#but if you cut it at 3 the plant won’t register anything has been removed

[ifyourereadingthisblinktwice]

detroit become human may not have been a great game but they really went off with the rose pruning metaphor

[obaewankenope]

An Angel, A Demon, and a Child Saviour go to Hogwarts: Year Two

Part 6 of the Absconding with Harry verse is up! It’s multi-chaptered and centres on Harry’s second year!! It’s the year of the hissy hissy snakey happenings and it’s gonna be F U N!

I’m also putting it here under the cut but you’ll have to scroll for the footnotes rather than click on them I’m afraid; tumblr messes up the click option for them :/

Summer with two immortal beings is, for Harry James Potter, incredibly enjoyable. He learns early on that completing his holiday school work in the first weeks after school ends is the quickest way to get uncle Aziraphale to let him go out and about with his friends. He also learns that putting it off until uncle Aziraphale is a fretful mess over it pleases uncle Crowley to the point of letting him stay over at Ron’s house more than once a month.

“Uncle Aziraphale,” Harry calls, not looking up from his textbook on the floor beneath the skylight in the bookshop. He’s lying on his stomach, a notepad to his right, textbook to his left and a fountain pen poised over the pad. A frown is on Harry’s face as he stares down at the textbook and the frankly stupid potions ingredients he’s meant to be writing a four-foot long essay on the properties of. “Why do all of these names sound so—well—silly? Eye of newt? Why would I want to put the eye of a newt in potion that you’re meant to drink for stomach upset? Seems kind of silly.”

Uncle Aziraphale is sat at his desk, glasses perched on his nose and very intent on the book of prophecies he’s finally managed to obtain from a very reluctant seller. The book is engrossing to the point where he’s let his hot chocolate go cold three times now—not even noticing Harry warming it up with a warming charm—but not so engrossing that he doesn’t register Harry asking him questions.

“Hmm?” Aziraphale blinks and looks up and away from the book of prophecies on his desk, turning a little to look at Harry under the skylight. “What was that Harry?”

“Eye of newt; is that a real potions ingredient? The book talks about grinding it up and making sure you don’t let it get mouldy but, how can you grind up an eye? I suppose they can get mouldy, though, since eyes are made of liquid right?” Harry looks away from his textbook to look at Aziraphale with a confused expression. “I mean, Hermione told me that they are, and if things get damp you can get mould so eyes should be able to mould right? Or cause mould?”

Aziraphale hums thoughtfully, thinking for a moment. “I don’t rightly know, I’m afraid,” he admits after a moment. “About the eyes, that is,” he clarifies at Harry’s disappointed look. “I do know about eye of newt, however. It’s actually mustard seed.”

“Mustard seed?”

Aziraphale nods excitedly. “Oh yes,” he says, shifting more in his chair so he’s fully facing Harry who is paying rapt attention to his uncle. “Some potions ingredients are known by rather misleading names like ‘eye of newt’ and ��wool of bat’ but are really plants or herbs. Some—naturally—are really what they say they are, like blindworm—although that’s really a type of venomous snake also known as a slowworm—but generally, if the potion says, ‘toe of frog’, ‘wool of bat’, or ‘eye of newt’ it’s just plants.”

Harry nods slowly. “Okay,” he says, “but why are they called those names? They’re really silly.”

“Because those were the names they were given a long time ago—by human standards,” Aziraphale answers, standing up and crossing the bookshop to a specific shelf. He selects three books in particular on the shelf and brings them over to Harry in the middle. “Here, these are historical accounts—quite accurate too might I point out—about witchcraft in the middle ages. There should be chapters that talk about potions ingredients and the origins of some of their names.”

“Awesome!” Harry gladly takes the books, smiling widely. “I’ll write to Hermione and ask her if she’s read them,” he says then, pulling a fresh piece of paper from the notepad and begins doing just that. “If she hasn’t, she’ll love hearing about them!”

Aziraphale smiles softly down at Harry—who is engrossed in his letter writing and thus doesn’t notice—and watches the eleven-year-old-soon-to-be-twelve scribbling away to his friend about books. Crowley, for all that the demon liked to pretend otherwise, found Harry’s love of books and learning about new things to be—well—nice. It was nice to see someone care about knowledge, about asking questions, about understanding things[1].

Several days later, something tries to visit the bookshop but is ejected by the celestial wards Crowley and Aziraphale jointly created. These wards work to deny access to anything or anyone that would potentially cause harm to Harry—although the definition of ‘harm’ is very liberal to the point where a visit from one of Harry’s old primary school teachers intent on making snide comments about Harry’s non-English heritage is forcibly ejected from the bookshop and sent rolling out into the middle of the road, narrowly avoiding being flattened by a double decker bus[2].

Harry’s birthday is an enjoyable affair as Crowley and Aziraphale each get him individual gifts and a combined one that is, to summarise, “absolutely bloody bonkers” according to one Ronald Weasley.

Aziraphale—in true bibliophile fashion—gifts Harry with an exquisite set of books on magical lore from around the world. The books are expertly crafted and—by Aziraphale’s own miracle—adjust themselves to the magical ability of the reader[3]. Crowley’s gift is—in terms of presentation—far more ostentatious and very much Him. The demon snaps his fingers, blanking out all light in the room—since Aziraphale can create light as an angel, Crowley is equally as capable of removing it as a demon—which makes the arrival of a flaming broom—literally—more impressive than it would be otherwise. After the screaming subsides, Harry is absolutely stoked to try the broom out—learning that the flames will deter anyone from trying to tackle him in the air but won’t harm him at all—and it is only because Aziraphale reminds both Crowley and Harry that they don’t have the space—“no, we will not ‘just make the space’ Crowley!”—and that this is a party that Harry doesn’t zoom around the bookshop on it[4].

The last gift from both of Harry’s surrogate parents is given to him after everyone else has left—except Hermione and Ron who are staying the week so the trio can see 3 Ninjas on 7th August—since both angel and demon figure it may cause a ‘bit of a scene’ with the Weasley and Granger parents. After all, it’s not everyday you find out your son or daughter’s friend can talk to snakes including the saw-scaled viper that, as a species, is known as one of the most deadly in the world.

“That thing is poisonous!” Ron exclaims, leaning back as far as he can in his chair when Harry opens the box with the snake inside.

Harry’s face lights up at the sight of the snake—young and barely longer than a pencil[5]--when it hisses at him curiously. Harry hisses back at it automatically at the same moment that Crowley—unable to help himself, being part-serpent himself by nature—hisses soothingly at it.

This—completely reasonably considering Ron’s upbringing—causes the young ginger to leap out of his chair and away from Crowley who has been leaning down over his shoulder to watch Harry’s reaction to the snake. “Merlin’s balls!”

“Merlin didn’t have balls, you humans just rewrote history and made him have a set,” Crowley scoffs.

Ron gapes at him.

Hermione and Aziraphale, as usual, ignore the shenanigans of the Two Gingers in favour of discussing Harry’s gift.

“Aren’t saw-scaled vipers venomous?” Hermione asks suspiciously.

“Very,” Crowley interjects helpfully, smirking a not so nice smirk. It suits him.

“That was partly the reason for choosing an Echis really,” Aziraphale explains when Hermione looks surprised. The little smile on the angel’s face is—for those who don’t know from personal experience—the same smile he has worn when wiping the memories of human mob members trying to intimidate him out of his home for decades now. It is a nice smile but only in that it reaches his eyes, not in any way that makes you feel like the angel isn’t a threat[6].

“Why?” Hermione looks appalled at Aziraphale and the angels smile falls away a little.

“Well—after last year—with—with that shade, we—we had a talk—Crowley and I,” Aziraphale says awkwardly. “Harry was in danger and we almost weren’t quick enough you see—and that—that didn’t quite sit well with us.”

“I’ll say,” Crowley mutters, ruffling Harry’s hair when the now-twelve-year-old looks at him guiltily. “So we thought to do something about it.”

“But a snake?”

Crowley shrugs. “Why not? Harry likes them, I made them, and he can talk to this one—and it’ll keep me up to date on any threats to him we don’t notice,” Crowley says, giving Hermione a look. “Makes perfect sense really.”

“Talk? To snakes? That’s not possible!” Hermione exclaims hotly and Crowley rolls his eyes behind his sunglasses—which he has worn all day that people have been at the bookshop for Harry’s party.

“Yes it is,” Ron says nervously, shooting Crowley awkward glances. “Parseltongue,” he explains, looking at Hermione. “Always been dark wizards who can talk to snakes.”

Crowley looks so offended at Ron’s words that Aziraphale hastily claps his hands together, shooting Harry an apologetic look when it scares the snake that was just about to slither out of the box at last. “Right! Tea anyone?”

The experience of the cinema with his friends is all Harry can talk about for days after. Crowley and Aziraphale endure the chattering with the patience of immortal beings who have listened to a lot worse than a twelve-year-old gushing about a relatively mediocre film[7]. 

He is still going on about it when the letter from Hogwarts detailing second year equipment requirements arrives. Crowley and Aziraphale have already informed Harry and his friends of the texts they'd need for second year—except for Defence—and it's uniform and potions ingredients that Harry needs from Diagon Alley than textbooks[8]. 

The day the trio go to Diagon Alley to collect Harry’s schoolbooks for the coming term is a day they Unanimously Regret. Visiting the ice-cream parlour on the street is enjoyable but it doesn't make up for the sheer chaos that occurs inside Flourish and Blotts when the Weasley family—who Ron has convinced to visit the Alley on the same day as Harry and Hermione—come across the head of the Malfoy household and his son. Especially after Gilderoy Lockhart, the new Defence professor for the coming year, tries to drag Harry into a photoshoot and is instead turned into a mirror by Aziraphale[9]. This sends the entire bookshop into a circus until Aziraphale turns him back and Crowley makes everyone forget about that little miracle. 

"Arthur Weasley," Lucius Malfoy says and it is definitely sneered—Crowley mutters such to Aziraphale while they stand just to the side with Harry and watch—as Malfoy and Weasley heads stare each other down. "The blood traitor." 

It, as to be expected, gets worse from this point. Mister Malfoy is given a verbal slap by Mister Weasley on what it means to be a 'blood traitor' and, as a result, Mister Weasley is insulted by Mister Malfoy commenting on his ability to provide for his family. The fists flying from both men are a bit unexpected considering they're both wizards but Crowley has always commented on the value of a good right hook. 

Rubeus Hagrid attempts to intervene between the two men but it is Crowley who separate them in a very real sense. The demon snaps his fingers and sends both Weasley and Malfoy skidding away from each other. Hagrid's not inconsiderable height and general mass separates the two more permanently when he stands between them and the two wizards hiss out the most polite but not at all meant apologies they can before Mister Malfoy leaves with Draco trailing behind. 

All but Aziraphale miss the fact that Mister Malfoy has been fiddling with the books of one Ginny Weasley. However, as Crowley leaves the bookshop and Harry follows the demon, the angel is distracted from pursuing the matter. This, it seems, is becoming a habit. 

The trio, leaving the Weasleys behind, follow at a vaguely decent distance as the Malfoy males head toward a side alley off Diagon. A sign reads: Knockturn Alley and, from the general state of the brickwork alone, Aziraphale figures the place isn't all that nice. 

