#and then hopefully he won’t notice that I have no fucking clue how to interpret the spatial lag model lololol

[iishmael]

ok im back to hating everything. My prof really did NOT do a good job this semester I feel completely unprepared and… I’m aware that what I’m trying to do is so much more complex than what we covered in class but normally I don’t have problems to scale things up like this but I think I severely underestimated the complexity of what I’m trying to model. Lol. god I’m so scared bc a huge part of my research hinges on me figuring this out and I have NO ONE I can ask bc no one works with QGIS on this scale so help me fucking g-d lmaoooo 😭

[willowaudreykeyes]

Prompt: myths and chaos with Logan with the line “so apparently microwaving this ancient manuscript isn’t a good way to find out its secrets.”

Remus’ Puzzle Temple Of Friendship And Chaos

Warnings: Baby eldritch thing, tentacles, one eye, vague sexual reference that’s from a song

Platonic Logince, brotherly-and-on-good-terms Creativitwins and Intrulogical of whatever relationship interpretation that you want.

------------------------------------------------------

Roman

“Remind me to thank your brother at dinner tonight.”

“That’s if we make it to dinner. And you all call me extra; he made an entire temple for us to explore within a week!” He spent a lot of energy on it too. I still remember the shaky finger he pointed at me after the second day of working on this Incan-like temple; slurring tiredly about not going into the space between our Kingdoms and ruining the surprise. He also forced me to carry him to his room as he dangerously swayed on his feet. I’ll have to thank him by working just as hard for his and Logan’s adventure after the two of us finish this one.

“I know; yet I’ve yet to thank him for doing so. And I must ask how long it took to make this language.” Taking my first glance at said language, I recognise it immediately as the first language that Remus and I had known. We had known it better than English at one point, until Patton insisted that we make English our main language so that we wouldn’t confuse Thomas. 

“Oh, we’ve always known it. We used to speak it in front of Patton as kids to confuse him and we still use it occasionally whenever we send a letter, or in his case a slab of mysterious leather, between our Kingdoms.”

“So you can translate this?”

“Of course!” I hold the slightly chipped black and red tablet out at arms length, quickly noticing that everything on the tablet makes no sense. No wonder he was so tired after every day in the Imagination; he even made us a puzzle. “It’s encrypted though, so we have to figure out what the cypher is first. And knowing Remus, it could be anything.”

He takes it from my hands and adjusts his glasses for the fiftieth time today before tapping his chin. I doubt Logan realises that he has so many visual tells when he becomes passionate and interested. “He would leave a clue somewhere where we could find it. He’s chaotic, not unfair.”

“Aha!” In a spark of inspiration, I rough up my hair and gain a huff of defeat from the neighbourhood nerd as I do the same to his own. It had dust from the temple in it anyway. “We just have to think like Remus! Now what’s the most logical place to put a cypher for this thing?”

“Where we found it.”

“Okay. Now what’s the opposite of that?”

His eyebrows do that cute thing where they pinch down a bit when he’s confused. I don’t bother hiding my smile as his eyes shift around, taking in invisible words as he tries to find my line of thinking. “I’m… not following. The opposite of where we found it is every room that we didn’t find it in, and we went through forty-three rooms and eight hallways; perhaps half or less of the entire temple judging by the size and spacing between each room.”

“And only twelve not-too-tough traps, which is less then his usual quota…” Probably because of the exhaustion, but I should have figured that out earlier. I’ll up the level of hazards in his next one as a double thank you for his hard work. “Anyway, we must think chaotically if we are to beat the chaotic one!”

With a silent nod, he attempts to fix his hair as I take in our camp and the temple before us. It’s very reminiscent of an Incan temple in design yet is mainly made out of pitch black obsidian; with intricate wall carvings engraved with pure ruby, emerald, moonstone and diamond; and a whole lot of animal and human skulls that are packed tightly into every ceiling. And I must say, adding the creatures from both of our Kingdoms as the wall carvings is a nice touch. 

Except I won’t say it out loud because the majority of them are of naked people, naked cannibals and of naked murders. 

