellous, darling! Pick you up tomorrow, same place?”

On her end of the line, Trixie shook her head. “I actually live in Century City. You can pick me up here and we’ll go to Malibu. We can even work on those playlists on our way.”

Loud laughter was heard before Katya spoke again. “Deal. Bring the Red Bulls, I’ll bring the batteries.”

Trixie smiled, pressing her cheek against the cold glass of her cellphone. “Please, don’t feed me batteries. We can go to a restaurant or something.”

“No,” Katya stated solemnly. “We’ll have a picnic. That’s gonna be our thing, I’ve declared it. See you tomorrow, then?”

“See you tomorrow. Good night.” Just before she hung up, Trixie heard Katya calling her name. “Yeah?”

“We’ll be fine. Let’s just take it slow, okay?”

“Okay,” Trixie agreed. “We’ll be fine,” she repeated, more to herself than the emptiness coming from the device, indicating that the call had ended. “I’ll be fine.”

[sarsaparillia]

title: into the endless night summary: Alex and Jonas, stumbling through the aftermath. --- Alex/Jonas.

rating: t-ish word count: 6500+ genre: roadtrip fic! + smooching and ghosts notes: hey look, it’s the sequel to once more with feeling

AO3 | FFN 

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Evening is pale lilac.

It's one of those nights where nothing feels real, where everything is just the right side of off-kilter to set her teeth on edge. Golden light spills out of the windows like expensive champagne and Alex draws her nails along the skin of her wrist. Ren's babble winds through Clarissa's snarking beneath Michael's alcohol-smooth laugh, the clash and clang sharp as a looped feedback squeal. All the stars have gone out and it's too loud inside, too warm, too close, so she sits outside on the front stoop with her knees up to her chest and her face to her thighs while she tries to figure out how to breathe again.

(It's not a haunted house, but some days it feels like it.)

You should be used to this by now, something in the back of her head says.

And yeah, maybe she should be. Maybe she should be used to feeling like darkness coats her skin, maybe she should be used to feeling like she's outside of reality, maybe she should be used to not being okay. The ghosts used to sit on her shoulders and whisper soft sweet nothings to her, dripping venom and vitriol into her system, a slow-acting poison, and even though they're gone now they're not really gone, because—

She is sitting out here alone.

Ghosts, one. Alex, zero.

It's always like that, though. You win once, and then you're playing Hangman on a chalkboard without chalk, running blind through the rain. There's no winning that game, and Alex should really have learned her lesson by now.

But she hasn't, not really, so instead she sits out on the porch alone while her friends laugh from inside. And it's good, it's okay, Alex is only a line of noise out of static, anyway. She can count on one hand the number of times she hasn't disappeared from a party in the last six months. People would worry, if they knew there was anything to worry about.

Jonas usually finds her before she gets into any trouble. It's not a terrible thing.

The porch creaks beneath her, splintery old wood just in the beginning stages of rotting away groaning beneath the weight of a second person. For a minute the noise roars, sound pouring out of the open door. Alex gets halfway through a flinch, and then it stops. Quiet, again.

"I figured you'd be out here," comes Jonas's voice. "You want company?"

Alex shrugs.

She hasn't decided, yet.

Jonas waits by the door, doesn't move at all. He's always been good about that, about waiting for verbal confirmation of whether she wants something to happen or not. Sometimes, Alex thinks she might like it if he sat down beside her without asking, but the fact that he always makes a point to ask makes him one of the most stable people she knows.

And making out on the dock under the sun and the mist is one thing, but things change after the sun goes down. Right now, Alex isn't the same person she was yesterday morning, and she's not sure if she wants to inflict herself on people right now, even if those people are just Jonas in ratty jeans.

She weighs it for a while.

And all that while, Jonas waits.

A breeze shivers its way down her collar. For a summer night, it's pretty cold; gooseflesh breaks out all over her arms. Alex tips her head and like, that's as good as it's gonna get.

The porch creaks beneath his weight, because yeah, he gets it.

He stays standing, though. Alex thinks that sometimes, Jonas knows her better than she knows herself.

"Let's go somewhere," he says.

"What?" Alex squints up at him. He's in silhouette, standing in the warped backglow of the glass doorway with his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. His face is swallowed in shadow, only shifting lights for eyes. That's not ominous or anything. "Go where?"

"I dunno. Somewhere," he shrugs, jerks his head at his truck, parked on the side of the road. The headlights flick on and off, the quiet click of locks unlocking made visual.

"Why?"

"I don't wanna be here right now."

He doesn't say you look like you're about to tear your skin off to get away from yourself, but that's what he means. Alex can hear it in the hanging in the air around his shoulders, in the space between seconds. There and not. Ghosts of themselves. Always ghosts.

Aw, crap.

Alex unfolds from the porch, all of her bones creaking. She feels so old. This place is in her bones, sunk inside of her. She carries it like she carries the empty plot of land where Michael's grave used to be, and not even a hundred parties can take that away. She carries it like she carries Edwards Islands, like she carries Maggie and Anna, like she carries the blank space between resets. She carries it like she carries the ghosts.

"What if I don't want to come back?" she asks him. The night colours up around them black and rotted, and it's not the only one. She hasn't slept in days. Steady, Alex, steady. "What if I want to keep going?"

"Okay," Jonas says. "We keep going. You're gonna have to learn to drive, though, I've gotta sleep sometimes."

"I know how to drive," Alex says, which is a lie, she is a lying liar who lies, she has no idea how to drive whatsoever. It's not that she's scared of flying metallic vehicular death, but yeah, okay, she's sort of scared of flying metallic vehicular death. She's been close to the end enough times to not want to go there.

(Four people drowned at Cape Meares. The red pulsing light from the headlamps in a locked car. And Jason sounds a lot like Jonas. Jason sounds way too much like Jonas. God, there's just no leaving the ghosts behind, is there.)

"Stick," clarifies Jonas, grinning. He's not privy to the wheels Alex's mind are turning. "You have to learn to drive stick."

"You're the worst," Alex manages, and she's unsteady as she stands but she's always unsteady, so what the fuck ever, right. The night slips further into itself, turned the colour of a bruise blooming violet-dark above them and Alex wraps her arms around herself like a shield. "I mean—yeah, okay. I can drive stick. I can totally drive stick!"

"Yeah, you can," Jonas says. He drapes an arm over her shoulders, and Alex goes kind of grudging until the seams of their jeans brush. Gathered close like this, it only takes a minute for all of her muscles to begin to unknot. His thumb draws a line along her collarbone.

Alex doesn't have the heart to push him away. He's warm. "I'm not twenty yet."

"Yeah," Jonas says. "But I am."

She squints up at him again. "I will push you off the dock, do not test me."

"Already tried that, Als, it didn't go over awesome," and they both remember the weathered-silver wood, the sun-shot fading mist, the island in the distance lurking like a hungry thing. A distant chill runs over them, a ripple of time and loss and forgiveness. It's so quiet these days.

"Yeah, well," Alex says. The crook of his body is an okay place to be, and yeah, things are still—they're still delicate, sometimes, still difficult and too big and she should be over it! She knows she should be over it, okay, she knows. But that's not the way things work, that's not the way Alex works, that's not the way the ghosts work. Worked. Past-tense. They don't work at all, anymore, do they.

Alex takes a shuddery breath in. Alex lets a shuddery breath out.

"You gonna be okay?" Jonas asks the top of her head.

"I dunno. You really wanna run away with me?" Alex shoots right back at him.

"Yeah," Jonas says, like it's easy. For him, maybe it is. All of his muscles go lax, this weird little smile crooking up the corner of his mouth. "So. Wanna go?"

"God," Alex sighs. "More than anything."

And so they do.

They go.

— — — — —

Jonas drives too fast, flying down the highway towards the state line like the ghosts have come back grasping from the gates of hell (but they don't and they haven't, please god say they haven't), until there's nothing but the motion-blur outside the window, the summer-new leaves reduced to dark impressions along the side of the road. Alex dozes with her head against the window.

Michael's jacket is a shitty pillow but Alex couldn't bear to leave home without it. The radio is left untouched in the back of her underwear drawer wrapped in Maggie's stories and Anna's letters, and she very carefully didn't look at them before they booked it out of town. Her parents had been watching TV. They didn't hear her leave.

(There are some things that she can't let go of, and maybe that's okay. Healthy? That's a different question, but no one's here here to tell her that her coping methods are going to get her killed, so whatever. She's only running away for a little while. It'll be fine. It always is.)

The highways are deserted, this late at night. The occasional passing vehicle's headlamps are the only light, washing passively over their faces, bright then not. They're far enough away from the city already that the light pollution's faded, and the galaxy sprawls out above them, a diamond-covered blanket soaked in ink.

Inside, the truck is very quiet.

Alex doesn't sing anymore, but that's alright. No one else does, either.

And she doesn't reach for the knob of the radio, because that's still impossible. It feels like it's always going to be impossible, because sound is waves and waves are drowning and drowning is the ghosts underneath a hundred million tonnes of water.

It's dumb, Alex knows that.

