"𝐒𝐎."
Scout breathed a hesitant sigh, the air puffing out from the slim space between his lips, out into the frigid air in front of him. The little cloud mere inches from his face hovered in place for a few moments, before a sharp gust of wind — far colder, he noticed, then it had been before — swept the little puff of air away, blending in with the frigid weather around them. Even in the warmest of clothing — of which he was glad he had worn, pulling his the sleeves of his sweatshirt over his hands in a small effort to keep them warm — the coldest of winters and the coldest of hearts turns from master to servant; seeping through any layer of cloth to drain the soul.
He knew he should say something, acknowledge Steve in some way at the very least, but he can't make himself open his mouth to do it. Perhaps he was tongue tied, or just not in the mood to speak, but either way, Scout pressed his lips together, silent, staring ahead of them at the same weathered sign he had seen once before — the only exception is that this time, their party is down a member.
And their presence was sorely missed — at least, for the blond, who was yet to keep his thoughts from spiralling back towards their interaction at her house earlier that day. Letitia, raising her voice, her implication. He wanted to wish she were here, getting to the bottom of things together, but part of him whispers that he doesn't get to wish that. No, instead he was stuck simply wishing well for her presence. It wasn't bad, not at all, but it was something that gnaws at him for longer than it should be — wishing, hoping, that they would be able to go back to the little duo they used to be. Back to normal.
Scout had gone to long without speaking, and he could tell even without turning his head that Steve is about to comment on it — something stupid, probably — when he decides to cut him off, right when the Harrington boy's mouth had open and shut without another word, releasing the same puff of air paralleling his own.
"So," he repeated. His gaze fell down to the small pack at their feet. It had been in Steve's car when he first noticed it, also noticing how he had no idea what was in it, zippers zipped and shut tight. It was not unlike his own fanny pack — which, he might add, was still not in his possession. He wondered how long it would be until he got it back.
The town of Night Vale stood below them like they were kings surveying their kingdom. In an unspoken agreement, Steve had maneuvered his car as carefully into the deep forest thicket as possible, thankful for its darker red hue that somewhat disguised it from any eyes that might catch sight of it from the road. Now, they were standing on a small hump of a hill only a block or so away from the outskirts of houses, silent and contemplating, neither uttering a word — until the senior's voice cut through the air like a sword slicing at its opponent, except devoid of any menace or teasing that his words usually contained.
"Do we even have a plan?" he asked hesitantly, as if he wasn't the one who suggested they come over here in the first place. "Shouldn't we like... come up with something?"
Be my guest, Scout wanted to wisecrack, but bit his tongue instead, only nodding on the outside and grumbling to himself on the inside. Really, they should have come up with something long before they even arrived, but such was no communication when neither parties said a word to one another the entire drive. It may have given him time to think about other things — Letitia, the conversation between him and the Harrington boy that now seemed like an entirety ago but stuck out in his mind like a sore thumb all the same — but that also meant that whatever they thought they were going to do in Night Vale was utterly useless. What did they expect? To simply waltz in and ask around about a woman who might not even live there anymore? Yeah, right.
Noticing his doubt, Steve nodded his head in the blond's direction. "Hey," he said, catching Scout's attention. Then, tentatively, "You okay?"
And despite the ground probably being frozen — and would therefore be hell on his ass if he sat down —and the fact he's only wearing a pair of jeans that would no doubt do shit against the rock solid earth, Scout plops down on the ground, attempting to kick up some dirt or grass in the process, but only succeeding in nearly sending himself flying down the hill. He groaned, now on the ground, pulling his legs underneath him and fiddling with a loose string on his sleeve.
To his surprise, Steve sat down too. And even though it's much more coordinated than when he did it, it earned the boy a point in Scout's book, making a mental tally in his head before realizing what he was doing and stopping abruptly; why his first instinct was to keep score was beyond him, but he deemed it irrelevant, instead keeping his gaze at his hands and waiting for the brunette to speak.
But he didn't. One beat of silence after another passes until Scout himself couldn't take it anymore. "So, what's the plan?"
Steve seemed relieved he'd spoken. "The plan?" he repeated. He brought a hand up to the back of his neck, unsure. "I... was sort of thinking you had something in mind..."
There goes the point, Scout bitterly thought. His finger drifted from playing with the string on his sleeve to the dirt on the ground, tracing random shapes and circles as he's deep in thought, only lifting his head to take a good long look at the town in front of them. Finally, he let out an exasperated sigh, longer and deeper and more dramatic than usual, but it suits his mood perfectly all the same. Steve either ignored this or didn't hear it, because he too lifted his eyes to meet Scout's green ones when he noticed he was no longer as somber as before.
Now, he was reinvigorated. He had a plan.
Or part of one, anyway.
He used his finger to draw a makeshift map in the dirt, a simple circle, despite the town's actual geography, doing so according to his perspective — right side up. Steve will just have to try to understand upside down. "Okay, so we're here." He traced a big X on the outside of the circle. "It's a weekday, and nearly five o'clock, so we can probably assume people are gonna be leaving work soon, right?"
"Right," parroted Steve.
"So, we want to be in and out before then. Problem is, we don't know where we're gonna go, you know? Last time, asking someone on the street didn't work out very well — "
"Hey," Steve interrupted defensively, "All I did was ask about Dawn, what's wrong with that — ?"
"Anyway, asking about dead people to random people on the street hasn't worked, so we need to come up with something else," Scout cut in, the corner of his mouth lifting up when he saw the brief pout the brunette made in response. "I don't know about you, but I got nothing. The only thing that comes to mind is maybe seeing if they have a church — we could go inside, quietly talk to a couple people if they're willing. It's discreet too. But I don't know if they even have one, let alone how we're gonna find it."
"It's a small town in Indiana," Steve snorted, "Of course they're gonna have a church. Hell, I'll bet you they have three. Who knows, maybe even murderers want penance for their sins."
"You're on," the blond replied, surprising both himself and his companion with the readiness in his voice. The words were out of his mouth before he could properly think about them, but Steve was already turning and examining the town thoughtfully, leaving Scout no room to take back his words.