At least our camp has some more class to it! Logan wished for something realistic, but was soon swayed by my enchanted Harry Potter tent that’s magically large enough to have a working bathroom and still look like a ‘regular’ camping tent from the outside. I do like regular camping, but I prefer to have a shower after a tub of Thomas-knows-what is dropped over us and getting into every uncomfortable crevasse. Just thinking about that disgusting concoction makes me shudder.

“... Perhaps our microwave?”

I snap my gaze back to him, beaming at his rather shy sounding remark. He always sounds shy when he says something that deviates from his path of logic. At least he’s opening up a little more. “Perfect! I knew you’d think of something!”

“It was the first usable thing that I saw. Were you daydreaming again?”

“Nope- Using the microwave to solve a cypher sounds like something Remus’ mind would think up. He did mix sardines, lettuce and one of your ties in the blender before drinking it once.” I mumble the last half -I probably shouldn’t out Remus just yet for drinking Logan’s tie a few months ago- and put the tablet in the microwave and set it to three minutes. Three is the magic number after all.

“Did you say something?” 

“Mumbling ideas to myself is all!”

The microwave suddenly glows a bright purple and I manage to drag Logan in close before blocking something from hitting the both of us with my summoned shield. With a pop, crackle, fizz and several loud noises that sound like tearing metal; I risk peeking over it in perfect sync with Logan. The sight of three large tentacles wiggling out of the new holes in the camp's microwave brings out a sigh from me. A very loud sigh. Remus could probably hear it and currently giggling to himself from the comfort of his bedroom.

“It may be best not to touch those. Or the microwave.”

“But the tablet!” Logan pushes by my shield and barely escapes my reach before I am able to pull him away. With a straight posture and a quick slick back of his hair, he opens it and nearly jumps into my arms Scooby-Doo style from the loud pop that occurs. I’m in front of him again within a moment, but the usual feeling of hostility that Remus puts on his dangerous creatures as a warning is lacking. At least this thing won’t try and face-hug me like that faceless chicken that guarded the temple did.

Inside was a brown-black-blue ball of tentacles, with three longer than the others that retract out of the newly-made holes in the microwave. My heart stutters as a singular, goat-like, boysenberry coloured eye opens from one of the many seams in the creature; just to quickly dart it’s vision between the two of us before landing it’s creepy gaze on Logan. “Huh. So apparently, microwaving the ancient manuscript isn’t a good way to find it’s secrets- but a great way to hatch an eldritch abomination.”

“If you’d hand me a blanket, perhaps bringing it with us would be advantageous in future explorations.” Of course he wants to bring the nightmare creature; he always does. I hand him the nearby dish towel instead as I don’t feel like leaving this thing alone with Logan would end nicely.

“As long as you're carrying it.”

“Of course; you’re the one with the sword and shield.” I’m rather sure that that means that he would make me carry the disgusting creature if I wasn’t the one with our only ways of defending ourselves; and I don’t know if I should dramatically put my hand to my chest in horror or just pout.

I go for the pout.

Only for it to be rather rudely ignored as he cradles the little beast in its new home, wrapping it’s longer tentacles around Logan’s hands and attempting to remove his watch for a moment before I manage to grab it before they do. Logan’s too busy holding it in one hand and going through his cue cards to notice though. “And I shall name it as randomly as I can; since Remus seems to name all of his creations.” 

“Why?”

“It’s only polite to follow custom; and the custom for Remus is to name his creatures.” I hate everything about this -plus the tablet is just full on missing or destroyed now too- but Logan seems enraptured by the little thing. I roll my eyes and put on my backpack as Logan already begins walking up the temple steps. We just had lunch, so we have a chance of leaving before dinner, but I highly doubt it.

Despite not being able to see, the creature manages to grab out one of the cue cards from Logan’s hand before letting him snatch it back. With a quick smile after reading it, he pockets them all again before getting a better hold of the thing before it runs away and eats a whole deer or something. “It’s name shall be Anaconda-Do-Not.”

God-fucking-dammit Remus. I frown at the thing as we enter the fire-lit entrance, glad that its eye is hidden under the dish towel. Sheep eyes have always kind of creeped me out; especially on things that aren’t sheep. “You’re not allowed to hang out with Remus, Virgil or Janus anymore if they keep giving you those weirder cue cards.”