"I'll follow them," Crowley declares, turning to Aziraphale. "Can claim it's for evil purposes and that. Meet you at the bookshop in an hour." 

Aziraphale wants to argue—he really does—but Crowley is more likely to fare better than Aziraphale in the not-nice-at-all alley and someone needs to take care of Harry. 

"You best be back for dinner, Crowley," Aziraphale orders and he narrows his eyes when Crowley mockingly places a hand over where his heart should be and swears on it. "Crowley, your heart isn't located there." 

"It's the sentiment," the demon counters before disappearing down Knockturn Alley. Aziraphale and Harry apparate home—though it's not really apparating in Aziraphale's case, simply a close enough mimicry of the act[10]. 

In Knockturn Alley, Crowley miracles it so no one notices him as unusual for the place, although—as a demon—he's very, very usual for Knockturn. The Malfoy's head to a shop with grimy windows and even grimier woodwork surrounding the glass panes. Inside is grimy also but in a more ordered manner suggesting the grime is for the Creepy Aesthetic. 

Crowley is reminded a little too much of hell with the aesthetic and loathes the idea of entering the shop but needs must. He is spying after all and—considering the contents of Borgin and Burkes—Crowley definitely needs to know about this shop. He follows behind Lucius Malfoy as the man moves with purpose to the proprietor of the store—at least, Crowley presumes this guy owns the place, if he doesn’t then he’s probably an escapee from the mad house; wait, humans don’t have ‘mad houses’ anymore do they? An escapee from the hospital then.

“Father, will you buy me this?” Draco Malfoy asks, pointing at an eye on display nearby and Crowley automatically glances at the boy. He’s not a bad student—if a bit pompous—but obviously the kid has a poor roll model in the form of his elitist father. No body’s perfect though—just look at Crowley.

The staring glass eye is, Crowley realises with a jolt, a bastardisation of the all-seeing eye of God. It was created in the middle of the 14th century—another reason Crowley hates that century—by a group of very devout but ultimately stupid humans at the behest of a demon that was actually a Fallen Archangel. It wasn’t Crowley, but he knows who had the eye commissioned by humanity and he also knows they got a right lashing by Satan for losing the thing not long after.

Leaving it in the hands of obviously similar stupid humans to the ones who made it is a Bad Idea and Crowley decides to have a Good Idea. So he snaps his fingers and the glass eye vanishes, immediately replaced with a perfect replica with no power to it at all. The staring glass eye is nestled safely in an inner pocket of his jacket while Borgin—the name of the owner—and Lucius Malfoy talk about items the Malfoy head is selling to avoid a ministry raid.

Very naughty that, Crowley thinks, leaning over Malfoy’s shoulder to read the list on the counter. “Didn’t know you lot used foetuses that way; though English always have been about stealing everyone else’s stuff and claiming it as their own so, really, why am I surprised?”

It is fortunate none of the individuals in the shop can hear Crowley otherwise he’d be both cursed and verbally bitched at for daring to insult England and English tradition yada-yada. The demon has heard the same sort of diatribe from hell for centuries now so, honestly, he could probably change the places and the titles and still have near enough the rant from hell and the wizards be near enough word-for-word the same.

Shaking his head, Crowley moves away from the men, deciding he’s done enough spying for now and focuses his attention on the items in the Borgin’s shop. He notices a Hand of Glory that seems to fascinate Draco Malfoy—until Crowley snaps his fingers again and the boy loses interest; he’ll never know but Crowley thinks the boy has more potential than dark magic and evil and hell. Most of the items that Crowley can see are pretty unassuming—to the point where he wonders if the staring eye is the only thing in the shop that is honestly not meant for human hands until he sees it.

It’s nestled away, in a corner and it shouldn’t—it shouldn’t be there. It shouldn’t be anywhere.

“No,” Crowley breathes. “That—that’s not possible. It can’t be.”

He steps toward the object, eyes wide behind his sunglasses and he absently takes them off to better see. That—that shouldn’t be in human hands. It should be—well—

“You shouldn’t be here,” Crowley whispers, hand reaching out, trembling. “I can’t believe you’re here.” His hand touches the case. “You’re—you’re really here.”

A person can make a split-second decision and change everything. One moment in history, a single point in time, and the action undertaken changes what is to come. From the beginning of time, some actions are impossible to change because they have been Ordained, but others… others are determined by choices made in the moment.

Choices like taking an item that hasn’t been held by its owner in over six thousand years.

Those kinds of choices can change everything really.

.

[1] If there was one thing that Crowley would always support, no matter what, it was the pursuit of knowledge and understanding. In Harry’s case, that meant the demon would procure books that he’d never read in a million years just so Harry could have the opportunity to learn about world war two, ancient Egypt, mythology, Japanese history, the ocean, space, and anything else the child might well find an interest in learning about. Aziraphale once commented about this propensity of Crowley’s only for the demon to pin him to a wall and declare, very, very angrily—oh so angrily because he was a demony demon—that it was all in service of evil and knowledge threw mankind out of Eden so maybe it’d do the same here. Both of them, unanimously agreed that mankind leaving Eden—not actually getting kicked out so much so as politely evicted from the premises—was actually the best thing to happen to humanity.

[2] The wards do, however, also include protections for Crowley and Aziraphale. Neither of them mention these protections for the other since they are done in ‘secret’ but the end result is no one in heaven or hell can actually see inside the bookshop and likely are unable to enter no matter how powerful they are since—combined together—Aziraphale and Crowley turn out to be a mite bit stronger than any Archangel or demon who would think to visit. However, as neither of them realise this, they simply chalk up the lack of visits to the bookshop by their respective offices as a stroke of good luck and continue on with life thinking they’re fooling their head offices. And, as their head offices have no desire to ‘loose face’, neither side actually pushes to try and do anything about these wards and the combined strength of a principality and archangel-turned-demon powering said wards.

[3] The books are, amusingly enough, more comprehensive than the fifth-year textbooks Percy will obtain in Diagon Alley on 19th August. They also—as per Aziraphale’s intentions—limit Harry’s exposure to more advanced and potentially-dangerous magic but don’t impede his progress either.

[4] Aziraphale and Hermione both squeak in horrified unison at the prospect of open flames near so many books—even if they are protected from flame damage after Harry set several on fire while attempting his charms homework—and this, more than anything, dissuades Crowley and Harry from using the broom inside the bookshop. St James’ Park, however, is fair game—Crowley can always freeze everyone so they don’t notice after all.

[5] The average length of which is approximately nineteen centimetres or seven-point-five inches long as both metric and imperial measurement systems are used in the United Kingdom in a mish-mash, hodgepodge collection of both measurement systems. This is because the United Kingdom has never done things the easy way—just look at Brexit.

[6] In truth, it’s the kind of smile a very polite, demure person wears when they’re about to snap and beat you to death with the teaspoon they’re using to stir the tea with.

[7] It is the authors opinion that the first film of the 3 Ninjas franchise isn't the best of them, but that is because they are biased towards roller-coaster.

[8] Not that he wasn't going to buy some books. Aziraphale is always so pleased when Harry buys a book and, since Harry tends to enjoy the books he buys, he has no complaints with pleasing his uncle Zira this way. Crowley is pleased also but hates to admit it verbally—as he has only ever managed a smile when Harry has gushed about a book he’s bought or that Crowley has given him. But knowing that both his uncles are happy about Harry liking books reassures the child that being smart isn’t a bad thing no matter what aunt Petunia, uncle Vernon or Dudley tried to drill into him.

[9] "I thought it rather fitting," Aziraphale says later when Crowley asks him why a mirror. The angel has that look in his eyes that is mirthful but also a little bit mean and Crowley just smiles. 

"That's my angel," he says fondly and Aziraphale's smile turns bashful at the praise. Harry, wisely, makes himself scarce to avoid the inevitable flirting-disguised-as-insults that is about to occur.

[10] Although neither Crowley or Aziraphale do it often, both are capable of spontaneous teleportation of their beings and anything else they so desire to teleport. It is more a matter of choosing not to do it and enjoying the journey time that deters them from teleporting everywhere. Although, at some point in their lives, both are advised against teleportation and, as such, don’t think of it as the first solution to a problem when Crowley’s Bentley is far more comfortable and—although mildly terrifying for Aziraphale considering the speed of it—far more enjoyable as well. Teleportation is instantaneous after all and it is sometimes enjoyable to spend time with someone on a journey to a point rather than immediately arriving at your destination.

[redditnosleep]

Has Anyone Heard of The Left/Right Game?

 oby NeonTempo

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 (Final)

Hi Guys,

Sorry it’s taken a while to get this posted up. I’ve been busy chasing leads with US missing persons.

I won’t waste more of your time. Log is below. If you have any information then please send it my way.

Thanks for your help guys, it means a lot.

The Left/Right Game [DRAFT 1] 12/02/2017

Silence used to be an absolute.

That’s something I definitely miss.

Back in the real world, it would stand as self-evident that a group of people saying absolutely nothing, by definition, could not be saying any less. Maybe things are different on the road, maybe I’d just never encountered it before, but it’s clear to me now there are degrees beyond silence. A pervasive realm of deafening quiet which, following the loss of Eve and Apollo, our group has unreservedly embraced. Constructed out of our collective trauma, cemented with a cruel mixture of grief, guilt, and harrowing self-doubt, it quickly becomes apparent that this silence is stronger than all of us. The challenge of breaking it remains unmet for the rest of the journey.

We spend the next few hours burrowing through a featureless corridor of maize. The stalks rise far above the Wrangler, leaving only a thin strip of clear sky visible like the painted ceiling of a renaissance church. I find myself glancing intermittently at the CB radio, half expecting, half hoping, for Apollo’s voice to crackle through the speaker, bringing words of comfort, or a much needed attempt at levity.

After I catch myself staring at the radio for the fifth time, I decide it might be best to get on with my work. I plug my headphones into my notebook, bring up the audio files I’ve recorded thus far, and set about creating a very rough cut of our first day on the road.

APOLLO (VO) Everybody knows Rob, Rob's the god! Ahaha

I listen through Apollo’s first interview, making notes for the closing paragraph I’ll now be forced to write about him. When I have everything I need, I listen to the interview again, and then once more. It’s not lost on me that I just want to hear his voice, to lose myself in a pleasant digital echo, far removed from the frantic screams that followed him into the asphalt.

I listen to Eve’s interview next. She bristles with excitement as she talks about her upcoming visit to Roswell, steadfastly attempting to recruit me to the effort. She had no idea what she was heading into when she stepped out onto Rob’s front lawn. Then again none of us did.

The thin strip of sky is turning deep orange as I reach our encounter with the hitchhiker. It’s chilling to hear his voice after the fact, to revisit the conniving, veiled pleasantries he employed against us. I cringe as I hear Rob’s hand grasp my arm, ashamed that I let myself fall for the hitcher’s trickery.

ROB (VO): You did good, I’m sorry for grabbin’ you. I just didn’t want you to do something you’d regret.

AS (VO): No it’s fine. I was going to. Do you know what happens if you talk to him?

ROB (VO): Not sure. Came close myself once, a few years back. The way he looks at you when he thinks he’s got you? I don’t think I wanna know.