Ducking his head and focusing on smoothing the dirt with which he had drawn the makeshift map, Scout did not see one side of Steve's mouth turn up as he looked at him. And yet, the invisible gesture of affection vanished as quickly as it had come, replaced with a shrug that seemed to encompass the brunette's entire upper body, his face wiped clean of emotion, completely devoid of the fleeting moment before.
And so they set off, skidding down the hill as quietly as they could, once grasping each other's forearms for balance when it quickly became apparent that, while the hill itself may not have been very tall, its descent was more difficult than they'd anticipated; the decline was nearly vertical, and the slippery ground made it no easier to descend. At one point, Steve had suggested they slide down on their backsides, to which Scout responded with a puff of air through his nose, trying to concentrate on finding a decent foothold as his companion did the exact same thing, albeit with more muffled swearing under his breath.
It's late afternoon as they finally begin to make their way into the town. He and Steve had been walking in silence since they passed another sign, this one much smaller, but nonetheless threatening. Bullet holes suspiciously littered the metal plate, its olive green paint cracking in some places yet looking brand new in others. The holes seemed to travel in a diagonal direction, getting bigger and bigger until they abruptly stopped within an inch of the edge, the last bullet mark deeper and larger than the rest.
They paid no mind to it.
From above, depleted by the afternoon sun, were the towering street lights that stood like a titan awaiting its next meal. Despite the abundant daylight, they emitted a low hum of electricity that seemed to drone like a swarm of insects coming their way, as if it had to fill the void of the avenue with a reminder — a reminder that they were not alone.
Steve appeared to pick up on this too, rubbing his upper arm to rid himself of the goosebumps that had emerged all over his arms, throwing a nervous glance upward before giving an attempt at a casual shrug. Scout was glad for the small backpack the Harrington boy had brought along, glad for something to clutch and offer safety, even if it was only a lump of cloth.
The two teenagers trekked down seemingly abandoned streets, hiding behind poles and signs whenever people passed by, and it seemed the section of the town they had decided to enter through was obviously less populated than where they had come from during their last visit. Nothing happened for a while, and their nerves began to soothe as not another soul became alerted of their presence — travelling at arm's length from one another, yet close enough to hear each other breathe.
Scout knew this because the abrupt voice of Steve — albeit more hushed than normal, given the circumstances — alerted him.
"Huh?" Scout, who had been staring at his shoes with what he supposed probably looked like ferocious intensity, blinked up to find Steve peering at him with a curious expression.
Steve, for some reason, doesn't appear to be all that fazed. "Whatcha thinkin' about?"
This was a question he was not expecting. "What?" As tempting as it is to focus his gaze back on his shoes, Scout forced himself to stare at Steve with a dumb expression. He can't tell if he's asking because he really wants to know, or if he simply wants the reason as to why the blond hasn't been paying as much attention as he'd previously stressed. Either way, he waited for an explanation, in hopes it would give him an idea what to say in response.
"You spaced out," Steve said, as if that explained everything. He has summoned more volume in his voice this time around, and his right hand swings back and forth by his side as if itching for something to hold.
Scout has no response; part of him is surprised Steve noticed at all. He stuffed his hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt and avoided eye contact. "Was it that obvious?"
"Painfully," Steve told him, but his voice was too strained to achieve the joke. Scout merely nodded and continued to linger, listening for sounds of life where there are none.
This time, it takes a minute for Steve to notice his companion is not by his side, but instead taking his time taking in the street's landscape, the distant sounds of people laughing bearing down upon their own silence like a veiled shadow. Ahead by several paces and making no move to double back, the Harrington boy stood in the middle of the street — out in the open — impatiently waiting for Scout to catch up. He raised a hand and beckoned at the blond, but the movement did not catch his eye. No, Scout's attention was elsewhere.
Night Vale was a ghost town. It was and it shouldn't have been by all logical accounts, but here they were, trudging along block after block without encountering another soul. This was exactly what they'd wanted, and yet Scout can't get it out of his mind that something is very, very wrong.
Steve seemed to know better than to call out what with the distance between them. With an exasperated sigh, he walked back to the blond, who was now twisting around and staring around them as if his gaze was fixated on a bird flying around him, pivoting in place and focusing on the taunting image of a town that was seemingly devoid of life — not a place or a thing of this reality, yet a pocket of time and space that was a sanctuary for lost souls.
But Night Vale was anything but a sanctuary.
"Why are you still standing here, man?" Steve had depleted the distance between them and was now standing a mere few feet away from Scout, one hand shoved into his jean pocket for casualty, the other extended in front of him, palm facing upward toward the sky. Scout quickly shushed him, and Steve, taken back by this reaction, started to speak, only to find the blond diminishing the remaining space between them by hurriedly stepping over and clasping his hand tightly over Steve's mouth.
If Steve hadn't been expecting to be shushed like an elementary teacher before, he certainly was not ready for this. They stood like that for nearly a minute while Scout's eyes darted around them, searching for something that clearly wasn't there. His eyes contained a look that is neither empty nor full, but something in between, as if he's on the verge of discovering something brilliant...but not in a good way. Their position is tense and awkward, but Steve appeared to be the only one noticing it for several seconds, until whatever is attracting Scout's attention has vanished, leaving him with the results of his hurried actions.
For a moment, the two boys stared at each other as if neither know what's going on. Scout's hand was still clamped tightly over the brunette's mouth, leaving the older boy's eyes to swivel back and forth across his captor's face. It wasn't until Scout realizes that Steve was starting to have trouble breathing that he released him, stepping backwards wide-eyed, like he couldn't believe what he just did.
But before either of them could get a word out, they were met with the sound of a twig snapping behind them; loud, despite its size. They jumped, waiting for someone — or something — to materialize before them with bated breath, closer together in that moment full of fear than they had ever been before.
Nothing came. And when nothing happened, Scout's curiosity got the better of him. He hesitantly began to creep in the direction of the sound, despite the whispered protests from the brunette behind him. Just when he was about to peek around the corner, the crunching of autumn leaves on the ground is disturbingly close to where he was standing. Scout froze. Stopped breathing. Listened. And through his tunnel vision, he could now barely make out a shadow, or silhouette only inches from his face.