“This one’s from Remus. It’s a metaphor about-”

“I KNOW WHAT IT IS!” A light pain follows my facepalm, but I ignore it and march onwards. Hoping to get rid of this thing as quickly as possible. “Let’s just… go shove it into a keyhole or something already.”

------------------------------------------------------ 

By the way, I really hate that stupid Anaconda song and so I know that it’d be perfect for Remus. Hopefully the ending is alright because it was the only bit I really had issues with ^^’

Oh and Remus definitely fell in love with the new Eldritch creatures name.

@ladyedwina @5am-the-foxing-hour @sparrowofsong

[pawprintsmoon]

Henry has no clue; The Aftermath

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31306808/chapters/77401784

Once Alex leans into the kiss, the prince is royally screwed. An immense energy encompasses them, and he loses his breath along with all his remaining sensibilities. He pulls Alex’s hair, eliciting the sweetest, smallest sound. If he doesn’t stop right now, he won’t be able to stop at all.

“Fuck,” Henry swears, pulling back. Apparently, he still has an ounce of sense after all, or at least an ounce of self-preservation. “I’m just, shit. I’m sorry.”

Snow crunches beneath his stumbling feet as he practically runs away from the freshly snogged boy. The boy who must be having a total identity crisis. Even drunk, he could taste Alex’s confused wanting and a yearning that might even match his own. Impossible. The type of impossible that makes you question your interpretation of reality.

The humid heat and festive noises of the Gala overwhelm him as he re-enters the White House. He is sweating under his wool coat and his collar is too tight around his throat. The champagne in his system is tilting the floor, and it’s too much. Where the fuck is Pez?

Eventually, he finds his best friend between June and Nora, all dancing scandalously close to each other. It’s a testament to Pez’s loyalty that as soon as he looks at Henry, he exits the dancefloor, bowing to the ladies.

“What did you do?” Pez asks, leaning close to talk over the music.

“The most foolish thing possible.” He grabs Pez’s arm. “We have to go.”

After a beat, Pez nods. “Okay, let’s go.”

They walk through the party together, Pez’s presence keeping him from unravelling completely. It’s unlikely that Henry is effectively hiding his emotions, what with the drinking and kissing and panicking. Hopefully everyone around them is too intoxicated to notice.

“So, are we just getting some air or are we calling it a night?” Pez asks as they meet their PPOs at the front door. “Should I call a car to take us to the hotel?”

“No.” He imagines Alex showing up at their hotel the next morning, hungover and demanding answers. “No, we’re going home.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.” Henry’s throat is dry and his eyes are unforgivably wet. “Please.”

Pez stares at him, presumably assessing the severity of the situation, before nodding again.

“Okay, I’ll call a car to take us to the airport,” Pez says, pulling out his phone. “And as soon as we board the plane you are telling me everything.”

Within ten minutes, Shaun arrives with their luggage, a shiny black car, and three burly PPOs. Within two hours they are flying over the Atlantic Ocean, Henry pacing up and down the aisle of their private jet while Pez sips champagne.

"What the hell, Hen?" Pez says at last. Henry had been monologuing his panic spirals since they’d boarded the plane and is finally taking a breath.

"It just kind of happened?" Henry replies. He had fucked up, real bad this time.

"Well, to be completely honest with you, that was too fucking awesome!".

"You mean I did the right thing?" Henry asks, disbelief coloring his face. He isn’t sure if he’s asking approval of his choice to kiss Alex or his choice to run away afterwards.

"I don't know, Hen,” Pez says in an apologetic tone. “All I know about Alexander Claremont-Diaz is that you’re obsessed with him. This was bound to happen eventually, right?"

Henry has no clue how to answer, so he sighs and starts his pacing again. He knows he isn't going to sleep tonight, maybe not ever if he has a say in it. Alex might murder him in his sleep, even if he is protected by PPOs all the bloody time. He makes a mental note to ask Shaan to keep an eye out for Alex and his transatlantic flights.

…

"So yeah that happened." Henry finishes telling last night's events to his therapist who sports an impassive expression.

"Henry, why are you so afraid of Alex's reaction? For all you know he might feel the same way," Shannon says. The sincerity and calm in her voice almost soothes his racing heart.