But associations are hard to shake off, especially when you've played the game so many times that you don't freak at the jumpscares anymore. She doesn't have enough fingers to count out all the ways that's fucked up.

So instead she draws on the window and thinks about Jonas, about the toothpaste cowlick on the back of his head, the weird difficult way he looks at the world with his jaw up and out like he's daring it to come at him. They're all problem kids, really, but Jonas is quiet about it; it's the cigarette and the leather and the beanie, the wide shoulders and the habitual background lurking thing he does.

It's like this: Ren has his drugs and Clarissa has venom glands and Nona visits the graveyard like she can't stop. Michael dreams about running after Clarissa, and Alex dreams about running until she can't run anymore. Jonas stands in the background, a break in the river, a stone in the storm, ready to go whichever direction Alex picks.

That's pretty fucked up, too, now that she thinks about it.

"I'm sorry," Alex says.

"What? Why?"

"I just am," she tells him. A car goes whooshing by, and his face is lit up for a split-second. His eyes are very green. Alex's stomach twists, pain or pleasure or both or maybe neither, maybe something else entirely like want or regret or self-loathing. It's a lot of things, maybe. Emotions are like that. Sometimes, they're too big for names.

"Don't be," Jonas says. The road curves, a ribbon of grey silk disappearing into the gloom, and the steering wheel curves with it. "Nothing to be sorry for."

There is, though.

There are always things to be sorry for. Alex turns back to the window, and wonders if she'll ever be able to listen to the radio ever again.

Lonely hours slip by in the silence, and they drive and drive and drive. They drive and Alex counts the lines in the corduroy, the dust motes in the passenger cup holder, the cigarette butts in the ash tray. They drive until Alex is nearly asleep, or maybe is asleep, until—

it's raining. your hair sticks to your face, to your lips tinged blue. there's water dripping down your neck, down his neck, your starboy laughing into the force of the storm with his jacket up against the wind to try to keep you dry. edwards island's main street is drowning, rain a whole symphony in the gutters, and you duck down between two close-spaced buildings with your palms wound into his shirt to drag him somewhere a little more dry. alex he says, alex we're already soaked what are you doing, and you turn and his collarbone is right there. against his skin you say shhh don't make a sound and it's so close, so warm, he's laughing again and

—moonlight limes the horizon, and then Jonas flicks his blinker on.

"I'm hungry," he says into the silence between them. Alex blinks into wakefulness. Weird dreams. There's salt on her lips.

She doesn't question it.

But she does question his choice in rest stops.

"Are you serious right now," Alex says when they pull off onto the tarmac of a little roadside turnout diner, and it's not a question. The Last Dance proclaims itself in bright neon red-violet, bulbous incandescents flickering sepia gold, a cheerful pink sign in the window glowing OPEN. It's one of those disappearing heart-of-the-Americana-drain places, liminal simply because it's already halfway gone. Everything smells like just-baked apple pie and that peculiar not-quite-smell-not-quite-taste of diesel and dreams that infuses all roadside diners. The lights are on inside.

But the shadows stretch long, and Alex thinks that if she had her radio, it would be singing all kinds of death songs.

Wet pavement shines, but it hasn't rained in days except inside of Alex's head. Come play with us, soldier, she hears, all soup-can jingles on the breeze. There are ghostlights blinking in the distance. If there was a piano, it would be playing itself.

Holy man, this place is haunted as shit.

"Coffee," says Jonas. The smeary lines beneath his eyes are enough to have her reaching across the console for the keys. He can't drive like that, it's not safe, and she doesn't want to die tonight.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Alex asks over the clink of metal, even though it's a stupid question. She knows why, and when he looks at her in the dark with eyes like holes in the world, she wishes she'd never asked. It's easy to ignore the puddles in the cracks in the ashphalt. "You're exhausted, Jonas, jesus."

"You wanted to go," he tells her.

And that's just—that's just Jonas, isn't it. Of course, he hadn't stopped because he thought she wouldn't want to; she'd said as much before they left, hadn't she? Alex hates herself. She runs a hand through her hair, catching on tangles in straw.

(She still needs a dye job. She always needs a dye job.)

"Yeah," Alex says. It punches out of her, such a hurting thing. "I guess I did."

"So," Jonas says, like he doesn't blame her for it, like he could never blame her for it. It twists all of her insides into knots. "Coffee?"

"Coffee," she says, because, man, why not?

Fifteen minutes later, Alex is rethinking that assessment. Jonas orders pancakes, and when the waitress brings them over, he pushes them right across the linoleum table without a word. A white plate, the pancakes are golden and beautiful, soaked in whipped cream, dripping buttery syrup. There is a strawberry.

"Are you serious right now," she says again.

"Eat your pancakes," Jonas advises, slouching back against the booth's wall-corner, eyes closed. Leather squeaks against leather as he shifts. The mug of coffee sitting between them steams thinly, little pale tendril like ghost hands reaching up towards the ceiling. Alex watches it for a minute without saying anything, chewing on broken glass words, shatter-shard and metal red in her mouth. She can still hear the Morse beeping through the static: still here, cannot move, very cold, love—.

"We are going to get murdered," she mutters at last, which, probably. Across the diner, the tired-eyed waitress raises an eyebrow like she heard it, which, also probably. It's not a big place, this diner, and the shadows are very hungry.

"Pancakes," Jonas says again. His eyes are still closed, the jerk. Who even looks like that after a night of driving? Who sits like the whole universe is an opportunity? It's not fair, and even more so because of the perspiration running down the side of Alex's glass. Rain, salt, oceans. Grief in all its forms. "Eat them."

"Death first," Alex stabs viciously at her plate.

"Been there, done that," Jonas kind of grins out of the corner of his mouth. It makes his lip pull up right where he normally sticks his cigarette, and the worst thing is that he's not wrong. It would be so much easier if he was. It would be so much easier if she had no idea what he looks like when he laughs.

Because dying isn't permanent when time is just a construct.

Alex eats the pancakes.

(The dream lingers for a long time. Hours later, she can still taste the rain.)

— — — — — 

"So is this Tour de Haunted America, or are you punking me?" Alex asks, after Jonas has paid and they're strapped back into the truck. The tips of her fingers feel like ice; it's not a nice feeling, all the worse for being one that she knows. The Kanaloa ghosts were always cold, too—every time they gave Jonas or Clarissa or anyone else back, the body would spend fifteen minutes shivering the frost in their souls away—so it stands to reason that every other ghost would be, too.

"What makes you think it was haunted?" Jonas asks levelly. The truck hums beneath them, roadsong murmuring up through the faded corduroy seats and into Alex's bones. It's a warming thing. She tucks her freezing fingers underneath her thighs.

"Really?" Alex raises a skeptical brow. God, he's the worst, she can't believe she likes him. If he was wearing his beanie, she would pull it down over his eyes. Then they'd crash and die and become ghosts themselves, so maybe not. "We're gonna go there right now?"

"We're always going there, Als," says Jonas.

Well, they're always going somewhere.

Alex turns her face back to the window, inhales deeply and holds the air in her lungs until the beat of her heart slows to something a little more manageable. Her reflection looks back, all big dark eyes, brown skin, bleached-out bangs.

She's had other reflections, but this is the one that she knows the best.

Ang god knows, she owes him this much.

"I could feel it," Alex says, low. "It was like, shadows? I dunno, I can't even explain it."

"Try," says Jonas.

Alex sighs. Her breath fogs the window, and yeah, it was kind of like that, kind of not. All she has is impressions: merry red lanterns to lead the way, devoured suns inside the great gaping maw of the universe, the sharp jut of a collarbone in the rain, Clarissa's red curl of a smirk falling backwards out of a window. Hauntings feel like that, she thinks, that same edge of unreality.

Like peeling back flesh from bones.

"Do you remember when Clarissa died?" she asks the dashboard.

"Which time?" he asks, so casual.

Well, that's dark. "All of them."

"Yeah, I remember."

"It's like that," Alex says, takes a breath. This is still difficult to talk about, but at least he sort of gets it. At least he won't look at her like she's something unfixable. "Like—layers. We watched her fall, what? A hundred times? A thousand times? It always turned out the same, and then they stacked—"

"Memories on top of memories," Jonas nods. "Déjà vu."

"That's French for already seen, you know that, right?"

"Alex," Jonas stresses her name. He doesn't really need to say anything else.

"Okay, okay, be grumpy," she says airily, and when Jonas's mouth twitches like he's going to protest, Alex reaches over to poke him in the side just to watch him squirm. That it keeps him from interrupting her is secondary, but also appreciated. "Anyway, it's that. Feels kinda… heavy. Like there's too many people, but not enough space."

Jonas catches her wrist. With his thumb against her pulse, for a minute they both just sit there and count the beating of her heart. One-two, one-two. He tethers her to the real world, does Jonas, anchors Alex back in her body when she can't figure out how to do it for herself. His hands are just on the other side of too-warm, callused all over and nearly uncomfortably rough. His dad had him mowing lawns all summer, and the mower is an old one, made of splintery wood. She doesn't know why she thinks of it, because it's something so mundane.

But for the first time in a long time, Alex doesn't feel like she wants to climb outside of her skin, so she just goes with it.