"Gah!" Scout exclaimed, flailing backward and nearly collapsing on the ground had Steve not been there to steady him. Part of him dumbly acknowledge that they had no weapon, no defensive tool of any kind against their attacker, but just as this thought crossed his mind, the figure revealed itself.
It was a girl.
She was slender and shorter than both the boys by a few inches, but that did nothing to diminish their fear. Brown locks slicked back and formed a bob just above her shoulders, framing her face. There was something about her he couldn't quite place, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. Although her eyes were a dull brown, they burned at the pair in front of her with such intrepidity that it made the uncertainty she so clearly felt invisible. Scout could practically feel their heat boring through his heart like a laser in a poorly made action film — except this time, he is the character faced with a danger, and this is real life.
That is, if danger came in raven-haired teenage girls in turtlenecks.
All three of them stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. The boys shared similar expressions on their faces, like deer in the headlights. Her, because her statuesque demeanor made it seem like she was deciding between startling them or reaching out a hand to shake.
"What are you doing here?"
Her question was met with silence. Nothing about the entire situation could possibly make Scout speak up right now, and judging by the halting breaths of the brunette at his shoulder, Steve clearly felt the same way.
Luckily — or perhaps unluckily — a hand emerged from the shadow behind her and rested on her shoulder. The rest of the figure soon followed, revealing another girl, this one significantly shorter. Her mousy brown hair was stringy and wet as if she'd just climbed out of the sea, parted perfectly in the middle before tucking neatly behind her ears and falling down her back. Pale skin, high cheekbones, and icy blue eyes just a bit too far apart, this girl bears the same denominator as her companion — cold and calculating.
Her hand still placed upon the first girl's shoulder, the second girl surveyed the boys with what was almost an amusing look, as if they were lost puppies that had wandered away too far from home. "Why are you here?"
"Nothing," Steve blurted out, clearly intimated by the girls' presence. And although Scout felt the same way, he couldn't help but shoot him a disappointed look, like 'Really?'. The irony was not lost on him, seeing as how he had berated Scout for doing the exact same thing the first time they were there; evidently, the tables had turned.
"You're lying," the taller of the two said, and it was less of a statement pointing out the fact than a warning. Scout gulped, wondering if they should tell the truth.
"We're here because we want answers," the blond offered, raising his hands and showing them the front and back to indicate he meant no harm (and hopefully so that they wouldn't harm him). He jerked his head in Steve's direction, who was now shooting daggers at him through his peripheral vision. "We just wanna ask about this lady." He motioned for Steve to hold up the photo they had doubled back to copy before leaving, which he did, but not without a scoffing sigh. "Does she live here?"
Both girls took one look at the photograph before sharing a look, causing the boys to share one as well, both of them shrugging at the peculiar behavior in front of them. It looked as though they were having a conversation with nothing but their eyes and facial expressions, and despite the circumstances, Scout couldn't help but stare, fascinated by their silent yet meaningful conversation. Soon, when it appeared like the shorter girl was trying to glare at her companion so hard that it looked like she was about to pop out her eyeballs through sheer will, they reconvened, facing the boys.
"I'm Coraline," the taller of the two said, offering her hand.
Rolling her eyes, the other girl did the same. "Maia. Real pleasure."
Scout took a step forward and grasped his trembling hand to the first girl's — Coraline, he said to himself — and shook it, taken aback by her firm grip and no-nonsense greeting, as if they were adults sealing a business deal. Then he did the same to her friend, who's cold fingers leave a phantom presence on his hand long after they release.
Steve was the first to speak up. "So, do you know who she is?"
Something about his question seemed to throw Coraline off. "Yes and no..." she answered truthfully, "She doesn't live here anyway — moved a while ago."
Steve raised an eyebrow. "And you know her how, then...?"
"Flora's seen her picture on Mr. Macaulay's desk," the shorter girl — Maia — exclaimed, not noticing that neither boy had any idea who this Flora person was, "She likes to joke that she's," — the brunette gestured toward the photograph — "Or was, his lover."
"Was?" Scout repeated.
Maia nodded. "No one's going to tell you anything if you ask," she added dryly, seeing the look of muted excitement on their faces, "We don't kindly to strangers, and in case you hadn't noticed, you stick out like a sore thumb. You're not welcome here; just go home."
Without thinking, the blond said, "No," his voice possessing more volume and authority than he intended. Pleasantly surprised, he tried to use it to his advantage, adding, "We just want to know who she is. All it says is that her name is Jane Doe, and that's literally useless." Feeling as though he were coming on a bit demanding, Scout tried to back track. "Come on, you guys clearly know who she is. Please?"
It was quiet for a moment, almost awkwardly so, and Scout thinks he's said the wrong thing. But then, after exchanging furtive glances between one another, Coraline nodded, despite the look Maia shot at her immediately after.
"What are you thinking?" she hissed, her fingers pinching Coraline's maroon turtleneck sweater, "They're not supposed to be here, you know that. They need to go."
Then, almost in a whisper that nearly gets lost in the breeze, Coraline shook her head, lowering her head and replied. "We are not the enemy here, May. The sooner we help them, the sooner they leave. Isn't that right?"
This was directed at the boys, and they nodded vigorously, as though that were their plan all along. Maia sighed, crossing her thin arms atop her small frame as she watched the boys closely. "Fine. But if we're seen with them, it'll be your fault. I'm not taking the consequences for this."
"You won't have to," Coraline assured her, this time she being the one to place her hand upon the girl's shoulder, "I'm sure whatever it is, it'll be quick." She directs this at Scout, shooting him a glance that seems to say, It better be.
And with that, a truce between them forms. There is no trust, not yet, and there may never will be, but it is a lull of peace all the same. The kind of peace that is created when there is a hidden threat looming above. And while Scout and Steve remained clueless, their escorts were not.
○ ○ ○
Only Scout knew how tired he was. He had no idea about Steve, much less the girls, who give an air that they just might be better off not sleeping for a couple days and they could still easily overtake him. For what seems like the millionth time since they'd met, he reminds himself not to cross them.