"Because I do know he feels the same way, but he wasn't ready to know that. His obliviousness was the only thing saving us from falling together; the only thing stopping me from losing control. But then I lost control anyways because he’s just so bloody dense! It’s torture. Hell, both Nora and June have caught on. He’s going to be the last person to figure out he is queer! And I don’t, well, I shouldn’t have pushed it. Rash and careless.” Henry is rambling, but isn’t that the point of therapy? “Sometimes I think I reread Jane Austin too much, because I can’t help pining. Fantasizing. I thought, sure, he’ll see our mutual attraction eventually, and I can wait, and generally, or I can resist making idiotic choices I like to think I’m patient, but-"

He stops speaking abruptly and looks away from her sharp gaze. Even after so many years of therapy, it's still hard for him to talk about his feelings.

"But what Henry?" Shannon gently prods him.

"But I was...I got jealous when I saw them kissing and I just couldn't wait any longer for him to be ready. I know it was not fair, but I’ve known for years now.” He sighs. “I was actually just waiting for Pez to have his fun so we could leave. But...but Alex- he came outside looking for me and he was infuriating and couldn’t take a hint. I just couldn't stop myself. God, I'm such an idiot."

"Henry, we have talked about this before. Not everything is your fault. You need to understand that.” She pauses as if to give him an opportunity to agree with her. When he doesn’t, she continues, “And you told me Alex kissed you back so how can you be sure that he doesn't know that he’s queer?"

"Because I know Alex. I’m his best friend, we’ve talked for hours on end and he’s an obliviously stupid prat and I'm in love with him!" Henry snaps, but Shannon already has an answer ready for that.

"Yes Henry, but it doesn't mean that it was a mistake. You may be in love, but that doesn’t mean you know everything about him and his relationship with his sexuality. You aren’t a mind reader. Maybe he’s just playing dumb, and it’s a farce just like yours. The difference is you appear heterosexual while he appears to be oblivious. You can't know for sure."

That gives Henry something to think about, and he goes quiet for several moments.

Could it be that Alex acting so oblivious was just for the public? But that couldn't be. He knows Alex, knows him, knows him. Not only from the months of constant texting and late-night phone calls but also from countless tabloids and magazines. It didn’t feel like Alex was hiding anything from him. But who knows? Maybe he did it so that he could be himself but still not be himself. Maybe, he could enjoy the queerness but pretend not to know in order to save his political career?

No, that is not the Alexander Gabriel Claremont Diaz, he has come to know. He would be out and proud if he knew. Henry suddenly registers the fact that he is overthinking again when Shannon calls his name.

"Yes, Shannon?" Henry asks politely. Apparently she’d been speaking, but he has no idea what she was saying.

“You can tell me what you’re thinking, you know. That’s literally my job.” She smiles wryly and he grants her a weak laugh. “I was just saying that you can’t possibly try to know what he’s thinking about the kiss, or where he is with his sexuality.”

“Exactly! That’s the other thing.” Henry shakes his head. “Maybe I’ve been wrong this whole time. I thought I knew what he wanted, and that I knew what I wanted, but now I don’t know anything. Maybe Alex is just a very flirty guy. Maybe it’s just an American thing. I haven’t been friends with an American before-”

“Henry”

“- and he was drunk and I kissed him and he probably thinks I took advantage. At the very least, I ran away like a scared twelve-year-old.”

“Let’s try to take a non-judgemental stance here,” suggests Shannon gently. “And for now, let’s just imagine a hypothetical. What if you were right all along, and he really does like you? That’s very much possible, so let’s explore what that would mean, yeah?

Henry shrugs noncommittally.

“You mentioned a couple of weeks ago that you think that if you two get too close you’ll be doomed,” she continues. “Do you still think that?”

“Well, yeah,” replies Henry, looking at his hands. “If he likes me -which I’m not sure he does anymore- then inevitably he’ll get sick of me. I like him so, so much, you know? He might be attracted to me, but he can’t possibly like me the way I like him. And even if by some horrible miracle he does like me back, then what? I’m a bloody prince and he’s an aspiring politician, and there’s no way it wouldn’t end in disaster. The whole world would be looking at us. I’m just… I’m…”

“You’re afraid of getting hurt.”