AS (VO): Rob, I-

I pause the audio file, clicking back ten seconds before pressing play again.

AS (VO): No it’s fine. I was going to. Do you know what happens if you talk to him?

ROB (VO): Not sure. Came close myself once, a few years back. The way he looks at you when he thinks he’s-

I certainly didn’t notice that at the time. I’d been so shaken by my run in with the hitcher, and so curious about the abandoned car that I’d been completely blind to anything else that had come my way. Maybe Rob misspoke, maybe he meant to say weeks or months. But if it wasn’t a mistake, if it was a truth carelessly uttered, then Rob has some explaining to do.

The Left/Right Game was posted online in June 2016, less than a year ago.

I glance sideways at him, a wall of corn rushing past us as we approach the rest stop. Throughout this trip, every emotion Rob’s displayed has seemed genuine. The sadness, the anger, the concern. They tell a story of a man who cares deeply about the welfare of those around him. Yet at the same time, it’s strikingly clear that there’s something he isn’t telling me.

With every new piece of the puzzle, the car, the text message, the faceless creature with the ringing phone, I’m left with the dilemma of when to confront Rob Guthard with what I know. I feel I’ve gathered enough to bring before him, enough to demand an explanation, but there’s no way I’d be able to truly verify his answer. I have a collection of strange and perplexing notions, lacking in the common thread that could bring me to any workable conclusion. If I am going to confront Rob, I need to uncover that thread. Much like the greatest journalists of our time, I should know the answer before I ask the question.

The jeep pulls up onto a large green space. Staring straight ahead, I find myself puzzled by the way the ground seems to stop, as if the horizon lies only twenty metres away from the car. As soon as the engine cuts out, I unbuckle my seatbelt, climb out and walk towards the grassy verge. The rest of the convoy pulls up behind me as I go.

I stop a few steps short of the edge, realising we’ve found our way to the top of a sheer cliff. A sudden swaying vertigo takes over, forcing me to take a few steps back. It doesn’t feel like we’ve been heading uphill, the road has been level since Jubilation, yet somehow I’m standing at the edge of a 400 ft. rock face, descending straight downwards, the distant earth shrouded by stalks of corn.

That’s the truly strange thing about this monolithic precipice. On either side of me, the maize runs to the very edge of the cliff and, at its base, the endless harvest continues until it stretches beyond the darkening horizon in every direction. It feels like I’m standing on the cliffs of Dover, staring over a golden ocean, its waves governed by the evening breeze. I wonder for a moment where it ends, then, taking consideration of the world I now occupy, I start to wonder if it ever does.

A belligerent scream rips me from the view. The source of the noise is blocked by the Wrangler and the first thing I see as I circle around are the shocked, wide eyed faces of Bonnie & Clyde. Once I make my way past the Wrangler’s hood, my expression mimics theirs.

Lilith has pinned Bluejay up to the side of the Jeep, a locked forearm pressing her chest against the door. Her other arm has been grasped in Bluejay’s hands, desperately stopped before it can strike her across the face. The two of them yell through gritted teeth as Lilith struggles furiously against her, vying to cause her any conceivable harm.

BLUEJAY Get the fuck off me you bitch! Get off!

I take a few quick steps over to Lilith as Bluejay attempts to kick her away.

AS: Lilith, we can’t do this… Jen…

Lilith doesn’t even register my presence as she continues her assault, deafened by the bubbling vitriol in every growling breath.

AS: Jen! We are not doing this now. Not after-

Before I can comprehend what’s happening, I’m staring at the sky, my head knocked back by the force of Lilith’s flailing elbow. A hot, raw ache radiates across my lower lip as I stagger back, raising my hand over my mouth.

Before Lilith can continue her assault, Rob swings open his door and takes two short strides over to her. He puts one arm around the girl’s waist and picks her up, carrying her safely, but firmly, over to Bonnie & Clyde’s Ford, and planting her back on the ground.

I seem to always forget how strong he is.

ROB: Damnit this is not the time.

LILITH: Take it back!

Bluejay has lost her usual snide demeanour, yet her aura still radiates an unbridled scorn. In response to Lilith’s demand, Bluejay walks back to her car and sits on the hood. She takes the Marlboros out of her pocket along with her lighter, and ignites a cigarette. I imagine the burning embers are the only company she’s comfortable to accept right now.

By the time I look back to the rest of the group, Lilith has stormed away.

AS: What did she say?

BONNIE: I didn’t hear it all.

AS: What did she say Bonnie?

BONNIE: I heard something about… she said Lilith was… that we were complicit.

ROB: Ah goddamnit… Bristol can you…

I watch Lilith, as she sits on the grass and looks over the cliffside. She begins to cry, yet I get a strong notion that it’s not something I should interrupt. It feels like something between her and Eve, a final act of reactionary mourning reserved for them, and them alone.

AS: Yeah… don’t worry. I’ll handle it.

ROB: Ok. I’ll cook us somethin’ up.

An hour passes. Lilith grows slowly calmer, drifting from cathartic release into a cold, wordless melancholy. Finishing up my dinner, I make my way over to her.

AS: It’s a strange view.

Lilith looks up at me. Her face falls.

LILITH: I cut you… I’m so sorry.

AS: It’s fine. You should see the other girl.

LILITH: Hah, yeah, I bet she looks like shit right about now.

I help myself down onto the cool ground, staring alongside Lilith into the ocean below.

LILITH: Bluejay thinks I’m complicit… in what happened to Eve.

AS: I heard.

LILITH: She used to think we were morons, now she thinks we’re all in on it… doesn’t make sense.

AS: I think she he has to believe this place is a lie. She needs it to make sense, and the harder it gets for her to rationalise the more she... Anyway, she shouldn’t have said what she said. She’s just... I guess the word is "troubled".

LILITH: She’s a fucking thundercunt.

AS: Umm… uh… ok.

LILITH: She’s right though... I killed her... and I killed Apollo too.

I look to Lilith, concerned, not quite sure what she means. Her eyes remain locked on the impossible horizon.

LILITH: Sarah… she wasn’t cut out for this, and she knew it. She wanted us to turn back this morning… but I didn’t want to.

AS: That wasn’t just your decision Lilith.

LILITH: Yes it was. She uh… she followed my lead. Always. Through everything. And I knew why she was doing it. I knew. But I let it continue, because it was convenient, because it was easy…. because deep down I liked having someone around who… who’d jump through fucking hoops for me… god it’s so fucked.

Lilith rests her head in her hands.

LILITH: She was weak. She was anxious and shy and… but that should be ok, right? You’re allowed to be weak that’s… but I made her come here. I dragged someone who couldn’t swim into the fucking deep end. And the last thing I did was lie to her and she fucking knew it.

Lilith takes a few deep, frayed breaths.

AS: What do you mean?

LILITH: I’m not uh… I didn’t, I… I loved her, you know as a… as a friend. It was always this fucking one-way street and… I don’t think she minded but. Then suddenly she’s vanishing right in-fucking-front of me and she said what she said… I mean how else was I supposed to respond to that? I had to say it back right?

Lilith maintains her composure as a steady stream of tears roll down her cheek.

AS: I don’t know what I’d do in that situation.

LILITH: I could see it in her eyes that she didn’t believe me. Fuck… I wonder how many people have died while being told like… comforting lies. How many of them fucking knew?

AS: I think you did the best you could Jen. I think you did better than most.

LILITH: You don’t need to tell me that just… are you tired? Do you need to go to bed soon?

AS: No, I don’t need to.

LILITH: There are some beers in uh… in Apollo’s bag. Is that like… looting? Or is that ok?

AS: I think he’d want us to have them, as long as he got a toast.

Lilith laughs briefly and finally smiles. She walks over to Bonnie and Clyde’s car, returning a moment later with a four pack.

We spend the next hour and a half slowly drinking them. Lilith can’t muster the right words for a toast so we just say thank you to Apollo, raising out cans to the open air. We talk about his tireless humour, his attempts to keep us all up during our first night on the road, how caringly he spoke to everyone, even at the edge of death.

We talk about Eve as well, about the pair’s misadventures, awkward college parties and the future of Paranormicon. Lilith smiles, and tells me there’s always a place for me once radio dies out.

After everything that’s happened on the road, the night can’t help but feel bittersweet. But for once, on a solitary cliff side in the middle of nowhere, it’s more sweet than it is bitter. That may not be much, but at the end of an awful day it’s more than either of us could have hoped for.

The next morning goes quickly. It’s amazing how efficient a group of people can be when none of them feel like talking. Not only that, but breakfast has become a noticeably brief affair. I manage to get through half a bag of trail mix before I find myself uncomfortably full. Rob’s words about the road’s sustaining properties ring in my ears as I look around the group. Everyone leaves their bowls half empty. Lilith hasn’t eaten a bite.

By this point, the launch protocol has been drilled into us. Despite our preoccupations, and the fractious rifts developing between us, the cars line up like clockwork as they merge onto the road. In fact, the mood of the group seems strangely procedural. All radio contact starts with the stating of a call sign, followed by that of the recipient. The cars maintain an even, careful distance between one another. We’ve seen all too clearly what happens when the rules are neglected, and no one wants to take chances any more.

AS: How far away are we?

ROB: From where?

AS: You haven’t got to the end of this road right? I mean… you’re still charting it?

ROB: That’s right.

AS: Well, how long until we get to… you know to… uncharted territory?

ROB: To be honest, not too long.

AS: What’s going to happen once we reach that point?

ROB: We’re gonna keep drivin’.

AS: Until we get to the end?

ROB: That’s the plan. You know I won’t judge you if you wanna turn around. I’m sure you can talk someone into it.

AS: Could I talk you into it?

Rob smiles.

ROB: ‘Fraid not. This trip ain’t like the others. Road’s kickin’ back like never before. I think it knows I’m comin’ all the way this time.

AS: … What is this place Rob?

Rob sighs as he slowly takes the next left on a quiet, rural T-junction.

ROB: I think it’s a stray thread… runnin’ off the spool.

The radio crackles.

BONNIE: Rob you just took the wrong turn.

An instant drum of fresh panic hammers in my chest. I stare at Rob, and he stares right back. I know he’s feeling the same thing I am, though he’s doing a much better job of keeping it off his face.

He thinks carefully for a moment.

ROB: No… no. I been down this road before. We took a right last time.

AS: Uhhh… yeah. Yes. The turn before this one was a right, I remember.

ROB: Ferryman to all cars. Thanks Bonnie for giving us the fright of our lives. We’re on the righ… we’re on the correct road.

BONNIE: No no that can’t be its… that’s wrong… Martin tell them…

CLYDE: Our mistake Rob, let’s keep going.

LILITH: Bristol…

There’s concern in Lilith’s voice. I lean over to my wing mirror, attempting to gauge the atmosphere in the car behind me. There’s clearly some commotion between Bonnie and Clyde, with the latter attempting to gently remove the walkie talkie from his sister’s hands.

There’s something else however. Past Bonnie & Clyde. Past Bluejay. An old, dilapidated road sign made of weathered timber stands by the side of the road behind us. I can’t read all of it as the peeling letters grow ever smaller, but I can piece together what it probably once said.