"Jesus, you're freezing," Jonas says, shaking his head. "Put your jacket on."

Michael's jacket, she wants to say. Michael's jacket.

But there's no way to say that without making it weird, even though Jonas probably won't be too judgy about it. It's not like he's the pinnacle of stable mental health, either; his mom's still dead.

(Sometimes Alex wonders if he begrudges her this: she brought Michael back because she couldn't stand not to bring him back, because broken dishes and broken hearts aren't the same thing, because she had the opportunity to erase the cataclysm that destroyed her whole life and he didn't. Sometimes she wonders if Jonas would do the same, if he had the choice. Sometimes she wonders why he didn't get the chance, but that never gets very far because it always ends up making her grit her teeth. God, she wishes so many things.)

Alex puts the jacket on.

Jonas turns the key in the ignition.

Into the endless night, they go.

— — — — —

They're four hours outside Camena's limits, far past where the city meets the sea, on a long empty stretch of stretch of road that hasn't seen another soul in probably a hundred years. It's a forgotten space, time-out-of-time, and that's exactly what Alex wants. There are some things that shouldn't be said in daylight places.

(Or when operating flying vehicular death traps, but that is another story entirely.)

"Hey," Alex says, "can we stop here?"

Jonas looks at her out of the corner of his eye like he's been doing all night, half measure and half respect and all exasperated, cracked-out affection. But it's not even a question. She can feel his foot heavy on the brake as the truck shudders, slows. Stops.

The night air is cold and wet with saltspray, the crash of the ocean against the rocks. But it's quiet, it's so quiet, there might be no one alive for a hundred miles. Civilization could end and neither of them would ever know, and it wouldn't be a terrible thing.

Alex climbs out of the truck without a word.

(Jonas follows her because Jonas always follows her. What else is there?)

After the island, they'd done this a lot—snuck out during one of Michael's parties to go driving out into the middle of nowhere, where no one knew their names. Not this far away from home, but something like it. In the back of the truck bed there are blankets in a box, half a bed already made just waiting to be laid out.

"Naptime?" Jonas blinks at her. "Seriously?"

"Naptime is great, don't front," Alex says. She yanks the blankets out of their coffin, thick handspun wool that she'd stolen out of her parents' house six months ago and hadn't ever given back. Her mom had looked at her, once, with ancient eyes.

But she hadn't asked about it, and Alex had no answers for her. Has no answers, for anyone.

Alex looks over her shoulder, out through the tangle of her hair around her face. "Are you coming?"

"Yeah, okay," says Jonas.

The truckbed dips beneath his weight, and they arrange themselves in the messy nest that she'd made. It's not elegant. It's not pretty. It's two kids trying to figure to figure out who they are, even though they have no idea who they are, not really. A boy and a girl. A girl and a ghost. A ghost and a shadow. the aftermath of a supernova, like nothing left. Like rain on lips from forgotten dreams, or forgotten lives. Alex feels scraped raw, but Jonas is a garbage snowman and she's a hole in the universe, and it's—it's okay. Maybe. A little bit.

Because then they're just laying there, and it's quiet, and it's good. Comfortable. Warm. And safe, and maybe that's the most important part. There's a screaming two inches of space between his shoulders and hers, and it's still too much.

Alex can feel the words welling up in her throat, tight and hot and laden with heartache.

"I can't swim," she whispers into the empty black dome of the sky.

"…Huh?" says Jonas.

"It's why—I mean, Michael wanted to teach me, you know? The lake, that's why we were—" and she stops, breaks, washes ashore. It heaves in her chest, wretched, such a howling grief. She can still see his hand reaching for her through the water, shimmering sun-speckled blue-gold. It's been a hundred days, or maybe a hundred years, and it still gives her nightmares. "That's why. The whole thing. 'Cause I can't freakin' swim."

"Huh," he says again. "Hey, move your head."

"What?"

"Just do it," Jonas says.

Alex moves her head.

When they settle again, he's somehow managed to get his bicep beneath her neck, arranged her close enough that they're touching from hip to shoulder. Alex blinks upwards, thinks about putting her cheek against his arm where his shirt's ridden up, skin to skin. His body is right here, and she could. She could.

"Shouldn't you be mad or something?" Alex asks the sky, instead.

"Shit happens," Jonas says. His muscles ripple like he wants to shrug but he also doesn't want to dislodge her head from his arm, so there's that.

"Okay, I'm sorry, but that's like, the worst excuse ever, man. And that's including the ghosts' whole let us have your bodies so we can pretend to be alive again thing," Alex says. "Shit happens. Seriously?"

"Shit does happen," Jonas says mildly, but she can hear the grin in his voice.

"Even when your brother drowns and it's your fault?"

"It wasn't your fault," he tells her, painfully gentle. "You came down after me, remember? If it was anyone's fuck-up, it was mine."

"You didn't fuck up," Alex murmurs, shaking her head back and forth like a crazy person. There's winding panic in her throat like there always is when she thinks of the lake; lake, water, rain in the gutters, drowned and drowning, a collarbone and a kiss. "If Mike hadn't—if I hadn't—if he'd just listened—"

"Woulda, coulda, shoulda," Jonas says into her hair. He's kind of mashed his face against her skull, speaking low and soft to calm them both down. "Als, breathe."

Right, breathing. That's like, a thing.

Alex gulps down air, gulps air, gulps.

"In to the count of seven, out to the count of eleven," Jonas says placidly. "C'mon, breathe with me."

It starts in the fingers, the uncontrollable tremble. Then it's the shrinking of the world, the black around the edges of the vision, the sudden saltwater sloshing behind the eyes, the breathe alex breathe breathe breathe you gotta breathe shit will you please breathe—

(She never used to be like this.)

"Crap," Alex says, a long time later. She sounds like she's been gargling soda and salt. "Sorry."

"Not something to apologize about," Jonas says, and his eyes go hard when Alex opens her mouth to protest. There's a line of pale pink on the horizon; it's an hour to sunrise, maybe two, and it's getting easier to see. "Als, don't apologize. Not for this. Not ever."

"I got snot on your shirt."

"Yeah well," he shrugs. "I've had worse things than snot on my shirt."

"Like what."

"Ghost goop?"

And it's that phrase, ghost goop, that breaks whatever was left of Alex's composure. She's exhausted, anxiety draining away, and Jonas is a dumb idiot who says things like ghost goop. Who even says that?

Alex hides her face in his side, and she laughs until she can't breathe. It's catching, too, because then Jonas is laughing, and then they're both laughing, like a pair of power-mad maniac supervillans. Two kids here at the end of the world before it's eaten into the sea, laughing and laughing and laughing.

"God," Alex says, the last bubbles of mirth easing the words. "Ghost goop."

"Ghost goop," Jonas grins. "Feeling better?"

"A little," slips out of her, not quite a murmur but close. The exhaustion leaks out of her, a loose-faucet of tiredness. "Let's never do that again, okay, that sucked."

"You wanna sleep? We can," he tells her.

The truck-bed blanket nest is perfect for curling up and sleeping off an anxiety attack, but Alex mostly just wants to stay where she is. If she sleeps, she'll dream. There's no telling where that will go, especially not after the night they've had. Edwards Island plus a panic attack plus a haunted diner multiplied by the heady attraction of Jonas' skin equals nightmares, probably. "The sun's almost up. Is there even, like, a point?"

"There's always a point to sleep, Als."

"Pfft, whatever man, says you."

"Says every bad decision I haven't made, because I get enough sleep, unlike some people," Jonas says, and actually has the gall to stick his nose in the air like he's not also rocking the insomniac eye-luggage.

"Oh my god, there is not one single bad decision you haven't made," she says.

"Is, too!"

"Name it," Alex grins at him with all her teeth. She has the emotional range of a teaspoon. "I dare you."

"Well, I mean. There's this," he says, waves a hand to indicate the… everything around them. The night sky turning light along the edges of the world, the moon's pale face a luminous disc beginning to wither in the coming dawn; this dark and quiet place they've found themselves in, safe and warm, is far away from the ghosts they carry.

"Okay, no, this was a terrible decision, Jonas. Like, no thought went into this decision. I said I wanted to run away, and you just, like, went with it so don't even front," says Alex, but then she's kind of smiling, so soft it's almost not there. "Thanks, though."

"For what?"

"Getting me outta there," she murmurs, turns her face into the crook of his shoulder. Something hot and tight had throbbed in Alex's chest all day, an ugly red beat that abated only with miles passing beneath them. Trapped in her parents' house, trapped in her own head, Alex hadn't been able to escape the cyclical nature of the thought patterns but, well—

Jonas gets it, which doesn't surprise Alex at all.

I'd do it again, he doesn't say, just shifts enough that he can press his chin to the top her head, and they stay like that for a long time because it's easy, it's so easy to just lay here and breathe together. There are no obligations, just silence and stardust the glow of far-off silvershot nebulae.

"What's a bad decision, then?" Alex asks, very quietly, what feels like an aeon later.

For a whole endless breath, Jonas is perfectly still.

It's a blur of movement, shadow-dark skittering smearing into her head going thud against the truck bed, into knees and elbows digging in, into the rush of blood beneath skin and heat and then—

Jonas hovers above her, looking down.