“I… I guess. Yeah. I feel like I’m about to fall off a cliff, holding onto the unstable rocks, and I have no idea where I’ll land.” Henry chuckled a little at his cliche metaphor. “He must think I’m a complete tosser.”

“Henry,” she gives him that Therapist Look. “You can’t read minds. Journal on that topic this week?”

Henry sighs and nods, letting that sink in. She has said it before, numerous times, and Henry never quite believes her.

They sit in silence before Shannon redirects the conversation.

"When are you meeting Alex again?"

That's an easy question, Henry has known the answer ever since he left D.C. He answers immediately, "Oh never."

"Henry," Shannon reprimands.

"No, you don't get it. I'm going to be murdered if I so much as go within 10 feet near Alex."

"No.” She’s holding back a laugh as she tries to look stern. “The answer is that you're going to the state dinner and you're going to talk to Alex like a mature adult and listen to what he says instead of guessing what he’s thinking. Meanwhile, I want you to think about what we discussed today and tell me next week what you might want to say to him."

"Hour's up then?" Henry asks, because he suddenly can't wait to get out of Shannon’s office. He needs time to think about everything. Or maybe he needs time to avoid thinking about anything.

"We have five more minutes, but if you don't have anything to add today, we can end early." Shannon smiles warmly at him and he knows that if he wishes to continue she wouldn’t mind, but right now he can't. Enough talking of emotions for one eternity, thank you.

So he leaves and as he hurries to the car he texts Shaan: SOS I need about a million boxes of Jaffa Cakes from the nearest corner shop.

Then, sliding into the back seat: Please.

…

The weeks pass by quickly with Henry trying his best to ignore Alex's texts and trying to convince everyone that he oughtn’t to go to the state dinner in D.C. No one listens to him, not Shannon or even Pez. Not even his own sister, rather Bea tries to make him see reason as to why he should go.

It's all 'you never know,’ 'just trust me, Hen' and other bits of vague encouragement. Predictably, Bea decides to drop Henry off at the airport herself so he can't escape at the last minute. When he accuses her of this, however, she’s all 'Can’t a girl escort her dear younger brother to the airport, or what?’

As they leave Kensington palace she explicitly instructs his PPOs that Henry should at all costs stay in America for the allotted time and should not be allowed back even a minute too soon. Shaan, for some reason, seems extremely happy to hear those instructions and can't stop smiling. Henry scowls at him whenever he sees him, thinking that he is Henry's personal equerry. It’s a lot.

"Do I really have to, Bea?" he asks her as they near the airport.

"Henry, you know this is important and by that, I do not mean the state dinner. That can go fuck itself for all I care, but you need to talk to Alex. Hiding from him like this is doing no one any good. Talk to him, see what he says and do not overthink this, Hen please." Bea squeezes his hand lightly as the car stops.

They walk silently side by side to the plane where Bea hugs him and sees him off.

As the plane starts to take off, the panic that had been sedated by her hug starts to grow again, fiercer than ever. Henry keeps repeating the same phrase throughout the flight.

Don't overthink this. It's going to be okay.

[spookyfloof]

Don’t Answer (short story)

Summary: A man finds an abandoned cell phone at his local bar. Whoever it belongs to keeps getting messages from a number listed simply as “Don’t Answer”. Unable to find the owner, his curiosity gets the best of him.

“I don't need her. She was a bitch anyway.”

I say this as I'm drowning myself in a Corona. In a bar. By myself.

I need something stronger.

Whiskey. That's manly, right?

I stare down the wall of bottles behind the bartender.

Fuck me. Whiskey, bourbon, gin, scotch... I don't know the difference. For all I care, they're the same damn thing. But I need something stronger than beer.

The bartender, a 20-something with curly, black hair and no fear of showing off her curves passes by me again. I order a whiskey.

“Neat?” she asks.

“Surprise me.”

She gives me a once-over with a little tilt of her eyebrow. Not sure what that meant, but I'm just tipsy enough not to care.

I down the last of my beer.

She probably thinks I don't look the type. She would be right.

I only ever drink beer. Sometimes vodka. I'm not a “man's man.” I'm no Jonathan Goldsmith, no George Clooney. Not even remotely.