One after another, they started to get restless. Well — scratch that. Scout started to get restless, itching to know where they'd been walking towards the last half an hour, growing tired of becoming on high alert every time someone passed why, which was becoming often once work appeared to be letting out for the day. And yet, just when some businesses appeared to be unoccupied — dreading and dark, as though the ticking of a bomb were slowly winding down with no one to hear it — there came a gliding shadow from the depths of darkness he didn't want to understand, averting his eyes as quickly as possible.
It was nearing dusk now, and the frigid air he's sucking into his lungs chills his throat with each breath. A short way ahead to Scout's right are Maia and Coraline, whose heads are so close together as they whisper makes them look like conjoined twins. Every once in a while the former looked back over her shoulder and shot them a look he couldn't quite interpret because, just as soon as it's there, she's turned back around, whispering more furiously to her friend than ever. Scout pretended he doesn't see this each time, but now he's slowly growing tired of the charade.
Although they were long out of earshot, Scout leaned toward Steve and, with a small smile, asked, "Whatcha thinkin' about?"
Clearly startled at the sound of his voice, Steve raised his head, and for a brief moment, stared at him with wide eyes before regaining himself. "Oh, you know." He swung his right leg backwards as if about to kick a ball, and sent a silver rock the size of a quarter soaring in front of them, narrowing avoiding the girls. He shoved his hands in his pocket. "Just taking a walk through Night Vale. Coupla chicks are showing us around, but it's starting to feel like we're following the yellow brick road and there's no pot of gold at the end. The usual."
"Pretty sure you're getting those mixed up," the blond said, but stayed silent, seeing the look on Steve's face. He shouldered the pack on his shoulder — once again wondering what was inside — and waited.
A single, exasperated laugh escaped the Harrington boy. His hand no longer in his jeans pocket, he brought it up in front of his face, concentrating, a fist with ley lines of scars blemishing the skin from fights, none of which he'd won, as Dustin liked to remind him. "I don't know what we're waiting for. We could be doing anything right now, and yet they've been leading us around like we're a tour or some shit. Where're we going? Why hasn't something happened by now? And why the hell does she keep doing that?"
The sound of a raised voice having attracted their attention, the Night Vale girl once again shot them an inexplicable look over her shoulder, only to get Steve's exclamation in response. Their poorly concealed irritation somehow seemed to drift its way over to them, and one scoff from Coraline later — whatever the hell the shorter girl said didn't look like it was sitting right with her — the sweater-glad girl stopped straight in her tracks, folding her arms over her slender form, waiting for the boys to catch up.
When they did, the first words out of her mouth were, "We're here."
And yet, "we're here" means nothing to them. They did not live here, and they didn't possess the familiarity the girls did when it came to the town — and frankly, nor did they want to. So when all Coraline offered was two words that meant very little, it was no surprise when Steve scoffed loudly.
"Oh, we're here," said Steve sarcastically. Once again, his hand clenched at his side, open and close, as though there's something missing from his grip. Rolling his eyes, he continued even louder, "Scout, aren't you so glad we're finally here?"
At this, the brunette gestured toward the clearing in front of them, devoid of houses and people and, most of all, life. The people milling around them — now that it looks like they'll be nearing dusk soon — all seem to have an unspoken understanding not to approach them. When someone even gets remotely close, they make a wide sweep around their little group and move on, as if no one were ever there.
That's not how the cemetery felt right now. For whatever reason, the girls had led them to a cemetary of all places, empty and radiating pity and sadness, like a black hole has settled in the middle of it and fed on everything around it. Standing there, Scout could almost feel his energy literally draining away, as though whatever indivisible entity lives there gained its power from whatever life forms are stupid enough to step within its enclosure.
Unamused, Maia folded her arms over her chest, as if glad to finally have a reason for a challenge. "We did what you wanted, dickhead. This is Flora's usual hangout, not our fault she's not here."
"Ever hear of something called a phone? I've heard it's useful in trying to get in touch with people."
Surprisingly, Coraline was the one to reply. "Thanks, wise ass. But all the phone lines are cut. Pay phones are useless here."
The boys exchanged a look of alarm. "What? Why?"
She shrugged, tucking a rebellious strand of hair behind her ear as she turned to survey the cemetery in search of her other friend. "That's just how things work here." She gave them a pointed look. "Night Vale isn't like Hawkins, as I'm sure you've noticed."
"Yeah, it's way fucking creepier," Steve whispered close to Scout's ear.
"I heard that," a voice called out. Not belonging to either of the two girls in front of them, both of them jump, swiveling around to find the source of the disembodied voice, but coming up empty as they scanned the vacant cemetery, eyes wide. To their surprise — and frustration — Maia and coraline remained unfazed, merely observing the boys with raised eyebrows and chuckles.
A presence seemed to have materialized into thin air. A girl with bright white hair and lipstick as red as the new Converse sneakers she wore, she emerged behind an enormous maple tree not too far away, despite the cemetery — save for their little group — being entirely empty only moments before. Startled, but now seeing there was nothing to fear, Scout sighed in relief as she approached them, a merry skip in her step. There was something about her that he couldn't quite place...
And then, it hit him. It was the girl who had spoken to Mr. Macaulay the first time they had been in Night Vale. There had been an envelope in her hand, he recalled, one that she'd handed to the mayor without a second thought; one that he'd tucked away without a trace.
Rather proud of himself for remembering, Scout was just about to mention this to Steve when the girl was there, slightly out of breath and greeting Maia and Coraline like they were old friends. The boys hung back, suspicious, although the blond couldn't help but crack a grin at the way she presented herself, as though she knew she was weird and embraced, because that was what she liked.
"Jesus, Flora, we've been looking all over for you," Maia muttered, holding out her arms for an embrace, to which the white-haired girl — Flora — complied. Scout and Steve shared a look of surprise, but stayed silent. "Where the hell've you been?"
This Flora girl simply answers, "Around." The girls seem to take this as an acceptable answer, but Scout didn't buy it, narrowing his eyes as he surveyed the girl once more with this new information in mind.