"What are you doing," Alex says, the echoes of a long-dead conversation soft like new leaves in her mouth. His chest is solid beneath her hands, beneath his shirt, the bones of him all elegant lines straining around her. He keeps her safe like that, legs tangled, arms a cage. She could leave if she wanted to but she doesn't want to. Alex wants—she just wants.

"Making a bad decision," Jonas says. He brushes her washed-out hair out of her face, and she catches a flash of his white fingers. Alex tilts her chin just enough that his knuckles graze her cheekbone. "Hey, we're not dead yet."

"I know we're not," she says. "How is this a bad decision?"

"You just had a freak out, Als, I wouldn't say it's great."

"I dunno, it could be worse. We could totally be possessed," she pauses to stare him up and down. There's a challenge hidden in the corner of Jonas' mouth like a drift of cigarette smoke on a cloudy day, and she raises her eyebrows at him. He doesn't get to be the only one that dares the world to come at him, does he; Alex is just as bad. "Are you going to kiss me, or what?"

(They're both going to eat it someday. Probably they already have.)

"If you want me to," Jonas says.

"I do," Alex says, raw and honest with it. Sink-spill, ghost-riders, starboys with their empty eyes and their canvas skin, she wants. She just wants. "I do."

"Cool," he says, voice hoarse, and he's close enough now to count the flecks of hazel-grey in his eyes, close enough now that their noses bump. There's nothing sexy about it. She doesn't know why it's endearing. "Cool."

When Jonas kisses her, Alex keeps her eyes open.

They both deserve to remember this, after all.

— — — — —

"D'you think Maggie and Anna are… you know, together?"

"They're okay, Als."

"Okay isn't the same as together," Alex murmurs. They've migrated inside, the chill of the pre-dawn air sending them skittering back into the truck. She pulls her knees up to her chest, Michael's jacket tucked between her shoulder and the window. It's a bright spot of colour in the grey morning light, a bloom of crimson, satin-soft.

"Better than not okay, though," Jonas yawns. There are little purple violets of exhaustion pressed underneath his eyes, blossoming night flowers that can't be smeared away, no matter how much Alex would like to.

They're going to crash, pretty soon, the both of them.

"Mm, I guess," she says, dropping her head back against the window. "But I mean—they're dead."

(Dead like his mom, dead like her brother, dead like the ghosts.)

Jonas looks at her. His eyes are soft. "I know what you mean, Als."

And Alex thinks about Michael and Clarissa, and the future, about time's strange and arbitrary rules on how she lives through it. She thinks about Ren and Nona, off-again this month, and about school and leaving and all the things that come after graduation. College, or travel, or… whatever the heck it is that teenagers do to become adults, whatever a person does to figure themselves out.

She thinks about the fact that in graveyards, she can feel the press of the dead like butterfly wings, whispering softly in her ears. She thinks about the fact that she knows what a final goodbye sounds like, that she knows the taste of time, that she knows the feel of sand slipping through fingers. People look at her like she's crazy, sometimes. Even Michael does it, and that hurts the worst.

Alex thinks about the fact that she still keeps that stupid radio.

"I don't think I'm ever gonna be normal," she says. Her hair falls into her eyes, and she shrinks behind it 'til all she sees is teal-turning-blonde, nothing but a sunlit sea. Alex thinks of rainwater down a window, streams converging, one thing becoming another becoming another becoming another, and doesn't know how to explain.

"The hell is normal, anyway," Jonas says. He rolls down the window and there's a spark, a tiny flame alive then dead; he exhales opaque smoke.

"That's going to kill you," Alex says, but this is an old argument, and nearly fond for it.

"Everything's killing me. Might as well enjoy it," Jonas grins at her around the cigarette, startlingly white, startlingly charming. He turns sober and quiet when he looks at her, though, eyes going soft. "Normal's overrated, Als."

"No, I mean—" and Alex breaks off, chewing on the words, trying to pick the right ones for what she feels. "It's like, Clarissa's going to Boston, right? And Nona got that scholarship to Juilliard, and Ren's aiming for UCLA, and it's like, it's like everyone's doing the whole real life thing. But I can hardly sleep, because I can still—"

"Still what?"

"I can still hear them. Not the Kanaloa them, they're gone, that's why I asked, but like… dead things in general. Graveyards suck for real, man."

"Is that how…?"

"The diner?" Alex thinks about it. There were other things, too, of course—the conspicuous lack of other patrons with solid food, for one, and the way that even the waitress was a paper-thin imitation—but mostly it was that cold trickle down her spine. "Yeah, that's how."

"…Why didn't you tell me?" Jonas asks. Exhales smoke, again, and drops the cigarette into the ash tray. It's the only one there.

"I did tell you, like, six hours ago."

"Why didn't you tell me before this?"

"What would I have said? Hey, by the way, I see dead people? Yeah, no thanks," Alex shakes her head. As it is, her parents have been quietly taking her aside and asking if things are alright—she doesn't need them worrying that their daughter's gone off the deep end and sending her to some correctional facility up in Alaska, which is totally not nightmare fuel or anything. As though she doesn't have enough nightmare fuel as it is. Jesus.

"I mean, you could've."

"Oh, shut up," Alex says, lips twitching as she reaches over to shove him.

Jonas catches her hands. He's always doing that. It would be annoying if Alex didn't know that he has a thing about touch: who's allowed to touch him, who he's allowed to touch. "I'm gonna have bruises, stop your violence."

"You like my violence!"

Jonas doesn't deny that, which, um, okay. He looks at her and says, "I like you."

Alex turns red to the tips of her ears.

"Are you blushing?" Jonas stares at her. "Christ, you're blushing, that's adorable—"

"Shush, I'm tryna be serious here! We made a deal, okay," Alex blows all the breath out of her lungs, forcing the flush away. Now is not really the time to turn into some eighteenth-century maid, swooning over a compliment from a stableboy. That's ridiculous. Alex is an adult or something. "Me and the ghosts. I promised that I wouldn't forget, no matter what. I can't—it's not a promise I can break."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I dunno," she shrugs. "Maybe I'll go chase ghost stories. Maybe they'll think it's funny."

"I thought we established that annoying dead people is a quick way to get killed," Jonas says flatly.

"Yeah, well," Alex says. A slow, creeping smile splits her face, bloodied in the wash of the rising sun. "We also established that I don't get on super-awesome with staying dead, right? I'm basically the perfect person that way."

"You're going to die," he says, dropping his head back against the headrest to stare at the ceiling, wonder-eyed and dazed like he can't believe the words coming out of his mouth. "I'm coming with you, or you're going to die."

"I'm not going to die. You don't have to come."

"Kinda do, though."

"No, you actually don't—"

"Alex," Jonas says. Her name passes his lips simple and low and honest. It sends a shiver down her spine. "I want to."

"Oh," she says. "Really?"

"I'm here right now," Jonas says, staring straight ahead. He puts the keys in the ignition, and the truck thrums to life. "Aren't I?"

Alex looks at his profile for a long, long time. The broken ridge of his nose, the dark bruises beneath his eyes, the line of his jaw. She knows his face, and she knows when it's lying.

It's not lying, right now.

"Yeah," she says. "I guess you are."

Along the edge of the universe, the sun is coming up gold, glinting diamonds across the ocean. There's an island out there, dotted with the leftover remains from a different ghost camp, a different girl who broke the world, different travelers, different stories. Jonas lets the truck sit idle beneath them, palm loose around the gear shift. His knuckles are a curvature, bone and tissue, marrow and blood.

Alex links their fingers like a prayer.

In the sunrise over the water, she can see for miles, miles, miles.

—

.

.

.

.

.

fin.

[andya-j]