“Wintery Bay – 5 Miles”

BONNIE: We’re going to turn around right?

AS: Uhh one second Bonnie, I’ll… check the map.

I promptly switch off the radio.

AS: Are we not passing through Wintery Bay?

Rob turns to me, a puzzled look in his eyes.

ROB: Through where?

In the wake of those two, innocently inquiring words, my mind reels back to the morning of our third day on the road. Watching Bonnie and Clyde wander over to Rob to confess their transgressions with the hitchhiker, the quiet conversation that passed between them, Rob’s seemingly comforting response. I’d felt wretched in those moments. A few minutes prior I had tricked and deceived Clyde… yet I’d never once considered he might have done the same to me.

AS: Is it safe to pull over?

ROB: What? Why?

AS: Is it safe Rob?

ROB: Uh, yeah should be.

AS: Then pull over.

I switch the radio back on and grab the receiver. As I make a connection to Bonnie and Clyde’s car, it’s clear that an argument is brewing. Lilith is asking for me, a helpless passenger, caught in the middle of something she doesn’t understand.

AS: Bristol to all cars. We’re stopping up ahead.

Rob seems acutely aware that I’m not messing around. As soon as we roll to a halt, I throw my door open and jump onto the dusty roadside, striding over to the rest of the convoy, who are just starting to get out of their own cars. I’m conscious of a driving anger behind each step I take.

AS: You didn’t tell him.

CLYDE: Bristol, I…

ROB: What’s goin’ on Bristol?

Rob’s marches up behind me, more than a little restless to get a grip on my motives.

AS: Clyde?

Clyde looks around a circle of expectant eyes. When he delivers his answer, he’s unable to meet any of them.

CLYDE: Bonnie… Bonnie talked to the hitchhiker.

Rob’s expression shifts, his confusion degrading into a solemn understanding.

ROB: God… ahh Goddamnit. You knew about this Bristol?

AS: I told them to tell you the morning of the third day. I saw them go over to you I… I thought they did.

CLYDE: Bonnie… thought you’d… turn us around.

ROB: Well she’s was damn right. You seen what happens when the rules get broken. You shoulda told me as soon as you saw me and headed right back home.

CLYDE: That was before Ace… before everything. I didn’t know this place was-

ROB: The rules are the rules Clyde! Is anything even wrong with Bonnie? You said she gets confused... was that a lie?

Clyde doesn’t answer, avoiding Rob’s glare. As I process what Rob’s just said, I have to say I’m surprised by the deviousness of the two siblings.

When I thought they were telling Rob about the hitchhiker, it appears they’d instead told him that Bonnie was, to some degree, senile. It was a simple lie, but one that would adequately explain her odd behaviour, draw sympathy from Rob and, most ingeniously, prevent him from telling me about their conversation. A truth buried beneath an unpleasant lie, its subject matter just uncomfortable enough to head off any chance of discussion.

Still, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

CLYDE: We can head home if you want.

BONNIE: No.

The group turns to Bonnie. She speaks in a tone more decisive than I thought her capable.

BONNIE: He... the hitchhiker... he was talking about a… about the village we just passed. I was looking forward to seeing it, that’s all. I’m ok really.

AS: You’ve been talking about it a lot Bonnie.

BONNIE: It just sounded like a lovely place, I was sad that we passed it by. I’m sorry for worrying everyone. Please don’t make us turn around Rob.

Rob stares at them both. His position has been made crystal clear.

ROB: We’re stopping a little early today. Come the rest of the way with us, rest up… then tomorrow you both go home. You should count yourselves lucky you get the chance to turn around.

Rob marches back to the Wrangler, signalling that the discussion is over.

ROB: Lilith, you’re with us.

Lilith doesn't even try to hide her relief as she shuffles away from Bonnie & Clyde and climbs into the back of the Jeep. It’s a little heart warming that Rob still has the awareness to look out for her, angry as he may be.

As well as his surprising strength, I also tend to forget how perceptive he can be.

Bonnie, Clyde and Bluejay climb back into their respective vehicles. I catch Bonnie’s eye, the moment before she returns to the Ford. She appears truly disappointed, but otherwise resigned to keep going, satisfied to let Wintery Bay fade into the distance. It’s comforting to hear that she’s ready to put the place behind her.

It’s just a pity I don’t believe a word of it.

LILITH: It was fucking weird Bristol.

Lilith seems happy to be in the Wrangler, enjoying the sense of security the modded behemoth affords, and also greatly relieved to be away from Bonnie & Clyde. She’s spent the last five minutes detailing the thirty second argument that unfolded between them, charting its disturbing nuances as well as it’s eerie conclusion.

LILITH: ... but I swear she was basically like crying like… she didn’t understand how we could be going the wrong way. But then like, as soon as you pulled us over and she just stopped. Like I mean… stopped.

AS: That must have been disconcerting.

LILITH: You have no idea... So Rob, when are these cornfields gonna fucking end?

ROB: Soon. We’re gonna rest up for the night in a few turns. Then tomorrow it won’t be long until we’re on a track through the woods.

LILITH: The fucking woods? Are you kidding? Are we talking like… Sleepy Hollow bleeding trees or what?

ROB: Hah, wish I could tell ya.

LILITH: Wait, what do you mean?

ROB: I ain’t been that far yet. It’s new territory.

LILITH: Oh… great. Maybe the cornfields aren’t so…

Lilith goes quiet, transfixed by something in the rear view mirror, before quickly turning around to get a better look out of the back window.

The car behind us is out of control.

Bonnie is fighting to wrest the steering wheel from her brother. The Ford swerves erratically behind us, driven mad by the dynamic power struggle taking place inside it. Rob sharply accelerates out of the way as the car behind lurches drunkenly to and fro before skidding to a shuddering halt. Rob hits the brake hard, and by the time I’ve turned in his direction, he’s already slammed the door of the Wrangler, storming across the tarmac to Bonnie and Clyde.

ROB: Cut the engine!

The Ford’s engine goes silent and in the absence of its rumbling growl, new sounds emerge. The sounds of a struggle, and of wild desperate screaming.

Stepping out of the car for the second time today, I jump onto the road and cover the distance between us.

Rob is attempting to pull a screeching Bonnie from the car. Even with his impressive strength it seems to be a challenge. Bonnie claws at the walls, trying with all her might to regain her grasp on the steering wheel.

BONNIE: Please! PLEASE! Let me go! Let me go!

Rob extracts Bonnie from the car and attempts to subdue her amidst a flurry of flailing hands and elbows. She writhes and kicks as he pins her arms to her sides.

AS: Bonnie! Bonnie. Calm down ok? Let’s talk this through.

BONNIE: He told me it was on our way! He said we’d pass through!

ROB: He lied Bonnie.

BONNIE: No… no we’re going the wrong way. We’re going the wrong way!

Bonnie lashes out again, striking at Rob’s legs with her own. Rob holds her firmly, hit teeth gritted through every impact.

It’s clear that Bonnie isn’t going to let up. I run back to the Wrangler and open up the trunk. After a few moments of rummaging through my bag, I find the first aid kit and pull out an unopened pack of white zip ties.

AS: Clyde, open the back door.

Rob sees me standing with the zip ties. Even in the midst of Bonnie’s incessant struggle, he looks at me with an almost questioning air, as if he’s wondering how we ever arrived at this point. As if he’s asking whether we can really do what I’m wordlessly suggesting.

Bonnie answers the last question for him. In the slim few seconds of distraction, she slams her head back into his nose, eliciting a disgustingly loud thud and a pained growl from Rob. Dazed and confused, his nose immediately fountaining blood, Rob manages to keep his arms wrapped around her. But it’s clear this isn’t going to be sustainable, and that she isn’t anywhere close to calming down.

Clyde has opened the door, stepping back and looking on like a frightened child as we carry Bonnie over to the back seat of the Ford. I lean in before him, adjusting the headrest until it’s pressed against the ceiling, ensuring that it can’t be removed from the bracket. I then loop a zip tie around each bracket and fasten them.

BLUEJAY: What the fuck is going on?

Bluejay has stepped out of her car, making her way towards us. I realise that, to someone who is fighting to not believe in any of this, the following scene would appear at best as a melodramatic farce, and at worst, as the attempted detention of an innocent and distressed woman.

Sadly, I don’t have time to field her questions. I climb into the car. Bonnie working constantly against us as Rob eases her in after me, his hand on her head to prevent it bumping against the top of the doorframe.

Once she’s inside, I loop a second zip tie around the one I’ve already fastened on the right bracket, forcing her right hand inside it. I pull the plastic tab over the sleeve of her jumper.

I hope it’s not too tight, but at the very least it’s secure enough to keep her in place. Bonnie continues to pull against the zip ties, but it’s clear her strength has been sapped from her spirited battle with Rob.

Not quite able to look her in the eye, I push a pile of luggage out of the way and climb out the other side of the Ford. Rob and I are both getting our breath back, the former pinching his nose and adjusting stoically to the fresh pain.

BLUEJAY: Hey what the fuck are… you’re not going to leave her like that are you?

AS: Get back in your car Bluejay.

I walk back to the Wrangler, tuning out Denise’s coarse protests. Rob reaches into the Jeep’s still open trunk, and pulls out a pile of blankets and pillows. In the rear view mirror, I can see him placing them on Bonnie’s lap, giving her a place to rest her elbows.

She leans her forehead against the back of the headrest. Even with her face blocked from view, I can tell that she’s crying.

We arrive at the rest stop some twenty minutes later, the vague outline of a deep green forest blooming on the horizon. It’s earlier in the day than we would usually stop. Rob tells us he wants the entirety of tomorrow to chart the woods, as well as good time to turn back before night fall should the need arise. I’m not complaining, I’m glad of the chance to rest up following today’s events.

For the rest of the day, we take it in turns to keep an eye on Bonnie, making sure she has everything she needs. When the Ford pulled up alongside us, Lilith, Rob, and I expected to see a quivering wreck, tugging ceaselessly against her bonds. We were all surprised, and more than a little disturbed, to find her smiling. By the time my turn comes around, the sun is already dipping in the sky. Rob has prepared a small pot of miso soup in case anyone can bring themselves to eat. I finish my bowl, all too aware of how unnecessary each meal now feels, and pour out a helping for Bonnie.

I find her in good spirits.

BONNIE: How are you doing Alice?

AS: I’m fine. How are you doing Linda?

BONNIE: I’m ok. Sorry for giving you all such a fright earlier. I feel terrible.

AS: It’s fine honestly. I’m sorry about… about all this.

I gesture to the zip tied restraints. Rob has reapplied them, fastening bandages underneath the straps to afford Bonnie a modicum of comfort. Still the scene rings with a sinister barbarity which no kind consideration can make up for.

BONNIE: It’s ok. I wasn’t myself.

AS: I brought you soup. I know you might not be hungry.

BONNIE: No no I’d love some, thank you. Everyone’s being so lovely.

AS: Well, we just want to make sure you’re alright.

I submerge the spoon, drench up a measure of warm broth, and begin to raise it towards her.

BONNIE: Oh no you don’t have to… I can feed myself…

She gestures to her bound hands, the clear implication hanging in the air.