The white-haired girl moved to Coraline, who grinned, both launching into a quick handshake that the blond could only guess could consist; their motions were an impressive blur that ended before he could get a proper look. Judging by the scoff coming from beside him, Steve thought the same thing, and Scout made a mental note to tell Letitia in the future.
Flora didn't say anything about the boys at first, but couldn't keep her silent act together any longer thanks to her curiosity. "So who's this?" she asked brightly, shoving her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket and gesturing toward them.
Scout didn't even get to finish opening his mouth to introduce themselves before she cut him off. "You're not from Night Vale," Flora said, her deposition darkening until she spared a glance at the other two girls opposite them, who somehow gave a nod that seemed to have more meaning than any explanation. The white-haired girl nodded and lightened, and albeit clearly still wary, reached out a hand.
"Flora," she said. He grasped her hand, styled by how cold it was, like he was holding a snowball instead of human flesh. Her fingers even more so, bones cracking like a well-lit fire as they move up and down in motion, as though even the slightest of movements would break them.
Scout merely responded with a nod until he remembered himself, adding, "Scout." His gaze ducked to the ground as hers lingered on him a moment longer before doing the same to Steve, who clearly has no problems with a simple handshake and introduction, which he demonstrates now with one of his classic easy smiles toward the girl — even here, Steve Harrington is in character.
"Tell her why you're here," the taller girl instructed, raising an eyebrow expectantly at the brunette until he understood, fumbling for the photograph they had brought. The Harrington boy held it up at eye level for everyone to see, and Flora squinted at it in deeper concentration than he would have thought necessary. Finally, she nodded.
Flora looked ahead, over the tops of their heads and into the distance toward something he didn't quite understand before her eyes settled back on the boys, curious. "And you want to know who she is?"
Surprised, the boys shared a look. "How did you know?" Steve asked, tucking the photograph out of sight.
The girl shrugged. "Not that hard to guess," she claimed. Looking over to her friends for approval — to which they responded with strangely coordinated nods — Flora pursed her lips, then nodding her own agreement. "Alright. I'll help you. But," she added quickly, seeing their elated expressions, "No one hears about this, alright? If anyone asks, you found it all on your own — I don't know if you're like, bright, but for your sake, I hope that's the vibe you wanna be giving off."
For the first time, Scout smiled since arriving in the town, thankful at the girl before him. "Thank you," he managed.
She responded with a smile of her own, her bright red lips stretching into a mischievous grin. "You're welcome."
"Hey, thanks." Both hands now unoccupied and free to roam, Steve once again bewilders the blond by pretending to take the white-haired girl's hand in his, ignoring the snickering storm brewing by Maia and Coraline just a few feet away. They seem to know something he doesn't — like how he's making a fool out of himself.
And yet, Flora was every bit as polite as ever, despite only knowing the girl for less than two minutes. That grand total's getting increasingly high at this point, though, as she began to lead them somewhere deeper within the town towards more familiar territory, all the while interacting with the Harrington boy with that easy smile. Just like that, Scout decided she had his respect — perhaps not trust; not yet — and watched, amused, wondering how she was going to handle the former school royalty, so used to girls swooning over him.
"You're sweet," she said simply, eliminating his smooth (as if) access to her hands by tucking them into her jacket pockets. "But you're not my type. Sorry."
And although Scout knew there was never a chance, his heart both sank and swelled, for additional reasons not at play. Disappointed, Steve ran his tongue over his bottom lip in thought, then ran a hand through his hair. "Not saying I'm interested... but is it 'cause I'm from Hawkins and not this hell hole?"
"Careful what you're calling hell-hole, Harrington," Maia warned, quick to refute. "We're the ones doing you a favor. I don't think you're capable of finding the mayor's office on your own, are you?" Silence. "Yeah. I didn't think so."
"The mayor's office," the blond murmured, recalling their last visit, "Is that where we're going?"
Coraline was the only one to speak up. "Yeah. Mr. Macaulay's probably making his usual rounds by now, so if we're quick, we can get to his office and you can find whatever you're looking for without being seen." A moment's pause, then, "It's got to be quick, though, alright? He doesn't usually leave his things unattended."
"Why are you helping us?" Steve asked abruptly, clearly keeping Maia in mind. If this is his way of starting a fight, then his strategy is clearly working, for even Flora raises an eyebrow at his boldness. Scout wants to pinch the bridge of his nose in preparation of the inevitable headache that will ensue, but raises his head instead, curious to hear which of the girls will speak first.
"Because." Flora gathers her thoughts first, her hoarse voice splintering through the noise of town as easily as if it were silent. "Our town may not be normal under, well, normal circumstances... and you don't know it yet, but you're going to get someone hurt. Maybe even yourselves if you don't drop it. But if you're set on coming, then there's nothing we can do to change your minds — but the least we can do is make sure you're not as painfully obvious," she added.
"We're not bad people," Flora said quietly, more to herself than anything. The wind picks up, as though it doesn't want them to hear. "The sooner you find what you're looking for... the sooner you can leave."
Scout nodded. "We just want to find some answers," he said, hoping it didn't sound as cheesy as he felt saying it, "That's it. To be honest, I don't really want to be here as much as you don't want me to."
And just like that, he knows he's blown it. What is he thinking, saying something like that? As true as it might be — and believe him, he meant every word — he should have known they're already treading on thin ice and his words certainly aren't helping their tour guides want to continue helping them. Steve's sharp inhale was clear as day, even through the wind quickly picking up around them, and he bit his lip, waiting for the verdict.
To his surprise, it didn't come. Instead, Scout was met with begrudging looks of respect on all three of the girls' faces. He breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing they needed was to be left alone in the middle of Night Vale with no idea where to go — or worse, residents who hated their guts and knew of their intentions for being there.
"Mr. Macaulay's office isn't far," Coraline announced. Her hand has drifted back to Maia, and their fingers are centimeters from touching, like magnets trying to resist their natural magnetic charge. The blond pretended not to notice.
"We were there last time," the Harrington boy told them, as though proud of this knowledge for some reason. His high-and-mighty tone earned him a snort, but this did little to deter him. "Small, grey, actually normal-looking?"