My local internet cafe is not much of a sight to behold. I think that’s what may have contributed to it shutting down for a couple months back in June. The exterior was reminiscent of an abandoned shack with its dilapidated appearance and broken windows. However, after they cleaned up the inside, I definitely saw some improvement. Sparkly clean tile floors and beautiful mahogany countertops filled the cafe with a sense of ease and elegance. I always got plenty of work done in there, so the shop’s grungy look never bothered me much, but it was nice to have a change of scenery once the cleanup was done. I was probably the only regular at the cafe, venturing in on almost a daily basis. Plenty of other folks cycled in and out, but nary a familiar face would show up. This was fine, since I only went there to edit my vlogs and website on occasion. Striking up a conversation with someone recognizable was not on the agenda, ever. I was there for some much needed peace and quiet, not small talk. Though I had wifi at home, the thin walls there did little to muffle my father’s drunken ramblings. The cafe was my escape from the unwanted noise. I strolled in on a ‪Saturday morning‬, just five days after the “grand” reopening. I was feeling pretty groggy, still recovering from a cold I caught during the week. The humid August air didn’t help matters. Because of this, I decided to grab a coffee before getting my things set up. I walked across the glimmering, newly replaced floors and heard them squeak under my sneakers. I laughed a little to myself, almost tempted to start turning in place just to hear the sound a few more times. ‬‬ “No,” I told myself, “Grow up.” I ordered my coffee and took a look around the room while I waited for it. I took a mental note of how many faces were in the cafe with me. I was surely going to grab a quiet little table in the corner, away from these strangers. “Small iced regular?” The barista held out my coffee and straw. “Thanks.” I said plainly. I threw down a couple of quarters as a tip and strolled on over to the table I wanted. I spent the next few hours clipping and splicing my videos from the days previous. I was doing a week-long series about the gym I go to. Basically workout tips and some comedy bits with my buddy Jake who works the front desk. I found myself laughing out loud over a protein shake skit we had done. I may have drawn some attention to my little corner of the room. Though the staring eventually subsided, I felt it best for me to leave, as I had been in there much longer than usual. I reached down and unplugged my laptop charger and that’s when my hand brushed up against something. Confused, I took a look under my table to investigate. A sixteen-inch black bag sat just beyond where my feet were settled. It had pockets and a shoulder strap, as well as an abundance of dust coating the leather. Holy crap, I thought to myself. Someone must have left their laptop behind or something. At first, I was going to do the right thing. I very easily could have handed it to a barista and called it a day. I guess, maybe that would have been the smart thing to do. However, a mixture of curiosity and stupidity came over me, keeping me from being honest. Instead, after packing up my own things, I swung the mystery bag over my shoulder and swiftly exited the café. Stupid. I pulled into my driveway ‪at about noon‬, the hot summer sun beaming down on my front lawn. My father was doing his usual, half-assed inspection of the plants in the garden, beer can in hand. I tried to get into the house without a word to him, but he stopped me just as I opened the storm door.‬‬ “Hey, hey, why are you in such a hurry?” He asked, taking a swig of his drink. “Dad, I don’t have time. Important website business.” “Well, well,” He slurred, “Don’t stop on my account.” But you just stopped me, I thought to myself. I pushed through the front door, passing my sleeping mother on the couch, and darted upstairs to my room. SLAM! I shut my door hard behind me and locked it immediately. I tossed my belongings and newly found goods onto my bed and kicked my shoes clear across the room. I was excited to dig in to this lucky haul. Carefully and slowly, I unzipped the top of the bag and pulled it open. I gasped a little to myself. Despite the appearance of the bag, the contents were no joke. A shiny, brand new looking laptop was nestled nicely inside. I pulled it out and observed it with awe. It was certainly nicer than my basic, five hundred gig HP from a big box store. I couldn’t believe what I was holding. I flipped it open and began feeling the keys and monitor. It was in mint condition. I had to be the luckiest guy in the world. Everything was there, including a charger and wireless mouse. I even found a bag of screen wipes at the bottom. I also dug into the pockets, curious as to what treasure I might find in there. What I found was a cell phone. Nothing special, just some cheap Android phone. It was still powered on and had no screen lock on it. Exploring it further, I noticed there were no texts and only one recent call to an out of state number. Being into electronics, I went into the settings to see what kind of operating system it had. It was vastly out of date on software, still set in some variation of the Lollipop OS. That’s alright, I thought. I could still flip it for a quick ten bucks or so. I placed it on the bed next to the laptop and sat for a moment, trying to take in what I had in front of me. This was such a great find, but I needed to power on the laptop and figure out what I was working with. To my excitement, there was no login screen. I was in, immediately after booting it up. I was never as into laptops as I phones, but I could tell right away I was not working with your standard, stock operating system. This thing resembled more of a modded setup that I had seen kids working with back in high school, but I couldn’t name it off the top of my head. Luckily, it was simple enough to navigate. I set it up with my wifi and dived right into the file storage to get some idea of who’s computer I had. I was disappointed for just a few moments, but after clicking around a bit, I did find a folder labeled “A”. Inside was one JPG, titled “one by one”. Intrigued, my stomach did a little flip as I opened the image. I was puzzled by what I found. It was a screenshot from a website. It looked like a post in some forum, from a user named “Anonandon&4” with nothing but phone numbers listed and zero replies. Underneath the list was the tag line “…you know who you are.” Scanning the image for answers, I noticed the address bar for the site. It seemed to be a nonsense string of characters followed by a .onion extension. Onion? Wasn’t that a parody news site or something? I wasn’t too sure, but I decided to dig a little deeper. I clicked on the x at the top, taking me back to the desktop. That’s when I noticed another folder. This one was labeled “PICS” which stirred up some more thrills in my bones. Yes! I cheered to myself. This would more than likely reveal the owner’s identity. I became disappointed as I clicked through the pictures. There was no human life, just shots of different places and scenery. This included a dark image of a barber shop, a path in the woods somewhere, and even someone’s garage. What really caught my eye was the last pic. It was the café. My stomach started doing acrobatics now, my heart racing. Why were there random pictures in this thing? Why was there a screenshot of a message board with a list phone numbers? The files just weren’t adding up for me, but I hatched a half-baked plan. I didn’t know if it was going to end the mystery, but I couldn’t help but pry. I pulled up the pic with the phone numbers, grabbed the Android phone, and dialed the first number at the top of the list. After only two rings, I was greeted with silence. Strange I thought, but I pressed on. I dialed the next number on the list. This time, it rang five times before I got a generic inbox greeting, with the phone number listed. Interesting, but I hung up before I heard the beep. I grew bored of dialing the random numbers. I decided to take a break and put the laptop and cell phone away for a little while. I knew I’d come back to it later. Once the evening rolled around, I waited for my parents to go to bed, and then fixed myself up a snack. This was pretty much a nightly routine of mine. I clicked on the TV as I usually did and settled on the first news channel I scrolled to. This is when things took a turn for the weird. A breaking news story was displayed on screen, one from the next town over. “YOUNG BARBER, AGE 25, FOUND MURDERED AT WORK” “Damn,” I shook my head, “That sucks.” A female news reporter was on the scene, outside of the barber shop where it took place. Wait a second. I couldn’t believe my eyes. That barbershop. It was the same one from the pic on the laptop. I was sure of it. I put my plate down on the coffee table and raced upstairs to grab the computer. I booted it up, clicked on the folder of pictures, and then the photo in question. I ran back downstairs with the laptop in hand and held it up to the tv screen. Yes, it was definitely the same barber shop. Wow, what were the chances of that? I was shaking my head in amazement. I finished watching the news story and began feeling tired. I was about ready for bed, so I grabbed the remote. The news story just after grabbed my attention before I could hit the power button. “COLD MURDER IN LOCAL FOREST.” This one was also nearby, just over the bridge in the opposite direction. This world is terrible, I thought. I hadn’t seen two stories like that back to back in a long time. That’s when it hit me. I scrolled over to the picture of the woods in the same folder. Then, I waited to see if the news story included the location of the homicide on video. Though I didn’t get anything solid to compare it to, I was definitely getting weird vibes. First a barbershop, and now a forest? I had to be grasping at straws, though… right? I decided it was bed time. I had a pretty restless night of sleep, tossing and turning and kicking my covers to the foot of my bed. It was hot and humid and I kept waking up with the sweats. Needless to say, I was in dire need of coffee the next morning. I was probably smart to leave the strange laptop at home, grabbing my own equipment as I headed out the door. I drove rather quickly to the cafe, eyelids still heavy. I got my regular coffee and sat down at my favorite booth in the corner. Only one other person resided in the building, apart from the baristas at work. It was nice and quiet, and felt peaceful. A good contrast from my evening snack and sweaty night of interrupted rest. Still, my mind couldn’t help but wander. The web address from the screenshot I found came rolling into the forefront of my thoughts. What was that onion domain all about? Why did the web address make no sense? It was something like “codeinflux” with random numbers and symbols after it. This was meaningless to me. I decided to do some research. I couldn’t recall the exact website, but I remembered the .onion extension, so I started from there. I was immediately blown away. Apparently, what it pertains to, is web addresses not reachable on normal servers. It takes you through something called “Tor” and is used for some pretty shady activity. I guess it involves what’s called “The Dark Web.” I’d heard a little about this before. I was beginning to feel sick. The websites listed on the Wiki were pretty