AS: No I… I don’t mind. I think it’s-

Bonnie throws her weight sideways, her elbow jabbing outwards and hitting the bowl out of my hands. Soup spills over my fleece, just a little cooler than scolding hot, and soaks immediately into the fabric. I back away reflexively, and watch Bonnie’s expression flicker like a faulty lightbulb from kind tranquility to utter, burning contempt. It’s gone as quickly as it appears, just in time for the rest of the group to look our way.

BLUEJAY: What are you doing with her?!

Bluejay storms across from her car, angrily drawing from a Marlboro and forcing the smoke draconically back into the air.

AS: Nothing. Just an accident.

BONNIE: It’s ok Bluejay, it was my mistake.

BLUEJAY: Did she get any on you?

Bluejay leans in placing her hand comfortingly on Bonnie’s, before turning to fix me with a murderous stare. It’s almost impressive how, even when caring for someone, Bluejay still manages to be simultaneously venomous to those around her.

BONNIE: No no it’s ok it was my fault. It’s fine. I’m sorry for causing trouble.

Bluejay laughs at Bonnie’s submissive apology, unable to believe what she's thinking. Her eyes remain fixed on me.

BLUEJAY: You’re a fucking coward. Look what he’s making you do. Look!

My eyes follow where she gestures. I have to admit the helpless figure of Bonnie, restrained in the back seat of the Ford, rings with an innate inhumanity, and being forced to stare my actions in the face makes me feel utterly ghoulish.

The choices I’ve made must seem insane to Bluejay, but that doesn’t mean hers are not. Despite her pretensions of rationality, I can’t help but feel that Bluejay’s actions are simply being governed by a different insanity. An insanity borne out of the desperate need to explain the unexplainable, which has morphed into an ugly cocktail of paranoia, self-grandeur, and fervent antagonism.

Bluejay notes my silent expression, most likely taking it as a personal victory. Without another word she returns to her car and shuts herself inside, festering silently and alone.

BONNIE: Do you want to know what’s wonderful Alice?

Bonnie leans towards me, lowering her voice so no one else can hear.

BONNIE: He told me there’s a house… waiting for me. My home by the sea.

AS: I’m sorry Bonnie. I don’t think there is.

BONNIE: It’s going to be a such a beautiful place. Such a beautiful place.

Bonnie flashes me a broad grin.

BONNIE: It’s been lovely knowing you Alice.

Bonnie turns away from me, placing her forehead back on the headrest. The grin doesn’t fade as I turn away. I walk back to the Wrangler, faced with the choice of changing into new clothes or my thermal pyjamas.

After removing my fleece and lying down for a just a moment, I end up sleeping in the clothes I’m wearing.

When I wake up, the Wrangler is moving.

The air mattress reverberates and my body rocks as we make a sharp U-turn. I sit bolt upright, Lilith waking up next to me, similarly bleary eyed and confused.

Rob is behind the wheel. The gear stick shakes as he transports us down the road at incredible speed.

AS: Rob what’s happening?

ROB: Bonnie got herself free. She’s headed for the turn.

I pull myself into the passenger seat, suddenly wide awake.

LILITH: What? How did she get free?

AS: Is she with Clyde?

ROB: She hit him over the head, dragged him outta the car. I couldn’t wait for him, but he’s catchin’ up.

Lilith and I turn around. Bluejay’s car is gaining on us, a distant pair of high beams steadily drowning the rear window in light.

LILITH: Why’s Bluejay helping him?

AS: She probably wants to keep an eye on us. Rob, do you think we’ll catch up with Bonnie?

ROB: I’m workin’ on it.

The Wrangler continues to rocket through the darkness. We keep our eyes fixed forward, scanning the very edge of the horizon for any sign of Bonnie’s Ford.

When Bluejay pulls alongside us, I get a look at the pair. Bluejay is nought but steely determination, dedicated to reaching Bonnie before we do. Clyde looks mortified, rocked by his sister’s actions, a small contusion on his head to mark her vicious betrayal.

Rob screeches to a halt once we arrive at the junction. Bluejay’s headlights are already illuminating the road to Wintery Bay, and Rob’s lighting rig coats the entire area in an artificial twilight. In the middle of it all, we see Bonnie, standing next to her car, smiling.

She’s already beyond the threshold of the turn.

CLYDE: Linda! Linda, please… come on back now, ok?

BONNIE: You can all come with me. There’s a place for all of us. He told me. There’s a place for everyone.

CLYDE: Please Linda. You have to come back.

A strange trail of black dust is streaming off Bonnie’s skin, rising into the air and dancing in the breeze. After a moment, it becomes clear that the edges of Bonnie are slowly degrading, converting quietly into dark ash and drifting into the atmosphere.

BONNIE: I love you very much Martin. You’re always welcome.

CLYDE: No please… please.

Bonnie turns around and climbs into the car. Without looking back, she pulls away down the road to Wintery Bay. The trail of black particles rise from the Ford as she goes, with greater and greater volume as the entire car starts to wither away before our eyes. Less than a minute later the Ford, with Bonnie inside it, gradually dissolves into dust and scatters to the winds.

Clyde doesn't speak. His entire being is quiet. Lilith immediately runs back to the Wrangler. Rob waits a while, staring at he dancing cloud of dust, before putting his arm around Clyde and gently escorting him to the Jeep.

As I turn away from the road to Wintery Bay, I take note of Bluejay’s reaction. She looks absolutely petrified, more so than I’ve ever seen her. She impulsively removes the pack of Marlboros from her pocket and holds them in her hands, before quickly returning them, unsmoked.

The night passes slowly after we return to the rest stop. All of us are exhausted, and more than willing to surrender to the escapism of sleep. Rob rests in the driver’s seat, giving up his space on the air mattress to Clyde. Everyone drops quickly enough into a quiet slumber, leaving me awake with only my thoughts for company. I find myself thinking of Bluejay, of how she could possibly hope to rationalise the disintegration of Bonnie and her car.

I wonder how I’d feel if the Left/Right Game were exposed as some unparalleled magic trick. Would I feel foolish? No I don’t think so. Impressed, maybe. Relieved? Most definitely. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I miss the innocent days when I believed the game was a hoax. I suppose I see why Bluejay is so adamant about dismissing this place; trickery however elaborate is almost always a preferable alternative to genuine horror.

The Jeep’s door opens and shuts

Part of me tries to ignore it, to wash my hands of any other developments in this harrowing night. However, exiled as I am from the kingdom of sleep, I slowly find myself sitting up, quietly putting on my boots, and letting myself out.

I step out into the cool night, observing the figure before me.

AS: Where are you going Clyde?

Clyde turns to face me, I initially interpret the look he gives me as one of resignation, but the word doesn’t quite fit. Resignation is a defeat, the world exacting compliance from you against your own wishes. But the man before me is as calm as the night air around him. His wishes are clearly his own. There’s no defeat in his eyes, but something else entirely… peace, maybe.

CLYDE: You know where I’m going Alice.

Clyde speaks softly, a quiet conviction behind every word he says. I briefly glance towards the Wrangler, wondering if I’m really equipped to handle this on my own.

CLYDE: Don’t call Rob. I made a mistake coming back to the rest stop. I shouldn’t have done... please. Just let me go.

AS: Clyde, just wait for tomorrow ok? He’ll understand. He’ll turn us around and take you home.

CLYDE: It won't be home anymore.

Clyde’s gentle stare renders me silent.

CLYDE: Linda had a husband once. He was a good man. Died young. She could never bring herself to go looking again and I… I never found who I was looking for. We’ve been by each other’s side for sixty years. Sixty years. I gotta be honest, even after all we’ve been through, everything you and I have seen, I never felt like I was in a new world until now.

AS: I don’t think I can’t let you do this Clyde.

CLYDE: I’m sorry Alice, but it’s not up to you.

Clyde breathes in the cool night air, exhaling through his nose.

CLYDE: I yelled at her to come back, when she ran off to rob that ice cream parlour. I kept calling out and calling out. I spent so much energy trying to get her to come back to me. After a while I realised she wasn’t coming back… that I’d have to follow her. I should’ve realised it earlier. That’s all I can do.... follow where she goes.

Clyde looks at me, almost apologetically.

CLYDE: Goodbye Alice.

He turns away from the convoy and wanders back down the road.

AS: Clyde.

He turns around one last time.

AS: Do you want company?

It takes roughly an hour for us to walk back to the junction. In the time we have, I’m treated to the story of Bonnie and Clyde. The warmest fragments of their life together, the moments that built them, the waves that rocked them and the places they once called home. I don’t think I’ll ever agree with what Clyde is doing, but the more he talks, the more I understand.

His stories span more than half a century, supported by a transient cast of acquaintances and friends, but at the core of each tale is a pair of siblings who meant the world to one another. The pair existed as two relative souls, quantifiable only in relation to each other. In the absence of one, the remnant was indefinable. A drifting point, unanchored in space.

The story ends just as we reach the junction

AS: I hope she's out there.

CLYDE: I hope so too. Thank you for coming with me, I know it’s late.

AS: No… it’s never a bad time to see a friend off.

Clyde smiles at me one last time before turning to face the road. He steps over the threshold, past the old wooden sign. In the silence of the night, I hear nothing but his soft footsteps and the quiet breeze, which after a few minutes carries the last of him into an open sky.

It’s a long walk back to the convoy. My mind is numb to fear as I make my way through the dark, the corn rustling in the wind beside me.

It’s been four days since I arrived at Rob Guthard’s house, sat down at his table, and listened to him speak about the new world he’d discovered. In that time, I’ve seen things I can’t hope to comprehend, sights that exist beyond the spectrum of our reality. Things I wouldn't have deemed possible.

For all I know there is a Wintery Bay, and Bonnie has already arrived at her house by the sea, standing at the door, waiting with quiet confidence for her brother’s arrival.

I may never know. But I do hope they find each other, wherever they may be.

[sending-the-message]

Has anyone heard of the Left/Right Game? (Part 6) by NeonTempo

Hi Guys,

Sorry it’s taken a while to get this posted up. I’ve been busy chasing leads with US missing persons.

I won’t waste more of your time. Log is below. If you have any information then please send it my way.

Thanks for your help guys, it means a lot.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

The Left/Right Game [DRAFT 1] 12/02/2017

Silence used to be an absolute.

That’s something I definitely miss.

Back in the real world, it would stand as self-evident that a group of people saying absolutely nothing, by definition, could not be saying any less. Maybe things are different on the road, maybe I’d just never encountered it before, but it’s clear to me now there are degrees beyond silence. A pervasive realm of deafening quiet which, following the loss of Eve and Apollo, our group has unreservedly embraced. Constructed out of our collective trauma, cemented with a cruel mixture of grief, guilt, and harrowing self-doubt, it quickly becomes apparent that this silence is stronger than all of us. The challenge of breaking it remains unmet for the rest of the journey.

We spend the next few hours burrowing through a featureless corridor of maize. The stalks rise far above the Wrangler, leaving only a thin strip of clear sky visible like the painted ceiling of a renaissance church. I find myself glancing intermittently at the CB radio, half expecting, half hoping, for Apollo’s voice to crackle through the speaker, bringing words of comfort, or a much needed attempt at levity.