Whatever.

A girl takes the stool beside me and orders a margarita. I try not to look at her, but even from my peripheral, I can tell she's attractive. I turn away from her without being too obvious and I notice the bar's filled up since I got here. I forgot it was karaoke night.

I'm glad I never took Denise here. I would hate to be afraid of this place reminding me of her. Merpeople has the cheapest booze within walking distance of my apartment.

She wouldn't have liked it anyway. Too “poor”. She was more of a cocktail lounge girl. At least here I can get a drink without having to dress up and pretend I have money.

At some point I'd gotten my glass of whiskey. I end up staring at the honey-colored liquid, probably for longer than I mean to.

I shouldn't have ordered this.

Fuck.

I touch the glass with the tips of my fingers and tap the lip. It won't be that bad. It'll be just like a shot of vodka. That's what I tell myself.

Eventually, I man up and just toss it down my throat. It burns and it tastes like death, but I manage to contain whatever contortions my face tries to make.

I don't think anyone saw me... I hope no one saw me.

It kicks in almost immediately. The warm haze that's been sitting at the edge creeps over me like a vertigo-inducing blanket and I can't help but like it. I didn't realize I was such a lightweight. Or maybe it's just a whiskey thing.

That's when I realize how starving I am. I pull my phone out of my jacket for the umpteenth time and click it on. 10:47 PM. It's still early. I could probably grab something to eat. And hopefully the cold will sober me up enough so I at least don't look intoxicated.

Cute bartender chick – Sylvia – closes my tab for me, and I swivel my bar-stool to get the fuck out. The attractive, margarita-ordering stranger is long gone, but a bright lights shines from where she'd been sitting. For a second, I think I'm hallucinating, but I realize it's a phone going off.

It must be on silent because I don't hear a thing, not even a vibration. That or whoever was trying to sing Beyoncé is too loud. I pick it up and see "Incoming Call" from a “Don't answer”. Interesting. An ex? Why not just block him? Or her. I don't judge.

I let the phone go to voicemail. After a few seconds, the little icon pops up on top of the screen. I look around to see if I can recognize the woman who'd been sitting next to me, but I hadn't gotten a good enough look to pick her out from anyone else here.

I'm about to hand over the phone to Sylvia, but the phone lights up again. This time a text.

“Don't make me call you 20 times.”

The message is only up on the screen for a few seconds, but long enough for me to read it.

Whoever this belongs to made no effort to lock their phone. So much for privacy. I still think I should let someone who works here deal with this, but what if it's an emergency? At this point, I'm not sure if I'm trying to be the “good guy” or just being flat-out nosy, but I swipe on the phone and it takes me to the home screen.

I first press on the voicemail notification and put the phone to my ear. I'm prompted for a PIN number. Yeah, no. Not even gonna try. I hang up on the robot voice and touch the text icon.

The messenger app opens and the keyboard pops up, just begging me to respond.

It wouldn't hurt anyone.

I shove the stranger's phone in a spare pocket and head to the door, leaving a drunken interpretation of “When Doves Cry” – and most likely this phone's owner – behind. I can turn it in later. Merpeople will be open for another few hours anyway.

As soon as I open the door, I'm assaulted by the cold air, but I brace myself and keep moving. At least it's not raining. I need to go somewhere I can respond to this text in peace and quiet... Would a diner be too on-the-nose?

Probably. But a diner it is.

-

I get seated at a booth near an awkward couple – lots of giggling and hair-twirling. I try not to stare, but they just scream “second date and both hoping to get laid”. It's cute. Sort of. And kind of revolting at the same time. Maybe that's just the booze in my empty stomach.

A deadpan server with a soul-patch asks me if I'd like anything to drink. I touch the menu as if to open it, but I just blurt out the first thing I can think of – a strawberry milkshake – and he leaves. I don't know if I even like milkshakes, but I just want him to go away so I can figure out who this “Don't answer” is.

I turn on the phone again and I see two new messages.

“Ignoring me isn't going to change anything.” “Seriously, I know.”

“I know”? Oh, this is good. Now, I don't generally go looking for drama, but if it happens to land in my lap... or in the bar-stool next to me... who am I to resist? Since I obviously haven't a clue what they're talking about and I don't want to give myself away, my only choice is to play coy.