revolting to say the least; nothing I would ever want to be involved in. The worst part? I was beginning to think the laptop I found was used solely to access this part of the internet. I couldn’t bare the thought of being in possession of it any longer. I had to do something. I stormed out of the cafe ready to spring into action, when I was stopped by a tap on my leg. I looked down to see a homeless looking man, in a black tattered leather jacket sitting up against the front of the building. His face looked rough, complete with a badly shaven beard and cracked lips. He looked miserable. He held out a small plastic cup, looking up at me with desperation in his eyes. “Spare change, sir?” “I’m in a hurry dude, and I don’t carry cash.” “Please?!” He begs some more. He reached out and grabbed my pants leg. “No, get away from me!” I kicked his hand away. The guy looked upset; his eyes were actually watering a little bit. I felt a little bad, but damn, don’t grab me. That’s when the guy did the strangest thing. He took out a phone and started taking pictures of me. “What are you doing now?” I asked, confused as all hell. He didn’t answer. All I could do about it was run to my car and leave as fast as possible. What was that guy’s deal? I called my friend Peter on my way home. I knew he would have some more insight on this whole thing. I was hoping I could bring him to my house and have him wipe the computer clean. Then I could sell it to a random yahoo and be done with this whole misadventure. Once I picked up my friend, I sped back to my house and showed him what I found in the cafe. He was blown away. “This thing is lethal,” he laughed, “It looks pretty customized, honestly.” “Yeah I noticed that, but take a look at these.” I clicked through the photos, showing him the ones that I compared with the news stories. “So, you think this laptop has some sort of connection to the murders?” “I don’t know man, but I think there’s something fishy going on.” He shrugged and took over the mouse for a moment. “Where’s the picture of the phone numbers?” “It’s somewhere in the file storage, yep click there and… bingo.” Peter stared intently at the list and address bar in the screenshot. He also checked the file description and saw that the screenshot originated from the laptop, so it was taken from within the device. My hairs were at attention, all up and down my skin. “So, you tested these numbers out?” “Yeah, with this phone.” I handed him the cell phone that came in the bag with the laptop and he scanned through it rapidly. “Definitely a TracFone, something bought as a burner. Possibly for some sort of business task? Shall we try another phone number?” I nodded and pointed to one just below the phone numbers I tested out. He dialed it in and threw it on speaker phone so we could both listen in. It rang, and rang, and rang. It didn’t stop ringing, so we hung up after the eighth ring. Peter looked at the phone funny, and then up at me. “I honestly don’t know what’s up with all this – did you want me to just factory reset everything?” “Yeah, I mean, is that gonna take care of my problem?” “Not sure. But, I think I’d like have some fun with this before we call it a day.” I gave him a look, a glance of disagreement. I didn’t think that would be in our best interest. “I don’t think we should be messing with this, dude.” “Come on, what could go wrong? You could even film it. This could go viral!” “Well, I’m not going to vlog me hanging around with a stolen laptop. Just do what you gotta do with it and let’s move on.” Peter smirked, looked at the screen again, and then dialed another phone number from the list. Again, we got nothing. This time, just another generic voicemail box greeting. He continued onto the next phone number, and halfway through dialing, he stopped. His eyes were scanning the screen. “Um…” His face was now white as a ghost. “What, why did you stop, you okay?” “This is… this is my phone number.” My heart panged like a club to a gong. “That can’t be.” I scooted over next to Peter and observed the screen. He was right. Just to be sure, he finished dialing and hit send. He put the phone up to his ear and waited. Just as he suspected, his pocket lit up and his ringtone sang away. We both looked at each other in shock. “Dude…” My hands were shaking, and my mouth was agape so far, I think my jaw was brushing my bed sheets. “How?” Is all Peter could muster up from his racing thoughts. “This is unreal, I don’t like this at all. Just wipe the hard drive and let’s be done with it.” “Wait!” He shouted, while looking at the screen again. My heart sank some more, I had a feeling about what he was about to say. “What, don’t tell me…” He didn��t say a word, all he did was start frantically dialing another number. That’s when I felt it, my pocket was now vibrating. I gulped so loud that I flinched. I reached down and pulled out my phone and answered. I held it up to my ear. “Peter.” I said through the receiver, looking at my visibly shaken friend across from me. “This is messed up.” He responded through the burner phone. I ended up driving Peter home shortly after. He had handed the phone over and told me he wanted to leave and take everything in. He left the laptop with me and told me he’d rather not mess with it. We decided to meet up at the cafe and drop it back off right in the morning. We’d wake up early and hopefully be the first ones in. However, I missed my alarm. Apparently, I also missed ten calls from Peter. I opened up my messages and noticed the four texts he’d sent. Damn, I had to get going and fast. I had already packed up everything the night before so all I had to do really was throw on a t-shirt and shorts, and head to the cafe. As I turned the corner to where the cafe was, I had to hit the breaks pretty quickly. What I saw on that road was nothing but cops and ambulances. There were road blocks set up on either side of the ambulances, and the cafe was barricaded. “What in the…?” I was thinking out loud. This was crazy. There were people with their hands on their faces, looking scared and sad. I pulled over into the grocery store parking lot across the street and then walked over to the scene to get a closer look. I assumed Peter was doing the same thing. I ended up in a crowd of onlookers next door, looking at the scene before us. There was blood splatter on the front doors of the café and some papers, among other belongings, strewn all about. More blood covered the ground. Jesus, this was a damned massacre. I could hear the people beside me whispering to each other about what was going on. “They’re talking about a possible serial killer,” one woman said to her friend. “…the kid was about to walk in, and suddenly bullets came in from over there. Nobody saw who fired the shots.” A guy filled his wife in about what he witnessed. I was too curious to just be craning my neck from back there; I needed a closer look. I peered over at the cops who were busy questioning a barista by the ambulances. I crept past the barricade carefully. I slipped past a couple of other baristas and made my way to a second ambulance by the other barricade. The stretcher was in view now, but I couldn’t tell who was in it. I decided to kneel down beside the ambulance and hopefully catch some conversation between the EMTs. I took out my phone and started recording. “We lost him, he wasn’t hanging in there much when we got here but, I was hoping…” “Jan, it’s not your fault… you saved the girl. You can’t save them all, you know?” “I wish I could. I heard him talk before he let go you know? He told me his name was Peter…” My hand jumped up over my mouth as I let out the weirdest sound. It was a gasp, combined with a grunt of disbelief. No, it couldn’t be. “Yeah.” The other EMT said. “We have his information already, guess he was an IT guy for a local business. Smart kid, early twenties.” I stumbled back a bit on my heels, dropping my phone in the process. I bumped into something solid behind me and stood up quickly. I turned around and saw that same homeless guy from the other day. My face was still contorted from the information I just received from my eavesdropping. The guy was just staring at me, stoic. He didn’t even react to me bumping into him. He was glaring at me from behind an unchanging expression. I couldn’t help it, I booked it across the street to my car. I could feel tears forming in my ducts, eyes twitching in the wind from my open driver’s side window. Why did I have to wake up so late? Maybe Peter would have been spared from whatever this was. A drive by? An assassination of some kind? My head was dizzy, my heart was hurting, but I was beginning to make some connection. The pictures on the computer, the phone numbers, the murders. Everything. I was getting an idea as to what it was I was dealing with. The stuff about the Dark Web, the strange laptop, and the phone numbers. I arrived home, heart sick as all hell. My friend was murdered today, and I couldn’t stop it. Maybe if I had never grabbed the computer from the cafe, he’d still be alive. Maybe if I hadn’t been so stupid, I could have handled this whole thing differently, and he wouldn’t be dead right now. To top it off, I realized I left my phone at the bloody scene. I groaned and threw my head back in the driver’s seat. Now what? Well, the phone is near some cops and the EMTs. Maybe if I call, they’ll believe I dropped it before they got there and I won’t get in trouble. I reached back and grabbed the burner phone out of the bag and started to dial my phone number when I suddenly had a thought. If the phone numbers we dialed somehow had something to do with the murders, that must mean… I grabbed the laptop out of the bag, my heart racing and body profusely sweating in fear. This whole thing was unreal. The fact that I was right in the middle of it was even worse. I clicked on to the folder of pictures of scenery from earlier. Again, my eyes scrolled across the picture of the barbershop. Then the forest. Finally, my eyes got to the picture of the cafe. Yes, the phone numbers and these locations have to somehow be tied together, but I didn’t know how. Why was this happening? I was about to leave the folder, but then a small thumbnail at the end of the list of pictures caught my eye. I hovered the cursor over it and opened it up. With some cloud service, the image was revealed. My jaw dropped in utter horror. A picture of my house. I was looking at a picture of my front yard and home. I hadn’t noticed this before, why hadn’t I noticed this? Over in the top corner was a link, one that opened up the full cloud folder from some email made up of more gibberish characters. This folder contained more pics. Pics that were very different from the others. “NO WAY!” I shouted out loud, face contorted in anger and fear all at once. Pictures of me. Pictures of me looking directly at the camera, others of my car. The last ones were of me sneaking into the crime scene at the cafe. That guy. That homeless looking guy from the other day, and behind the ambulance. I have his laptop. He was watching me. How did he tie into these murders? My silent tirade was interrupted by the sudden sound of a jingle to my right. The phone was ringing in my passenger seat. I picked it up and peered at the phone number. I couldn’t handle this anymore, I just couldn’t take it. It was my own phone number. Grudgingly, I decided to swipe and answer the call. “Who… who is this?” I stammered. A gravelly voice answered from the other end. “Spare change, sir?”