After I catch myself staring at the radio for the fifth time, I decide it might be best to get on with my work. I plug my headphones into my notebook, bring up the audio files I’ve recorded thus far, and set about creating a very rough cut of our first day on the road.

APOLLO (VO) Everybody knows Rob, Rob's the god! Ahaha

I listen through Apollo’s first interview, making notes for the closing paragraph I’ll now be forced to write about him. When I have everything I need, I listen to the interview again, and then once more. It’s not lost on me that I just want to hear his voice, to lose myself in a pleasant digital echo, far removed from the frantic screams that followed him into the asphalt.

I listen to Eve’s interview next. She bristles with excitement as she talks about her upcoming visit to Roswell, steadfastly attempting to recruit me to the effort. She had no idea what she was heading into when she stepped out onto Rob’s front lawn. Then again none of us did.

The thin strip of sky is turning deep orange as I reach our encounter with the hitchhiker. It’s chilling to hear his voice after the fact, to revisit the conniving, veiled pleasantries he employed against us. I cringe as I hear Rob’s hand grasp my arm, ashamed that I let myself fall for the hitcher’s trickery.

ROB (VO): You did good, I’m sorry for grabbin’ you. I just didn’t want you to do something you’d regret.

AS (VO): No it’s fine. I was going to. Do you know what happens if you talk to him?

ROB (VO): Not sure. Came close myself once, a few years back. The way he looks at you when he thinks he’s got you? I don’t think I wanna know.

AS (VO): Rob, I-

I pause the audio file, clicking back ten seconds before pressing play again.

AS (VO): No it’s fine. I was going to. Do you know what happens if you talk to him?

ROB (VO): Not sure. Came close myself once, a few years back. The way he looks at you when he thinks he’s-

I certainly didn’t notice that at the time. I’d been so shaken by my run in with the hitcher, and so curious about the abandoned car that I’d been completely blind to anything else that had come my way. Maybe Rob misspoke, maybe he meant to say weeks or months. But if it wasn’t a mistake, if it was a truth carelessly uttered, then Rob has some explaining to do.

The Left/Right Game was posted online in June 2016, less than a year ago.

I glance sideways at him, a wall of corn rushing past us as we approach the rest stop. Throughout this trip, every emotion Rob’s displayed has seemed genuine. The sadness, the anger, the concern. They tell a story of a man who cares deeply about the welfare of those around him. Yet at the same time, it’s strikingly clear that there’s something he isn’t telling me.

With every new piece of the puzzle, the car, the text message, the faceless creature with the ringing phone, I’m left with the dilemma of when to confront Rob Guthard with what I know. I feel I’ve gathered enough to bring before him, enough to demand an explanation, but there’s no way I’d be able to truly verify his answer. I have a collection of strange and perplexing notions, lacking in the common thread that could bring me to any workable conclusion. If I am going to confront Rob, I need to uncover that thread. Much like the greatest journalists of our time, I should know the answer before I ask the question.

The jeep pulls up onto a large green space. Staring straight ahead, I find myself puzzled by the way the ground seems to stop, as if the horizon lies only twenty metres away from the car. As soon as the engine cuts out, I unbuckle my seatbelt, climb out and walk towards the grassy verge. The rest of the convoy pulls up behind me as I go.

I stop a few steps short of the edge, realising we’ve found our way to the top of a sheer cliff. A sudden swaying vertigo takes over, forcing me to take a few steps back. It doesn’t feel like we’ve been heading uphill, the road has been level since Jubilation, yet somehow I’m standing at the edge of a 400 ft. rock face, descending straight downwards, the distant earth shrouded by stalks of corn.

That’s the truly strange thing about this monolithic precipice. On either side of me, the maize runs to the very edge of the cliff and, at its base, the endless harvest continues until it stretches beyond the darkening horizon in every direction. It feels like I’m standing on the cliffs of Dover, staring over a golden ocean, its waves governed by the evening breeze. I wonder for a moment where it ends, then, taking consideration of the world I now occupy, I start to wonder if it ever does.

A belligerent scream rips me from the view. The source of the noise is blocked by the Wrangler and the first thing I see as I circle around are the shocked, wide eyed faces of Bonnie & Clyde. Once I make my way past the Wrangler’s hood, my expression mimics theirs.

Lilith has pinned Bluejay up to the side of the Jeep, a locked forearm pressing her chest against the door. Her other arm has been grasped in Bluejay’s hands, desperately stopped before it can strike her across the face. The two of them yell through gritted teeth as Lilith struggles furiously against her, vying to cause her any conceivable harm.

BLUEJAY Get the fuck off me you bitch! Get off!

I take a few quick steps over to Lilith as Bluejay attempts to kick her away.

AS: Lilith, we can’t do this… Jen…

Lilith doesn’t even register my presence as she continues her assault, deafened by the bubbling vitriol in every growling breath.

AS: Jen! We are not doing this now. Not after-

Before I can comprehend what’s happening, I’m staring at the sky, my head knocked back by the force of Lilith’s flailing elbow. A hot, raw ache radiates across my lower lip as I stagger back, raising my hand over my mouth.

Before Lilith can continue her assault, Rob swings open his door and takes two short strides over to her. He puts one arm around the girl’s waist and picks her up, carrying her safely, but firmly, over to Bonnie & Clyde’s Ford, and planting her back on the ground.

I seem to always forget how strong he is.

ROB: Damnit this is not the time.

LILITH: Take it back!

Bluejay has lost her usual snide demeanour, yet her aura still radiates an unbridled scorn. In response to Lilith’s demand, Bluejay walks back to her car and sits on the hood. She takes the Marlboros out of her pocket along with her lighter, and ignites a cigarette. I imagine the burning embers are the only company she’s comfortable to accept right now.

By the time I look back to the rest of the group, Lilith has stormed away.

AS: What did she say?

BONNIE: I didn’t hear it all.

AS: What did she say Bonnie?

BONNIE: I heard something about… she said Lilith was… that we were complicit.

ROB: Ah goddamnit… Bristol can you…

I watch Lilith, as she sits on the grass and looks over the cliffside. She begins to cry, yet I get a strong notion that it’s not something I should interrupt. It feels like something between her and Eve, a final act of reactionary mourning reserved for them, and them alone.

AS: Yeah… don’t worry. I’ll handle it.

ROB: Ok. I’ll cook us somethin’ up.

An hour passes. Lilith grows slowly calmer, drifting from cathartic release into a cold, wordless melancholy. Finishing up my dinner, I make my way over to her.

AS: It’s a strange view.

Lilith looks up at me. Her face falls.

LILITH: I cut you… I’m so sorry.

AS: It’s fine. You should see the other girl.

LILITH: Hah, yeah, I bet she looks like shit right about now.

I help myself down onto the cool ground, staring alongside Lilith into the ocean below.

LILITH: Bluejay thinks I’m complicit… in what happened to Eve.

AS: I heard.

LILITH: She used to think we were morons, now she thinks we’re all in on it… doesn’t make sense.

AS: I think she he has to believe this place is a lie. She needs it to make sense, and the harder it gets for her to rationalise the more she... Anyway, she shouldn’t have said what she said. She’s just... I guess the word is "troubled".

LILITH: She’s a fucking thundercunt.

AS: Umm… uh… ok.

LILITH: She’s right though... I killed her... and I killed Apollo too.

I look to Lilith, concerned, not quite sure what she means. Her eyes remain locked on the impossible horizon.

LILITH: Sarah… she wasn’t cut out for this, and she knew it. She wanted us to turn back this morning… but I didn’t want to.

AS: That wasn’t just your decision Lilith.

LILITH: Yes it was. She uh… she followed my lead. Always. Through everything. And I knew why she was doing it. I knew. But I let it continue, because it was convenient, because it was easy…. because deep down I liked having someone around who… who’d jump through fucking hoops for me… god it’s so fucked.

Lilith rests her head in her hands.

LILITH: She was weak. She was anxious and shy and… but that should be ok, right? You’re allowed to be weak that’s… but I made her come here. I dragged someone who couldn’t swim into the fucking deep end. And the last thing I did was lie to her and she fucking knew it.

Lilith takes a few deep, frayed breaths.

AS: What do you mean?

LILITH: I’m not uh… I didn’t, I… I loved her, you know as a… as a friend. It was always this fucking one-way street and… I don’t think she minded but. Then suddenly she’s vanishing right in-fucking-front of me and she said what she said… I mean how else was I supposed to respond to that? I had to say it back right?

Lilith maintains her composure as a steady stream of tears roll down her cheek.

AS: I don’t know what I’d do in that situation.

LILITH: I could see it in her eyes that she didn’t believe me. Fuck… I wonder how many people have died while being told like… comforting lies. How many of them fucking knew?

AS: I think you did the best you could Jen. I think you did better than most.

LILITH: You don’t need to tell me that just… are you tired? Do you need to go to bed soon?

AS: No, I don’t need to.

LILITH: There are some beers in uh… in Apollo’s bag. Is that like… looting? Or is that ok?

AS: I think he’d want us to have them, as long as he got a toast.

Lilith laughs briefly and finally smiles. She walks over to Bonnie and Clyde’s car, returning a moment later with a four pack.

We spend the next hour and a half slowly drinking them. Lilith can’t muster the right words for a toast so we just say thank you to Apollo, raising out cans to the open air. We talk about his tireless humour, his attempts to keep us all up during our first night on the road, how caringly he spoke to everyone, even at the edge of death.

We talk about Eve as well, about the pair’s misadventures, awkward college parties and the future of Paranormicon. Lilith smiles, and tells me there’s always a place for me once radio dies out.

After everything that’s happened on the road, the night can’t help but feel bittersweet. But for once, on a solitary cliff side in the middle of nowhere, it’s more sweet than it is bitter. That may not be much, but at the end of an awful day it’s more than either of us could have hoped for.

The next morning goes quickly. It’s amazing how efficient a group of people can be when none of them feel like talking. Not only that, but breakfast has become a noticeably brief affair. I manage to get through half a bag of trail mix before I find myself uncomfortably full. Rob’s words about the road’s sustaining properties ring in my ears as I look around the group. Everyone leaves their bowls half empty. Lilith hasn’t eaten a bite.

By this point, the launch protocol has been drilled into us. Despite our preoccupations, and the fractious rifts developing between us, the cars line up like clockwork as they merge onto the road. In fact, the mood of the group seems strangely procedural. All radio contact starts with the stating of a call sign, followed by that of the recipient. The cars maintain an even, careful distance between one another. We’ve seen all too clearly what happens when the rules are neglected, and no one wants to take chances any more.

AS: How far away are we?

ROB: From where?

AS: You haven’t got to the end of this road right? I mean… you’re still charting it?

ROB: That’s right.

AS: Well, how long until we get to… you know to… uncharted territory?

ROB: To be honest, not too long.

AS: What’s going to happen once we reach that point?

ROB: We’re gonna keep drivin’.

AS: Until we get to the end?

ROB: That’s the plan. You know I won’t judge you if you wanna turn around. I’m sure you can talk someone into it.

AS: Could I talk you into it?

Rob smiles.

ROB: ‘Fraid not. This trip ain’t like the others. Road’s kickin’ back like never before. I think it knows I’m comin’ all the way this time.