"You could literally be describing anywhere, but okay," Maia commented. Somehow, this brings a tiny smile out of her, and the brunette grins, seeing it.
"Not in Hawkins," Steve declared, his tone Herculean, and he ran a hand through his hair yet again, proud of himself. And somehow, this makes Scout smile too, unaware — but not to their companions, who, mercifully, choose not to bring it up.
"Or Night Vale," the blond quipped, much quieter than he intended. It's meant for Steve, this remark, and when it generates the smirk he's looking for, Scout lowers his gaze, a proud blush creeping its way onto his cheeks.
Perhaps it's the muffled sounds of people ever nearby — yet never coming quite reaching his ears like sound really should and most certainly does back home — or the fact that they're no longer alone and unsure of what to do, but nonetheless, the tense feeling in his stomach begins to unravel like a cat playing with a big ball of yarn. And just as he thinks his thoughts couldn't get any more complicated, he's reminded of his mother.
It's the ring that gets him thinking at first. The questions that keep coming with no real answers to settle them, the doubts that swim around in his mind about that little piece of jewelry that has caused him so much trouble. And just like that, the knot tightens even stronger than before, because if there's anything Scout hates more than anything, it's thinking of his mother.
Isabelle Murphy — née Carter —had been an enigma no one could solve — or so he'd been told. His father often liked to say that he was the one who'd gotten her in the end, the big bad boy that had caught her eye in a sea of others in school, but now he's not so sure. A free spirit, that's what he thinks. A woman who surveyed her options and had chosen the one that made her feel the best compared to all the others; someone who could get her what she wanted right then and there. Someone who made her feel like the apple in her eyes, but did nothing to return the gesture.
Of course, he doesn't really know this. But he can guess. It doesn't take a genius to speculate why his father is so much younger than the rest of everyone else his age, either, and between Clark's drunken stupors and the rumors around town, the blond knows his existence isn't exactly planned. Even after a decade of knowing it, he still doesn't quite know what to make of the information. When things were tough, he'd certainly thought of what it would be like to simply... not exist — and even when they weren't, the thought still bugged him, because it was a question he could never seem to shake.
"There," Flora announced suddenly, and the abrupt authority in her voice is enough to break Scout out of stupor. She pointed to the familiar pebble-colored building only a few meters in front of them. "The back door's probably locked — it usually is — but it's fine."
"Fine...?" Scout echoed, turning his head to look over at the white-haired girl with a puzzled look, "What d'you mean, fine —"
She shushed him, silencing him with a mere look as she grabbed his hand, still cold as ice, in hers, pulling him along with her as she scurried across the parking lot, dodging the singular car parked there. Then, she reached up into her bleached hair and pulled out a bobby pin, grinning as she knelt down and began to work on the lock.
By then, the girls had joined them, Steve in tow, as they all watched Flora fiddle with the door handle, jiggling the pin this way and that until, miraculously, there came a victorious click! Flustered and triumphant, she stood, brushing strands of bright white hair out of her face and pinning the hair accessory back into place.
"Nice," Scout commented quietly.
The girl grinned. "Why, thank you."
A frigid cold settled between the group, and not just from the temperature. The blond is too busy watching Flora cautiously turn the knob, slowly, to make sure it didn't make a sound, but the change does not go unnoticed by their companions. Maia and Coraline share a look that's no doubt meaningless to everyone else but them, and the Harrington boy does little to remedy the tense feeling that washes over him at the sight of Scout sharing a smile with Flora. He brushes it off, without knowing its source.
And then they're in. Flora moves first, crouching with her hand flat on the ground to steady herself as she listened before looking over her shoulder and nodding to the rest of the group. As Steve and the girls began to trickle in — leaving the door slightly ajar with small rock; Scout hoped that anyone inside the building wouldn't notice the inevitable cold draft — she pressed a single pale finger to her lips. They understood immediately; while it was almost certain there were going to be people on the premises — and even if there weren't -- they were to be silent and still... not a soul was to know of their presence, and Night Vale had an uncanny ability to detect when people meddled in places they did not belong.
Finding Mr. Macaulay's office was a joke — unlike the rest of town, there are no winding paths or stairways that descend to nowhere, or even a false door; no, instead he follows Flora to the same plated door that reads "MAYOR MACAULAY" in large bold letters, pressing against the wall as much as he could in order not to be in sight of the waiting room in front of them. He hadn't noticed that last time, he thinks, but disregards it as the white-haired girl tries the doorknob; to their surprise, it swings open easily, devoid of protest in the form of a lock or a squeaky hinge — silent as a tomb.
Now, with the door safely closed, they begin to relax ever so slightly. "Okay, we're in," whispered Flora, looking expectantly at the two boys, "What now?"
Scout caught a glimpse of Steve in the reflection of the pristine glass windows that cover an entire wall from floor to ceiling beside them. He's met with a look that mirrors his exactly, down to the tense shoulders and facial expression that looks like they're about to get jumped any minute. And honestly? Right now, that might be exactly what happens.
He doesn't hear himself say it, but he knows he must have, though, because all three of the girls' heads snap over to him with identical looks of disbelief and frustration — even mellow Flora. When they turn seeking confirmation — or rather, hopefully denial -- in the form of Steve, he only confirms it in the form of an embarrassed nod, which is so out of character for him that Scout's gaze lingers on him for a fraction of a moment before snapping back to the matter at hand.
"What do you mean, you don't know?" Coraline repeated, and Scout suddenly gets the feeling that he's being chewed out by a usually nice teacher. At least he has the audacity to look down, whereas the brunette at his side peers at them right in the eye, as though asking for a challenge.
"In our defense, we really didn't think we'd get this far," Steve admitted. That much is true, at least. Even when he was supposedly coming up with that "grand plan" back on the hill — spoiler alert: bullshit — Scout still wasn't sold on the idea of coming to Night vale in the first place. If he were more of an optimist, he might argue that it's worked out so far, but he knows better. Something's going to go wrong. It always does.
Maia huffed, "I cannot believe we helped you get this far and you two have no idea what you're doing."