My local internet cafe is not much of a sight to behold. I think that’s what may have contributed to it shutting down for a couple months back in June. The exterior was reminiscent of an abandoned shack with its dilapidated appearance and broken windows. However, after they cleaned up the inside, I definitely saw some improvement. Sparkly clean tile floors and beautiful mahogany countertops filled the cafe with a sense of ease and elegance. I always got plenty of work done in there, so the shop’s grungy look never bothered me much, but it was nice to have a change of scenery once the cleanup was done. I was probably the only regular at the cafe, venturing in on almost a daily basis. Plenty of other folks cycled in and out, but nary a familiar face would show up. This was fine, since I only went there to edit my vlogs and website on occasion. Striking up a conversation with someone recognizable was not on the agenda, ever. I was there for some much needed peace and quiet, not small talk. Though I had wifi at home, the thin walls there did little to muffle my father’s drunken ramblings. The cafe was my escape from the unwanted noise. I strolled in on a ‪Saturday morning‬, just five days after the “grand” reopening. I was feeling pretty groggy, still recovering from a cold I caught during the week. The humid August air didn’t help matters. Because of this, I decided to grab a coffee before getting my things set up. I walked across the glimmering, newly replaced floors and heard them squeak under my sneakers. I laughed a little to myself, almost tempted to start turning in place just to hear the sound a few more times. ‬‬ “No,” I told myself, “Grow up.” I ordered my coffee and took a look around the room while I waited for it. I took a mental note of how many faces were in the cafe with me. I was surely going to grab a quiet little table in the corner, away from these strangers. “Small iced regular?” The barista held out my coffee and straw. “Thanks.” I said plainly. I threw down a couple of quarters as a tip and strolled on over to the table I wanted. I spent the next few hours clipping and splicing my videos from the days previous. I was doing a week-long series about the gym I go to. Basically workout tips and some comedy bits with my buddy Jake who works the front desk. I found myself laughing out loud over a protein shake skit we had done. I may have drawn some attention to my little corner of the room. Though the staring eventually subsided, I felt it best for me to leave, as I had been in there much longer than usual. I reached down and unplugged my laptop charger and that’s when my hand brushed up against something. Confused, I took a look under my table to investigate. A sixteen-inch black bag sat just beyond where my feet were settled. It had pockets and a shoulder strap, as well as an abundance of dust coating the leather. Holy crap, I thought to myself. Someone must have left their laptop behind or something. At first, I was going to do the right thing. I very easily could have handed it to a barista and called it a day. I guess, maybe that would have been the smart thing to do. However, a mixture of curiosity and stupidity came over me, keeping me from being honest. Instead, after packing up my own things, I swung the mystery bag over my shoulder and swiftly exited the café. Stupid. I pulled into my driveway ‪at about noon‬, the hot summer sun beaming down on my front lawn. My father was doing his usual, half-assed inspection of the plants in the garden, beer can in hand. I tried to get into the house without a word to him, but he stopped me just as I opened the storm door.‬‬ “Hey, hey, why are you in such a hurry?” He asked, taking a swig of his drink. “Dad, I don’t have time. Important website business.” “Well, well,” He slurred, “Don’t stop on my account.” But you just stopped me, I thought to myself. I pushed through the front door, passing my sleeping mother on the couch, and darted upstairs to my room. SLAM! I shut my door hard behind me and locked it immediately. I tossed my belongings and newly found goods onto my bed and kicked my shoes clear across the room. I was excited to dig in to this lucky haul. Carefully and slowly, I unzipped the top of the bag and pulled it open. I gasped a little to myself. Despite the appearance of the bag, the contents were no joke. A shiny, brand new looking laptop was nestled nicely inside. I pulled it out and observed it with awe. It was certainly nicer than my basic, five hundred gig HP from a big box store. I couldn’t believe what I was holding. I flipped it open and began feeling the keys and monitor. It was in mint condition. I had to be the luckiest guy in the world. Everything was there, including a charger and wireless mouse. I even found a bag of screen wipes at the bottom. I also dug into the pockets, curious as to what treasure I might find in there. What I found was a cell phone. Nothing special, just some cheap Android phone. It was still powered on and had no screen lock on it. Exploring it further, I noticed there were no texts and only one recent call to an out of state number. Being into electronics, I went into the settings to see what kind of operating system it had. It was vastly out of date on software, still set in some variation of the Lollipop OS. That’s alright, I thought. I could still flip it for a quick ten bucks or so. I placed it on the bed next to the laptop and sat for a moment, trying to take in what I had in front of me. This was such a great find, but I needed to power on the laptop and figure out what I was working with. To my excitement, there was no login screen. I was in, immediately after booting it up. I was never as into laptops as I phones, but I could tell right away I was not working with your standard, stock operating system. This thing resembled more of a modded setup that I had seen kids working with back in high school, but I couldn’t name it off the top of my head. Luckily, it was simple enough to navigate. I set it up with my wifi and dived right into the file storage to get some idea of who’s computer I had. I was disappointed for just a few moments, but after clicking around a bit, I did find a folder labeled “A”. Inside was one JPG, titled “one by one”. Intrigued, my stomach did a little flip as I opened the image. I was puzzled by what I found. It was a screenshot from a website. It looked like a post in some forum, from a user named “Anonandon&4” with nothing but phone numbers listed and zero replies. Underneath the list was the tag line “…you know who you are.” Scanning the image for answers, I noticed the address bar for the site. It seemed to be a nonsense string of characters followed by a .onion extension. Onion? Wasn’t that a parody news site or something? I wasn’t too sure, but I decided to dig a little deeper. I clicked on the x at the top, taking me back to the desktop. That’s when I noticed another folder. This one was labeled “PICS” which stirred up some more thrills in my bones. Yes! I cheered to myself. This would more than likely reveal the owner’s identity. I became disappointed as I clicked through the pictures. There was no human life, just shots of different places and scenery. This included a dark image of a barber shop, a path in the woods somewhere, and even someone’s garage. What really caught my eye was the last pic. It was the café. My stomach started doing acrobatics now, my heart racing. Why were there random pictures in this thing? Why was there a screenshot of a message board with a list phone numbers? The files just weren’t adding up for me, but I hatched a half-baked plan. I didn’t know if it was going to end the mystery, but I couldn’t help but pry. I pulled up the pic with the phone numbers, grabbed the Android phone, and dialed the first number at the top of the list. After only two rings, I was greeted with silence. Strange I thought, but I pressed on. I dialed the next number on the list. This time, it rang five times before I got a generic inbox greeting, with the phone number listed. Interesting, but I hung up before I heard the beep. I grew bored of dialing the random numbers. I decided to take a break and put the laptop and cell phone away for a little while. I knew I’d come back to it later. Once the evening rolled around, I waited for my parents to go to bed, and then fixed myself up a snack. This was pretty much a nightly routine of mine. I clicked on the TV as I usually did and settled on the first news channel I scrolled to. This is when things took a turn for the weird. A breaking news story was displayed on screen, one from the next town over. “YOUNG BARBER, AGE 25, FOUND MURDERED AT WORK” “Damn,” I shook my head, “That sucks.” A female news reporter was on the scene, outside of the barber shop where it took place. Wait a second. I couldn’t believe my eyes. That barbershop. It was the same one from the pic on the laptop. I was sure of it. I put my plate down on the coffee table and raced upstairs to grab the computer. I booted it up, clicked on the folder of pictures, and then the photo in question. I ran back downstairs with the laptop in hand and held it up to the tv screen. Yes, it was definitely the same barber shop. Wow, what were the chances of that? I was shaking my head in amazement. I finished watching the news story and began feeling tired. I was about ready for bed, so I grabbed the remote. The news story just after grabbed my attention before I could hit the power button. “COLD MURDER IN LOCAL FOREST.” This one was also nearby, just over the bridge in the opposite direction. This world is terrible, I thought. I hadn’t seen two stories like that back to back in a long time. That’s when it hit me. I scrolled over to the picture of the woods in the same folder. Then, I waited to see if the news story included the location of the homicide on video. Though I didn’t get anything solid to compare it to, I was definitely getting weird vibes. First a barbershop, and now a forest? I had to be grasping at straws, though… right? I decided it was bed time. I had a pretty restless night of sleep, tossing and turning and kicking my covers to the foot of my bed. It was hot and humid and I kept waking up with the sweats. Needless to say, I was in dire need of coffee the next morning. I was probably smart to leave the strange laptop at home, grabbing my own equipment as I headed out the door. I drove rather quickly to the cafe, eyelids still heavy. I got my regular coffee and sat down at my favorite booth in the corner. Only one other person resided in the building, apart from the baristas at work. It was nice and quiet, and felt peaceful. A good contrast from my evening snack and sweaty night of interrupted rest. Still, my mind couldn’t help but wander. The web address from the screenshot I found came rolling into the forefront of my thoughts. What was that onion domain all about? Why did the web address make no sense? It was something like “codeinflux” with random numbers and symbols after it. This was meaningless to me. I decided to do some research. I couldn’t recall the exact website, but I remembered the .onion extension, so I started from there. I was immediately blown away. Apparently, what it pertains to, is web addresses not reachable on normal servers. It takes you through something called “Tor” and is used for some pretty shady activity. I guess it involves what’s called “The Dark Web.” I’d heard a little about this before. I was beginning to feel sick. The websites listed on the Wiki were pretty revolting to say the