AS: … What is this place Rob?

Rob sighs as he slowly takes the next left on a quiet, rural T-junction.

ROB: I think it’s a stray thread… runnin’ off the spool.

The radio crackles.

BONNIE: Rob you just took the wrong turn.

An instant drum of fresh panic hammers in my chest. I stare at Rob, and he stares right back. I know he’s feeling the same thing I am, though he’s doing a much better job of keeping it off his face.

He thinks carefully for a moment.

ROB: No… no. I been down this road before. We took a right last time.

AS: Uhhh… yeah. Yes. The turn before this one was a right, I remember.

ROB: Ferryman to all cars. Thanks Bonnie for giving us the fright of our lives. We’re on the righ… we’re on the correct road.

BONNIE: No no that can’t be its… that’s wrong… Martin tell them…

CLYDE: Our mistake Rob, let’s keep going.

LILITH: Bristol…

There’s concern in Lilith’s voice. I lean over to my wing mirror, attempting to gauge the atmosphere in the car behind me. There’s clearly some commotion between Bonnie and Clyde, with the latter attempting to gently remove the walkie talkie from his sister’s hands.

There’s something else however. Past Bonnie & Clyde. Past Bluejay. An old, dilapidated road sign made of weathered timber stands by the side of the road behind us. I can’t read all of it as the peeling letters grow ever smaller, but I can piece together what it probably once said.

“Wintery Bay – 5 Miles”

BONNIE: We’re going to turn around right?

AS: Uhh one second Bonnie, I’ll… check the map.

I promptly switch off the radio.

AS: Are we not passing through Wintery Bay?

Rob turns to me, a puzzled look in his eyes.

ROB: Through where?

In the wake of those two, innocently inquiring words, my mind reels back to the morning of our third day on the road. Watching Bonnie and Clyde wander over to Rob to confess their transgressions with the hitchhiker, the quiet conversation that passed between them, Rob’s seemingly comforting response. I’d felt wretched in those moments. A few minutes prior I had tricked and deceived Clyde… yet I’d never once considered he might have done the same to me.

AS: Is it safe to pull over?

ROB: What? Why?

AS: Is it safe Rob?

ROB: Uh, yeah should be.

AS: Then pull over.

I switch the radio back on and grab the receiver. As I make a connection to Bonnie and Clyde’s car, it’s clear that an argument is brewing. Lilith is asking for me, a helpless passenger, caught in the middle of something she doesn’t understand.

AS: Bristol to all cars. We’re stopping up ahead.

Rob seems acutely aware that I’m not messing around. As soon as we roll to a halt, I throw my door open and jump onto the dusty roadside, striding over to the rest of the convoy, who are just starting to get out of their own cars. I’m conscious of a driving anger behind each step I take.

AS: You didn’t tell him.

CLYDE: Bristol, I…

ROB: What’s goin’ on Bristol?

Rob’s marches up behind me, more than a little restless to get a grip on my motives.

AS: Clyde?

Clyde looks around a circle of expectant eyes. When he delivers his answer, he’s unable to meet any of them.

CLYDE: Bonnie… Bonnie talked to the hitchhiker.

Rob’s expression shifts, his confusion degrading into a solemn understanding.

ROB: God… ahh Goddamnit. You knew about this Bristol?

AS: I told them to tell you the morning of the third day. I saw them go over to you I… I thought they did.

CLYDE: Bonnie… thought you’d… turn us around.

ROB: Well she’s was damn right. You seen what happens when the rules get broken. You shoulda told me as soon as you saw me and headed right back home.

CLYDE: That was before Ace… before everything. I didn’t know this place was-

ROB: The rules are the rules Clyde! Is anything even wrong with Bonnie? You said she gets confused... was that a lie?

Clyde doesn’t answer, avoiding Rob’s glare. As I process what Rob’s just said, I have to say I’m surprised by the deviousness of the two siblings.

When I thought they were telling Rob about the hitchhiker, it appears they’d instead told him that Bonnie was, to some degree, senile. It was a simple lie, but one that would adequately explain her odd behaviour, draw sympathy from Rob and, most ingeniously, prevent him from telling me about their conversation. A truth buried beneath an unpleasant lie, its subject matter just uncomfortable enough to head off any chance of discussion.

Still, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

CLYDE: We can head home if you want.

BONNIE: No.

The group turns to Bonnie. She speaks in a tone more decisive than I thought her capable.

BONNIE: He... the hitchhiker... he was talking about a… about the village we just passed. I was looking forward to seeing it, that’s all. I’m ok really.

AS: You’ve been talking about it a lot Bonnie.

BONNIE: It just sounded like a lovely place, I was sad that we passed it by. I’m sorry for worrying everyone. Please don’t make us turn around Rob.

Rob stares at them both. His position has been made crystal clear.

ROB: We’re stopping a little early today. Come the rest of the way with us, rest up… then tomorrow you both go home. You should count yourselves lucky you get the chance to turn around.

Rob marches back to the Wrangler, signalling that the discussion is over.

ROB: Lilith, you’re with us.

Lilith doesn't even try to hide her relief as she shuffles away from Bonnie & Clyde and climbs into the back of the Jeep. It’s a little heart warming that Rob still has the awareness to look out for her, angry as he may be.

As well as his surprising strength, I also tend to forget how perceptive he can be.

Bonnie, Clyde and Bluejay climb back into their respective vehicles. I catch Bonnie’s eye, the moment before she returns to the Ford. She appears truly disappointed, but otherwise resigned to keep going, satisfied to let Wintery Bay fade into the distance. It’s comforting to hear that she’s ready to put the place behind her.

It’s just a pity I don’t believe a word of it.

LILITH: It was fucking weird Bristol.

Lilith seems happy to be in the Wrangler, enjoying the sense of security the modded behemoth affords, and also greatly relieved to be away from Bonnie & Clyde. She’s spent the last five minutes detailing the thirty second argument that unfolded between them, charting its disturbing nuances as well as it’s eerie conclusion.

LILITH: ... but I swear she was basically like crying like… she didn’t understand how we could be going the wrong way. But then like, as soon as you pulled us over and she just stopped. Like I mean… stopped.

AS: That must have been disconcerting.

LILITH: You have no idea... So Rob, when are these cornfields gonna fucking end?

ROB: Soon. We’re gonna rest up for the night in a few turns. Then tomorrow it won’t be long until we’re on a track through the woods.

LILITH: The fucking woods? Are you kidding? Are we talking like… Sleepy Hollow bleeding trees or what?

ROB: Hah, wish I could tell ya.

LILITH: Wait, what do you mean?

ROB: I ain’t been that far yet. It’s new territory.

LILITH: Oh… great. Maybe the cornfields aren’t so…

Lilith goes quiet, transfixed by something in the rear view mirror, before quickly turning around to get a better look out of the back window.

The car behind us is out of control.

Bonnie is fighting to wrest the steering wheel from her brother. The Ford swerves erratically behind us, driven mad by the dynamic power struggle taking place inside it. Rob sharply accelerates out of the way as the car behind lurches drunkenly to and fro before skidding to a shuddering halt. Rob hits the brake hard, and by the time I’ve turned in his direction, he’s already slammed the door of the Wrangler, storming across the tarmac to Bonnie and Clyde.

ROB: Cut the engine!

The Ford’s engine goes silent and in the absence of its rumbling growl, new sounds emerge. The sounds of a struggle, and of wild desperate screaming.

Stepping out of the car for the second time today, I jump onto the road and cover the distance between us.

Rob is attempting to pull a screeching Bonnie from the car. Even with his impressive strength it seems to be a challenge. Bonnie claws at the walls, trying with all her might to regain her grasp on the steering wheel.

BONNIE: Please! PLEASE! Let me go! Let me go!

Rob extracts Bonnie from the car and attempts to subdue her amidst a flurry of flailing hands and elbows. She writhes and kicks as he pins her arms to her sides.

AS: Bonnie! Bonnie. Calm down ok? Let’s talk this through.

BONNIE: He told me it was on our way! He said we’d pass through!

ROB: He lied Bonnie.

BONNIE: No… no we’re going the wrong way. We’re going the wrong way!

Bonnie lashes out again, striking at Rob’s legs with her own. Rob holds her firmly, hit teeth gritted through every impact.

It’s clear that Bonnie isn’t going to let up. I run back to the Wrangler and open up the trunk. After a few moments of rummaging through my bag, I find the first aid kit and pull out an unopened pack of white zip ties.

AS: Clyde, open the back door.

Rob sees me standing with the zip ties. Even in the midst of Bonnie’s incessant struggle, he looks at me with an almost questioning air, as if he’s wondering how we ever arrived at this point. As if he’s asking whether we can really do what I’m wordlessly suggesting.

Bonnie answers the last question for him. In the slim few seconds of distraction, she slams her head back into his nose, eliciting a disgustingly loud thud and a pained growl from Rob. Dazed and confused, his nose immediately fountaining blood, Rob manages to keep his arms wrapped around her. But it’s clear this isn’t going to be sustainable, and that she isn’t anywhere close to calming down.

Clyde has opened the door, stepping back and looking on like a frightened child as we carry Bonnie over to the back seat of the Ford. I lean in before him, adjusting the headrest until it’s pressed against the ceiling, ensuring that it can’t be removed from the bracket. I then loop a zip tie around each bracket and fasten them.

BLUEJAY: What the fuck is going on?

Bluejay has stepped out of her car, making her way towards us. I realise that, to someone who is fighting to not believe in any of this, the following scene would appear at best as a melodramatic farce, and at worst, as the attempted detention of an innocent and distressed woman.

Sadly, I don’t have time to field her questions. I climb into the car. Bonnie working constantly against us as Rob eases her in after me, his hand on her head to prevent it bumping against the top of the doorframe.

Once she’s inside, I loop a second zip tie around the one I’ve already fastened on the right bracket, forcing her right hand inside it. I pull the plastic tab over the sleeve of her jumper.

I hope it’s not too tight, but at the very least it’s secure enough to keep her in place. Bonnie continues to pull against the zip ties, but it’s clear her strength has been sapped from her spirited battle with Rob.

Not quite able to look her in the eye, I push a pile of luggage out of the way and climb out the other side of the Ford. Rob and I are both getting our breath back, the former pinching his nose and adjusting stoically to the fresh pain.

BLUEJAY: Hey what the fuck are… you’re not going to leave her like that are you?

AS: Get back in your car Bluejay.

I walk back to the Wrangler, tuning out Denise’s coarse protests. Rob reaches into the Jeep’s still open trunk, and pulls out a pile of blankets and pillows. In the rear view mirror, I can see him placing them on Bonnie’s lap, giving her a place to rest her elbows.

She leans her forehead against the back of the headrest. Even with her face blocked from view, I can tell that she’s crying.

We arrive at the rest stop some twenty minutes later, the vague outline of a deep green forest blooming on the horizon. It’s earlier in the day than we would usually stop. Rob tells us he wants the entirety of tomorrow to chart the woods, as well as good time to turn back before night fall should the need arise. I’m not complaining, I’m glad of the chance to rest up following today’s events.