The blond grinned in spite of himself. "Sounds like me in a nutshell."
Luckily, the joke had its intended effect. The girls collectively breathed a laugh — even if Maia only does so through her nose, as though she refused to give him the satisfaction of making her laugh — and the tension from the imaginary balloon releases just a little. And although they're clearly still not happy about their guests' execution, the Night Vale girls leave the subject be, much to the blond's relief.
Flora appeared to be talking again. "He keeps the photograph of the woman you're looking for underneath his desk. It used to be on top, but I think he caught me looking at it one time. It's not very subtle, to be honest. Oh, and stay away from the windows — which is probably some good general advice. You know the saying, 'when a door closes, a window opens.'"
"Um, I'm pretty sure that's not how the saying goes."
"Yeah, what that hell does that mean?"
All she does is wink. Then, a cryptic, "The contractor did a terrible job."
Either he's far more tired than he thought or Flora had officially gone crazy. He doesn't even want to know where that saying is coming from, nor does he want to ask for a clarification, for fear the explanation is even more confusing — or just plain creepy — than the first one she had to offer.
Steve, on the other hand, was not, voicing exactly what the blond was thinking. "You guys are actually crazy." It's painfully clear his voice has a wary edge on it.
"Or," Coraline offered, her voice slightly muffled from where she was attempting to pry something from the bottom of the mayor's desk, "It's like, 'When a door closes, a window opens. Then so do all the other doors and windows. The house is alive, it doesn't know you, and worst of all: it's scared. Those who don't know... better RUN!"
At the last word, she lunged backwards, reaching for Scout's arm and clinging to it, with a dull thump!, her fingertips far warmer than he expected, especially compared with Flora's chilling touch. It blooms into a heat that rivals the breath of a dragon, spreading from his forearm all the way to the tips of his fingertips, almost making him drop the stack of papers he's trying to rifle through. "What the hell, Coraline!"
The sound of her name seems to humble her, and she shoots him an apologetic smile, albeit sheepishly. "Just wanted to check to see if you were paying attention — on guard, if you will. Sorry." She didn't look very sorry.
"Hard not to be in this town," he mumbled, rubbing his forearm until the feeling begins to dissipate. "Can we just go back to searching for stuff? Please?"
Scout cringed as he took in the various expressions he could see around him. Coraline seemed to understand she'd overstepped and returned to struggling to pry off something from the underside of the desk, while Steve and Flora were pouring over the manila files behind the royalty-esque swivel chair merely a few feet ahead of him. And although he can't quite see their faces, it's their ambience that calms him down; they are focused on their work, and he should be too.
Aside from the occasional shuffle of paper and the creaking of floorboards beneath them — even before Flora's peculiar abnormal warning, it was safer to stay low anyway; they didn't want to risk anyone seeing them from outside — it was silent in the office while they searched, careful not to disturb things too much, lest the mayor notice... or whatever creepy sentient entities Coraline was hinting at before. He still didn't really understand what that was all about.
All in all, Scout decided it could be worse. They're safe, at least for now, and they even had three people who were willing to guide them so they wouldn't get lost — sure, not exactly their words, but whatever reason they want to give in their own words can really be all that far off. All he knows is they're on their way to finding some answers, and he, for one, couldn't wait to get his hands on them.
"I got something!" Steve whispered excitedly, scooting over to Scout's side, manila folder in hand. For something as boring as your average file folder, he sure seems to be worked up about it, ramming his knuckles into the blond's leg over and over until he finally looks up.
"God, quit it!" Scout exclaimed, shoving Steve's hand away from him; the nudging was beginning to get painful. This earned him a quiet chorus of shhh's! from the girls, but he ignored it, eager to see what he had dug up.
The Harrington boy furiously thumbed through the portfolio until Maia warned that, if he kept it up, he was sure to tear more than a page or two. The adhesive tab was not as pristine as Scout expected it to be, but rather a hastily scribbled name is hardly legible on the plastic.
Lucinda Nias.
The name isn't familiar to him, not at first. But as Steve continued to flip through the file much more slowly, giving them time to take in its contents, it's all Scout can do not to gasp.
It's Letitia's mother.
There's no mistaking it, he'd know that woman anywhere. So does everyone else in Hawkins too, since it seems every single person in town disapproves of her marriage to Mr. Thompson, a mild white guy who brushes all the insults and rumors that get thrown at him with an easygoing smile. He's always said that he married Lucinda — or Cindy, as Scout and everyone else knows her; the blond hadn't even been aware that wasn't her real name — for love, societal expectations be damned. And yet, as much as he wants to ignore what people have to say about their intermarriage, other people do too, and it could never be said small towns didn't talk.
Especially when it came to things like this.
Not to mention Letitia didn't have it easy either. Not quite belonging here nor there, Scout knew how hard she tried to get people to accept her, even simply at school. He'd been there for most of it. Even a few teachers had put in their two cents, once even in front of the brown-skinned girl herself. Needless to say, the road to justice for that particular offence had been short and fruitless. But, as her parents often said, at least they tried. And it was on record.
Scout couldn't get the image out of his eyes. It remained in his mind's eye, burned into his retinas, even after Steve had long turned the page. There she was, the woman who had welcomed him into his home and offered him lemonade countless times before, a younger version of herself who had earned an entire file personally owned by the mayor. She is the Jane Doe they were so intent on finding, and now that they had, he really wished they hadn't.
What did Letitia's mother of all people have anything to do with the mayor of Night Vale? As far as he knew, she had come to Hawkins at the tender age of twenty-one, either looking for a small town to settle down in or... Well, if he's being completely honest, he's not quite sure. He doesn't know much about the woman other than the brief conversations they shared whenever he went over to her house to hang out with Tisha. Scout was pretty sure the longest exchange they'd ever had was the usual implication that he and her daughter might be boning in her room. Although, some small part of her must know it's not really true, because on the off chance that the door slam shut from the breeze — Scout insisted they keep it ajar to be polite, the last thing he wanted was for his best friend's parents to hate him — she was never around to poke her head around the door to remind them, or even check under the guise of offering them snacks. All in all, Cindy — Lucinda, he reminded himself — was no different than all the other moms in Hawkins; stay-at-home career, bridge, if not a little nosy, but then again, who wasn't?