least; nothing I would ever want to be involved in. The worst part? I was beginning to think the laptop I found was used solely to access this part of the internet. I couldn’t bare the thought of being in possession of it any longer. I had to do something. I stormed out of the cafe ready to spring into action, when I was stopped by a tap on my leg. I looked down to see a homeless looking man, in a black tattered leather jacket sitting up against the front of the building. His face looked rough, complete with a badly shaven beard and cracked lips. He looked miserable. He held out a small plastic cup, looking up at me with desperation in his eyes. “Spare change, sir?” “I’m in a hurry dude, and I don’t carry cash.” “Please?!” He begs some more. He reached out and grabbed my pants leg. “No, get away from me!” I kicked his hand away. The guy looked upset; his eyes were actually watering a little bit. I felt a little bad, but damn, don’t grab me. That’s when the guy did the strangest thing. He took out a phone and started taking pictures of me. “What are you doing now?” I asked, confused as all hell. He didn’t answer. All I could do about it was run to my car and leave as fast as possible. What was that guy’s deal? I called my friend Peter on my way home. I knew he would have some more insight on this whole thing. I was hoping I could bring him to my house and have him wipe the computer clean. Then I could sell it to a random yahoo and be done with this whole misadventure. Once I picked up my friend, I sped back to my house and showed him what I found in the cafe. He was blown away. “This thing is lethal,” he laughed, “It looks pretty customized, honestly.” “Yeah I noticed that, but take a look at these.” I clicked through the photos, showing him the ones that I compared with the news stories. “So, you think this laptop has some sort of connection to the murders?” “I don’t know man, but I think there’s something fishy going on.” He shrugged and took over the mouse for a moment. “Where’s the picture of the phone numbers?” “It’s somewhere in the file storage, yep click there and… bingo.” Peter stared intently at the list and address bar in the screenshot. He also checked the file description and saw that the screenshot originated from the laptop, so it was taken from within the device. My hairs were at attention, all up and down my skin. “So, you tested these numbers out?” “Yeah, with this phone.” I handed him the cell phone that came in the bag with the laptop and he scanned through it rapidly. “Definitely a TracFone, something bought as a burner. Possibly for some sort of business task? Shall we try another phone number?” I nodded and pointed to one just below the phone numbers I tested out. He dialed it in and threw it on speaker phone so we could both listen in. It rang, and rang, and rang. It didn’t stop ringing, so we hung up after the eighth ring. Peter looked at the phone funny, and then up at me. “I honestly don’t know what’s up with all this – did you want me to just factory reset everything?” “Yeah, I mean, is that gonna take care of my problem?” “Not sure. But, I think I’d like have some fun with this before we call it a day.” I gave him a look, a glance of disagreement. I didn’t think that would be in our best interest. “I don’t think we should be messing with this, dude.” “Come on, what could go wrong? You could even film it. This could go viral!” “Well, I’m not going to vlog me hanging around with a stolen laptop. Just do what you gotta do with it and let’s move on.” Peter smirked, looked at the screen again, and then dialed another phone number from the list. Again, we got nothing. This time, just another generic voicemail box greeting. He continued onto the next phone number, and halfway through dialing, he stopped. His eyes were scanning the screen. “Um…” His face was now white as a ghost. “What, why did you stop, you okay?” “This is… this is my phone number.” My heart panged like a club to a gong. “That can’t be.” I scooted over next to Peter and observed the screen. He was right. Just to be sure, he finished dialing and hit send. He put the phone up to his ear and waited. Just as he suspected, his pocket lit up and his ringtone sang away. We both looked at each other in shock. “Dude…” My hands were shaking, and my mouth was agape so far, I think my jaw was brushing my bed sheets. “How?” Is all Peter could muster up from his racing thoughts. “This is unreal, I don’t like this at all. Just wipe the hard drive and let’s be done with it.” “Wait!” He shouted, while looking at the screen again. My heart sank some more, I had a feeling about what he was about to say. “What, don’t tell me…” He didn’t say a word, all he did was start frantically dialing another number. That’s when I felt it, my pocket was now vibrating. I gulped so loud that I flinched. I reached down and pulled out my phone and answered. I held it up to my ear. “Peter.” I said through the receiver, looking at my visibly shaken friend across from me. “This is messed up.” He responded through the burner phone. I ended up driving Peter home shortly after. He had handed the phone over and told me he wanted to leave and take everything in. He left the laptop with me and told me he’d rather not mess with it. We decided to meet up at the cafe and drop it back off right in the morning. We’d wake up early and hopefully be the first ones in. However, I missed my alarm. Apparently, I also missed ten calls from Peter. I opened up my messages and noticed the four texts he’d sent. Damn, I had to get going and fast. I had already packed up everything the night before so all I had to do really was throw on a t-shirt and shorts, and head to the cafe. As I turned the corner to where the cafe was, I had to hit the breaks pretty quickly. What I saw on that road was nothing but cops and ambulances. There were road blocks set up on either side of the ambulances, and the cafe was barricaded. “What in the…?” I was thinking out loud. This was crazy. There were people with their hands on their faces, looking scared and sad. I pulled over into the grocery store parking lot across the street and then walked over to the scene to get a closer look. I assumed Peter was doing the same thing. I ended up in a crowd of onlookers next door, looking at the scene before us. There was blood splatter on the front doors of the café and some papers, among other belongings, strewn all about. More blood covered the ground. Jesus, this was a damned massacre. I could hear the people beside me whispering to each other about what was going on. “They’re talking about a possible serial killer,” one woman said to her friend. “…the kid was about to walk in, and suddenly bullets came in from over there. Nobody saw who fired the shots.” A guy filled his wife in about what he witnessed. I was too curious to just be craning my neck from back there; I needed a closer look. I peered over at the cops who were busy questioning a barista by the ambulances. I crept past the barricade carefully. I slipped past a couple of other baristas and made my way to a second ambulance by the other barricade. The stretcher was in view now, but I couldn’t tell who was in it. I decided to kneel down beside the ambulance and hopefully catch some conversation between the EMTs. I took out my phone and started recording. “We lost him, he wasn’t hanging in there much when we got here but, I was hoping…” “Jan, it’s not your fault… you saved the girl. You can’t save them all, you know?” “I wish I could. I heard him talk before he let go you know? He told me his name was Peter…” My hand jumped up over my mouth as I let out the weirdest sound. It was a gasp, combined with a grunt of disbelief. No, it couldn’t be. “Yeah.” The other EMT said. “We have his information already, guess he was an IT guy for a local business. Smart kid, early twenties.” I stumbled back a bit on my heels, dropping my phone in the process. I bumped into something solid behind me and stood up quickly. I turned around and saw that same homeless guy from the other day. My face was still contorted from the information I just received from my eavesdropping. The guy was just staring at me, stoic. He didn’t even react to me bumping into him. He was glaring at me from behind an unchanging expression. I couldn’t help it, I booked it across the street to my car. I could feel tears forming in my ducts, eyes twitching in the wind from my open driver’s side window. Why did I have to wake up so late? Maybe Peter would have been spared from whatever this was. A drive by? An assassination of some kind? My head was dizzy, my heart was hurting, but I was beginning to make some connection. The pictures on the computer, the phone numbers, the murders. Everything. I was getting an idea as to what it was I was dealing with. The stuff about the Dark Web, the strange laptop, and the phone numbers. I arrived home, heart sick as all hell. My friend was murdered today, and I couldn’t stop it. Maybe if I had never grabbed the computer from the cafe, he’d still be alive. Maybe if I hadn’t been so stupid, I could have handled this whole thing differently, and he wouldn’t be dead right now. To top it off, I realized I left my phone at the bloody scene. I groaned and threw my head back in the driver’s seat. Now what? Well, the phone is near some cops and the EMTs. Maybe if I call, they’ll believe I dropped it before they got there and I won’t get in trouble. I reached back and grabbed the burner phone out of the bag and started to dial my phone number when I suddenly had a thought. If the phone numbers we dialed somehow had something to do with the murders, that must mean… I grabbed the laptop out of the bag, my heart racing and body profusely sweating in fear. This whole thing was unreal. The fact that I was right in the middle of it was even worse. I clicked on to the folder of pictures of scenery from earlier. Again, my eyes scrolled across the picture of the barbershop. Then the forest. Finally, my eyes got to the picture of the cafe. Yes, the phone numbers and these locations have to somehow be tied together, but I didn’t know how. Why was this happening? I was about to leave the folder, but then a small thumbnail at the end of the list of pictures caught my eye. I hovered the cursor over it and opened it up. With some cloud service, the image was revealed. My jaw dropped in utter horror. A picture of my house. I was looking at a picture of my front yard and home. I hadn’t noticed this before, why hadn’t I noticed this? Over in the top corner was a link, one that opened up the full cloud folder from some email made up of more gibberish characters. This folder contained more pics. Pics that were very different from the others. “NO WAY!” I shouted out loud, face contorted in anger and fear all at once. Pictures of me. Pictures of me looking directly at the camera, others of my car. The last ones were of me sneaking into the crime scene at the cafe. That guy. That homeless looking guy from the other day, and behind the ambulance. I have his laptop. He was watching me. How did he tie into these murders? My silent tirade was interrupted by the sudden sound of a jingle to my right. The phone was ringing in my passenger seat. I picked it up and peered at the phone number. I couldn’t handle this anymore, I just couldn’t take it. It was my own phone number. Grudgingly, I decided to swipe and answer the call. “Who… who is this?” I stammered. A gravelly voice answered from the other end. “Spare change, sir?”

From Horror photos & videos October 09, 2018 at 09:30PM