For the rest of the day, we take it in turns to keep an eye on Bonnie, making sure she has everything she needs. When the Ford pulled up alongside us, Lilith, Rob, and I expected to see a quivering wreck, tugging ceaselessly against her bonds. We were all surprised, and more than a little disturbed, to find her smiling. By the time my turn comes around, the sun is already dipping in the sky. Rob has prepared a small pot of miso soup in case anyone can bring themselves to eat. I finish my bowl, all too aware of how unnecessary each meal now feels, and pour out a helping for Bonnie.

I find her in good spirits.

BONNIE: How are you doing Alice?

AS: I’m fine. How are you doing Linda?

BONNIE: I’m ok. Sorry for giving you all such a fright earlier. I feel terrible.

AS: It’s fine honestly. I’m sorry about… about all this.

I gesture to the zip tied restraints. Rob has reapplied them, fastening bandages underneath the straps to afford Bonnie a modicum of comfort. Still the scene rings with a sinister barbarity which no kind consideration can make up for.

BONNIE: It’s ok. I wasn’t myself.

AS: I brought you soup. I know you might not be hungry.

BONNIE: No no I’d love some, thank you. Everyone’s being so lovely.

AS: Well, we just want to make sure you’re alright.

I submerge the spoon, drench up a measure of warm broth, and begin to raise it towards her.

BONNIE: Oh no you don’t have to… I can feed myself…

She gestures to her bound hands, the clear implication hanging in the air.

AS: No I… I don’t mind. I think it’s-

Bonnie throws her weight sideways, her elbow jabbing outwards and hitting the bowl out of my hands. Soup spills over my fleece, just a little cooler than scolding hot, and soaks immediately into the fabric. I back away reflexively, and watch Bonnie’s expression flicker like a faulty lightbulb from kind tranquility to utter, burning contempt. It’s gone as quickly as it appears, just in time for the rest of the group to look our way.

BLUEJAY: What are you doing with her?!

Bluejay storms across from her car, angrily drawing from a Marlboro and forcing the smoke draconically back into the air.

AS: Nothing. Just an accident.

BONNIE: It’s ok Bluejay, it was my mistake.

BLUEJAY: Did she get any on you?

Bluejay leans in placing her hand comfortingly on Bonnie’s, before turning to fix me with a murderous stare. It’s almost impressive how, even when caring for someone, Bluejay still manages to be simultaneously venomous to those around her.

BONNIE: No no it’s ok it was my fault. It’s fine. I’m sorry for causing trouble.

Bluejay laughs at Bonnie’s submissive apology, unable to believe what she's thinking. Her eyes remain fixed on me.

BLUEJAY: You’re a fucking coward. Look what he’s making you do. Look!

My eyes follow where she gestures. I have to admit the helpless figure of Bonnie, restrained in the back seat of the Ford, rings with an innate inhumanity, and being forced to stare my actions in the face makes me feel utterly ghoulish.

The choices I’ve made must seem insane to Bluejay, but that doesn’t mean hers are not. Despite her pretensions of rationality, I can’t help but feel that Bluejay’s actions are simply being governed by a different insanity. An insanity borne out of the desperate need to explain the unexplainable, which has morphed into an ugly cocktail of paranoia, self-grandeur, and fervent antagonism.

Bluejay notes my silent expression, most likely taking it as a personal victory. Without another word she returns to her car and shuts herself inside, festering silently and alone.

BONNIE: Do you want to know what’s wonderful Alice?

Bonnie leans towards me, lowering her voice so no one else can hear.

BONNIE: He told me there’s a house… waiting for me. My home by the sea.

AS: I’m sorry Bonnie. I don’t think there is.

BONNIE: It’s going to be a such a beautiful place. Such a beautiful place.

Bonnie flashes me a broad grin.

BONNIE: It’s been lovely knowing you Alice.

Bonnie turns away from me, placing her forehead back on the headrest. The grin doesn’t fade as I turn away. I walk back to the Wrangler, faced with the choice of changing into new clothes or my thermal pyjamas.

After removing my fleece and lying down for a just a moment, I end up sleeping in the clothes I’m wearing.

When I wake up, the Wrangler is moving.

The air mattress reverberates and my body rocks as we make a sharp U-turn. I sit bolt upright, Lilith waking up next to me, similarly bleary eyed and confused.

Rob is behind the wheel. The gear stick shakes as he transports us down the road at incredible speed.

AS: Rob what’s happening?

ROB: Bonnie got herself free. She’s headed for the turn.

I pull myself into the passenger seat, suddenly wide awake.

LILITH: What? How did she get free?

AS: Is she with Clyde?

ROB: She hit him over the head, dragged him outta the car. I couldn’t wait for him, but he’s catchin’ up.

Lilith and I turn around. Bluejay’s car is gaining on us, a distant pair of high beams steadily drowning the rear window in light.

LILITH: Why’s Bluejay helping him?

AS: She probably wants to keep an eye on us. Rob, do you think we’ll catch up with Bonnie?

ROB: I’m workin’ on it.

The Wrangler continues to rocket through the darkness. We keep our eyes fixed forward, scanning the very edge of the horizon for any sign of Bonnie’s Ford.

When Bluejay pulls alongside us, I get a look at the pair. Bluejay is nought but steely determination, dedicated to reaching Bonnie before we do. Clyde looks mortified, rocked by his sister’s actions, a small contusion on his head to mark her vicious betrayal.

Rob screeches to a halt once we arrive at the junction. Bluejay’s headlights are already illuminating the road to Wintery Bay, and Rob’s lighting rig coats the entire area in an artificial twilight. In the middle of it all, we see Bonnie, standing next to her car, smiling.

She’s already beyond the threshold of the turn.

CLYDE: Linda! Linda, please… come on back now, ok?

BONNIE: You can all come with me. There’s a place for all of us. He told me. There’s a place for everyone.

CLYDE: Please Linda. You have to come back.

A strange trail of black dust is streaming off Bonnie’s skin, rising into the air and dancing in the breeze. After a moment, it becomes clear that the edges of Bonnie are slowly degrading, converting quietly into dark ash and drifting into the atmosphere.

BONNIE: I love you very much Martin. You’re always welcome.

CLYDE: No please… please.

Bonnie turns around and climbs into the car. Without looking back, she pulls away down the road to Wintery Bay. The trail of black particles rise from the Ford as she goes, with greater and greater volume as the entire car starts to wither away before our eyes. Less than a minute later the Ford, with Bonnie inside it, gradually dissolves into dust and scatters to the winds.

Clyde doesn't speak. His entire being is quiet. Lilith immediately runs back to the Wrangler. Rob waits a while, staring at he dancing cloud of dust, before putting his arm around Clyde and gently escorting him to the Jeep.

As I turn away from the road to Wintery Bay, I take note of Bluejay’s reaction. She looks absolutely petrified, more so than I’ve ever seen her. She impulsively removes the pack of Marlboros from her pocket and holds them in her hands, before quickly returning them, unsmoked.

The night passes slowly after we return to the rest stop. All of us are exhausted, and more than willing to surrender to the escapism of sleep. Rob rests in the driver’s seat, giving up his space on the air mattress to Clyde. Everyone drops quickly enough into a quiet slumber, leaving me awake with only my thoughts for company. I find myself thinking of Bluejay, of how she could possibly hope to rationalise the disintegration of Bonnie and her car.

I wonder how I’d feel if the Left/Right Game were exposed as some unparalleled magic trick. Would I feel foolish? No I don’t think so. Impressed, maybe. Relieved? Most definitely. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I miss the innocent days when I believed the game was a hoax. I suppose I see why Bluejay is so adamant about dismissing this place; trickery however elaborate is almost always a preferable alternative to genuine horror.

The Jeep’s door opens and shuts

Part of me tries to ignore it, to wash my hands of any other developments in this harrowing night. However, exiled as I am from the kingdom of sleep, I slowly find myself sitting up, quietly putting on my boots, and letting myself out.

I step out into the cool night, observing the figure before me.

AS: Where are you going Clyde?

Clyde turns to face me, I initially interpret the look he gives me as one of resignation, but the word doesn’t quite fit. Resignation is a defeat, the world exacting compliance from you against your own wishes. But the man before me is as calm as the night air around him. His wishes are clearly his own. There’s no defeat in his eyes, but something else entirely… peace, maybe.

CLYDE: You know where I’m going Alice.

Clyde speaks softly, a quiet conviction behind every word he says. I briefly glance towards the Wrangler, wondering if I’m really equipped to handle this on my own.

CLYDE: Don’t call Rob. I made a mistake coming back to the rest stop. I shouldn’t have done... please. Just let me go.

AS: Clyde, just wait for tomorrow ok? He’ll understand. He’ll turn us around and take you home.

CLYDE: It won't be home anymore.

Clyde’s gentle stare renders me silent.

CLYDE: Linda had a husband once. He was a good man. Died young. She could never bring herself to go looking again and I… I never found who I was looking for. We’ve been by each other’s side for sixty years. Sixty years. I gotta be honest, even after all we’ve been through, everything you and I have seen, I never felt like I was in a new world until now.

AS: I don’t think I can’t let you do this Clyde.

CLYDE: I’m sorry Alice, but it’s not up to you.

Clyde breathes in the cool night air, exhaling through his nose.

CLYDE: I yelled at her to come back, when she ran off to rob that ice cream parlour. I kept calling out and calling out. I spent so much energy trying to get her to come back to me. After a while I realised she wasn’t coming back… that I’d have to follow her. I should’ve realised it earlier. That’s all I can do.... follow where she goes.

Clyde looks at me, almost apologetically.

CLYDE: Goodbye Alice.

He turns away from the convoy and wanders back down the road.

AS: Clyde.

He turns around one last time.

AS: Do you want company?

It takes roughly an hour for us to walk back to the junction. In the time we have, I’m treated to the story of Bonnie and Clyde. The warmest fragments of their life together, the moments that built them, the waves that rocked them and the places they once called home. I don’t think I’ll ever agree with what Clyde is doing, but the more he talks, the more I understand.

His stories span more than half a century, supported by a transient cast of acquaintances and friends, but at the core of each tale is a pair of siblings who meant the world to one another. The pair existed as two relative souls, quantifiable only in relation to each other. In the absence of one, the remnant was indefinable. A drifting point, unanchored in space.

The story ends just as we reach the junction

AS: I hope she's out there.

CLYDE: I hope so too. Thank you for coming with me, I know it’s late.

AS: No… it’s never a bad time to see a friend off.

Clyde smiles at me one last time before turning to face the road. He steps over the threshold, past the old wooden sign. In the silence of the night, I hear nothing but his soft footsteps and the quiet breeze, which after a few minutes carries the last of him into an open sky.

It’s a long walk back to the convoy. My mind is numb to fear as I make my way through the dark, the corn rustling in the wind beside me.

It’s been four days since I arrived at Rob Guthard’s house, sat down at his table, and listened to him speak about the new world he’d discovered. In that time, I’ve seen things I can’t hope to comprehend, sights that exist beyond the spectrum of our reality. Things I wouldn't have deemed possible.

For all I know there is a Wintery Bay, and Bonnie has already arrived at her house by the sea, standing at the door, waiting with quiet confidence for her brother’s arrival.

I may never know. But I do hope they find each other, wherever they may be.