“Know what?” I text back.

I wait about almost a minute before considering going through the rest of this girl's phone, but I'm interrupted by a soft buzz and a ping.

“Don't do that. Where are you?”

Soul-patch comes back with my milkshake and asks if I'm ready to order anything else. Actually, a burger sounds pretty good right now. I order and he takes my menu. The awkward/cute couple are still flirting with each other a few tables away from me, trying and failing to keep their voices low while they work up the courage to ask the other to go back to their place.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

How should I play this? I know nothing about the real owner of this phone, not even what she looks like, so I can't exactly try to impersonate her. They're going to figure out I'm not her. Still, I want to see how far I can take this. I could tell the truth, but what if this stranger is an abusive ex or something? Either way, whatever they meant by “I know” could get her in trouble. It's not my place to lead whoever this is to her.

I decide to play it safe.

“Out.”

I sip on my milkshake that's not half-bad and look at my actual phone. The battery is down to 10%. I forgot to charge it before I left the apartment, but I'm not expecting any calls anyway. I check the woman's phone and it shows the battery at 43%. Not about to die soon, but it will if this goes on too long. Maybe I can borrow a charger from someone.

Another ping.

“Fine. Have it your way.”

I fiddle with my straw. Does that mean they give up?

Well... that's boring... though to be expected, I guess. I reread the message a few times over. I don't want the conversation to end with that, but what else can I really say? It would help if I had some idea of who “Don't Answer” even was.

I decide to go through the her pictures. Awful of me, I know, but I have to feed my curiosity something, even if it's just bad selfies. Actually, looking through her pictures could help me find whoever this belongs to.... Why didn't I think of that earlier?

I go to her photo gallery and instead of finding rows of selfies and pictures of food, I get....black. Pictures of what looks like nothing at all. Did she accidentally take a bunch of pictures from inside her purse? I scroll down and I just get more of the same. I click on one, thinking maybe the pictures just aren't loading. Still black. I put the screen close to my face, trying to make out anything. I swipe right and the next one is just as empty.

I lean back in my booth and absently swipe from picture to picture. I could dig deeper, check her Facebook, Instagram, etc. Surely, she'd have a picture of herself on one of those.

I feel the phone buzz in my hand and I look down. Another message. And to my surprise, I see something other than black emptiness.

It's a close-up image of... an eye? No context. No face. No eyelids or eyelashes. Just an open, human-looking eye surrounded by more darkness.

I realize I'm making a face when my server comes back with my burger. I hide the phone from him without thinking.

“Anything else I can get you?”

“No, I'm good,” I manage. “Thanks.”

He nods at me with an empty smile and goes to check on the couple. Ignoring what I just saw, I take a bite of my food and go back to her text messages.

“Michael, I know it's you.”

I almost choke, but force myself to chew and swallow.

My name is Michael... This has to be a coincidence. I don't even know the girl who owns this phone. Maybe that's the name of her brother. Or her boyfriend. Michael's a common name.

Maybe I should fess up.

But I don't have the time to type in a single word before I'm plunged into pitch-black night. There’s a scream, accompanied with some startled cursing, but a voice says it's just a power outage and that the backup generator should be kicking in soon. Beams of light appear from the kitchen – employees wielding flashlights and apologizing profusely about the inconvenience. There's chatter and grumbling from the few other patrons and employees.

I turn back to my borrowed cell phone with a sigh of relief and put my hand to my chest as if that would somehow keep my heart from pounding.

I try to finish typing my confession, but the screen turns off and is replaced by a brief reflection of my face silhouetted only by the moving beams of light. I try to turn it back on, afraid the battery has already died and I see a glimpse of another face... no...a mask behind me. I nearly jump out of my seat when something like leather covers my mouth and nose. I try to yell out, but a sharp pinch in my neck sucks the scream right out of me. I tell my legs and arms to kick and flail, but I can’t move. Every muscle in my body has gone numb.

I can't see anything; my eyes haven't adjusted to the dark. Then I feel hot breath and a voice like a spider crawling into my ear:

“You shouldn't have answered.”

.

.

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