In the stillness of the moment, the girls still concentrating on reading the file, Scout was the only one who heard it. He sucked in his breath, now ten times more terrified than he'd been before as he willed his heart to stop beating quite so loud in order to hear. "Did you guys hear that?"
All he gets in response is the same shake of the head from all four of them, Steve's eyes still glued to whatever Mr. Macaulay has stored in that file. And although he was desperate to know what could possibly be inside, the blond's attention was fixated on the noise that gradually seemed to be getting louder.
" — but thank you, Dana. Did you happen to hear from that number I was expecting a call from?"
Whatever the reply, Scout was now only interested in one thing: hiding. The girls seemed to have the same idea first, as they were engrossed in frantically trying to put everything back the way it was before it was too late. Steve had finally stopped staring at the file, but only because Maia was desperately trying to pry the folder out of his hands, trying to get him to put it back where it was. Before he knew it, a brief scuffle between them broke out, despite the Harrington boy having a good seven inches of height alone on her. The girl didn't seem willing to give up without a fight, however, and neither did he, because it wasn't until they achieved a horrifying riiiiip! that they stopped fighting, staring in panic at the photographs they had managed to rip clean in two.
"Just leave it!" Coraline hissed, glaring at Maia as she grabbed the girl's hand and tugged her toward the corner of the office, as if the area where the two walls met would provide some sort of cover. Their eyes met for a moment, and Scout could almost swear it reminded him of the face of a corned animal: trapped, fearful. About to be in the kind of trouble that might just cost your life.
In the moment that it takes Scout to hurriedly shove the papers he was examining back into the storage box beneath the desk, the corner of his eye just barely registered a glimmer of light he mistakened for a ray of sun coming from the window; when he turned back the next second, there they were — a pair of old oak doors, having suddenly appeared out of nowhere, now standing straight and tall in the middle of one of the office's walls.
"What the f — !"
Before he could even finish, a blur of pale skin clamps over Scout's mouth, and now he understands how Steve must have felt before. All as one terrified cooperative body, all five of them scurried to the door, where Coraline reached for the handle... And the next thing he knew, they were outside, falling backwards on the frozen ground, the doors nowhere in sight.
And perfect timing, too. For that very moment, just as the blond was still trying to process how exactly they'd gone from there to here, Mr. Macaulay's unmistakable gait found its way into his office, where he made his way straight to the phone on his desk, oblivious of the intruders.
Or so they thought.
By the time he'd recovered enough to hear what the mayor was saying, it appeared as though he had missed the important parts, but he listened nonetheless.
" — Yes, yes, you'll be getting the shipments just as we discussed. Yes, right on schedule, of course. Don't worry, my good friend... if all goes to plan — and rest assured, it most certainly will — there will be no reason for things not to work out in your favor. I guarantee it."
He wants to hear more of this. More of whatever the mayor has to say to the person on the phone, listen in however possible. But of course, it isn't; not in the slightest. One more step to the man's left and he'd be stupid not to notice the five teenagers huddle together uncomfortably close, waiting with bated breath until it's safe to move. The time comes less than a minute later, and the blond puffed his cheeks out in a sigh of disappointment, then relief. He grabbed the offered arm in front of him, not bothering to look up to see who it belonged to and allowed himself to be tugged away, crouching while running just to make sure. Then, it truly is a relief when they were a safe distance away, a small grove of trees beyond the parking lot giving them the perfect cover.
Steve was the first one to speak. "Thank you," he said, directing this to Maia in particular. Whatever the reason behind the boy's demeanor, she seems to understand, and nods, curt as ever.
"Yeah... Thank you, really." Scout honestly didn't know what else to say. With the information he'd just absorbed, his mind felt as though he were trapped in a perpetually cloudy day: foggy, humid, and nowhere to breath. Luckily for him, he's somewhat used to the feeling — just nothing at this level.
"Do us all a favor and don't come back," Flora teased. She paused, as though expecting them to be mad at her for her comment, but it's hard to take her comment to heart when she was practically grinning from ear to ear.
"You couldn't pay me to come back here," the blond reassured her with a shudder, although he smiled in spite of himself. Looking everywhere around them but the girls in front of him, Scout wrings the back of his neck with a hand and, a moment later, went very, very quiet.
If his silence strikes them as odd, no one in their little group mentions it, going back to talking about — Well, he didn't know, really. His mind is preoccupied and crammed; just one when thought makes its exhibition, another equally eager one takes its place, leaving little to no place for trivial things like common sense. It takes him a moment to try and tune in again, and when he does, chills run up and down his arms.
Maia appeared to be talking. "For everyone's sake, I hope you found what you're looking for."
Just when he's trying to process this, Coraline swooped in with her own odd tidbit of wisdom under the guise of embracing Scout good-bye. Except this time, her words leave a frightened feel in the air after she says them, like it's a premature warning. "Be careful," she quietly whispered in his ear. His heart feels as though it's about to stop right then and there. "Bad things happen when you wander places you don't belong."
When they pushed away, his mind ordered his body to fall in line, hoping that his face was the complete opposite as he felt. Expressionless — that's what he needed to be. It's the only thing he allows himself to be focused on right now, and so he allowed himself to be led away by the Harrington boy, away from the girls, towards home. Familiar territory. He is relieved, and oh, so tired. His heart is hammering so much to the point where it's almost painful, but keeps his gait casual with no hint of hesitation, relieved Steve doesn't seem to be in the mood to talk either.
As they walked back, a mist began to settle upon them as though it had all been some magical daydream, caccooing their figures until they had unconsciously moved closer together than they had ever been before, their hands mere inches apart and in grace danger of grazing if they were not careful.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Scout, u homosexual disaster. I feel u
anyway, I think congratulations are in order! as of this chapter (which is an even 10.8k words, whew) you, the reader, have read over twenty thousand words of night vale!! a pretty cool milestone if i do say so myself, and we're only halfway there!
I hope you enjoyed!