"Maybe we're just trying too hard
When really it's closer than it is too far"
— Sum 41
Alright. Let's rewind—one last time.
It was in the early hours of Friday, November 24, 2023 and Rufus was trying to remain calm and collected during his web-call with The Prince, as he attempted to keep the situation with Samuel and the missing orphans close to his chest.
"Yes," Rufus said. "I promise I'll answer all of your questions when that time comes. You have my word."
"You've given me no reason to doubt it," Vincent retorted. "So for now, I'll let it be."
"Thank you," Rufus said as his shoulders relaxed. "I'll talk to you later, Your Highness."
"I'm looking forward to it, Mr. Spencer."
As Rufus ended the web-call, Vincent firmly gripped the sides of the standing desk while he went through his course of action in his head. He knew he had to assess the situation at Rufus' grandmother's house. He knew he would need Lena to make sense of it all. And he knew he was running out of time.
Vincent quickly tapped on the laptop keyboard and clicked the contacts icon on Rufus' Gmail account. Thoughts started to swirl and Vincent focused on an In Touch interview he had read from August 10, 2015, where the interviewer asked about Rufus' upbringing. The then 9-year-old Rufus Spencer spoke a great deal about his grandmother, Renèe. She was Rufus' first and greatest fan. They spent a lot of time together while Savannah completed her academic career at Rice University. "Gran'Renèe" was the one who taught Rufus how to read music, how to improvise a clever diddy, and how to belt out a high note, using the diaphragm instead of straining the voice at the throat. She was also a fount of knowledge of all things encompassed by the realm of theater; she had been a performer in her younger years and there were certain life skills she attained that she, in turn, passed down to Rufus—things like effective communication and what it takes to get there, confidence and where to find it, and adaptability, arguably the most important lesson of them all.
Then, Vincent found what he had been looking for—Gran'Renèe's address, which was in a small subdivision in Richmond, about 30 miles southwest of Downtown Houston, a place known as "The Grove".
Without thinking twice, Vincent took out his cell phone and called Lena.
She picked up, groggy and irritated. "When I find you, I'm going to kill you. Do you have any idea what time it is?"
"Yes, I do and I'm sorry, but this is important," Vincent replied as he zoomed in on the map which held the directions to Gran'Renèe's modest home. "Do you have anything going on today? I really need your help."
Lena tried clearing her throat of the morning phlegm. "I promised my mother that I'd go with her for a mani/pedi, but other than that, I'm in the clear. What's going on?"
"I'll tell you when I see you," Vincent said. "Go back to sleep."
Around noon, Vincent caught an Uber out to Clear Lake, specifically to a small strip mall off Scarsdale where Scotty's Pub stood—the rendezvous point that Lena had texted to him a couple hours earlier. Inside the dimly-lit dive bar, pool tables dotted the floor and electronic dart boards took up a good portion of the wall space. Vincent walked up to Lena, who was sitting at the bar, tapping her newly-finished nails on the wooden surface.
"You take me to the strangest places, you know that?" Vincent said, taking the barstool next to Lena.
"What can I say?" Lena replied after taking a sip of her G&T. "I like places with character."
The bartender approached the two of them with a wide, welcoming smile. "Hi there, Rufus. It's been a long time."
Vincent shifted in his seat a little. "Yes. Yes, it has. How have you been?"
"Oh, you know, it's the same ol' song and dance—trying to make a dollar out of fifty cents."
"Hey, Kristin," Lena said, mixing her drink with her straw. "Can you make us up a plate of those fabulous Disco Fries?"
Kristin grinned. "Sure thing, Lena. Lemme tell Joel to get that going."
"Thanks, you're a peach," Lena replied. As the bartender walked away, Lena turned to Vincent. "So, what did you need help with?"
"Well, I spoke to Rufus last night and—"
"Oh, my God, how's he doing?" Lena interjected.
"Honestly, he sounded a little distracted and off-balance. It was strange."
"Hmmm... I wonder what's going on over there."
"As do I."
"I'm sorry, I went off on a little bit of a tangent there. So, you spoke to Rufus and...?"
"He told me that we might find something in his grandmother's house. He also told me it was a bit of a wreck and if I wanted to start digging, I should first get you to agree to help."
"Wow," Lena said, leaning back on her stool. "'The White Whale'..."
Vincent was confused. "Excuse me?"
"Gran'Renèe's house—it's my White Whale," Lena explained. "I've always wanted to sort through all of the stuff that had accumulated over the years and then organize it in a way where things have a home, but they're still easily accessible. And I wanted to create a time-lapse video of the entire process, but after she lost her battle with breast cancer, I didn't think it was appropriate to bring it up."
"Well, it's appropriate now," Vincent replied. "We have got to make some headway because the clock's ticking. Savannah actually pulled me aside this morning and told me that they've fast-tracked the hearing; We have until December 22ᴺᴰ. If we don't find anything, it's game over."
"Let's get to it, then," Lena said encouragingly. "But, first, we feast on Disco Fries."
Kristin came over and set down a plate of piping hot french fries, tossed in garlic, parmesan, and truffle oil, then served up with a proprietary secret sauce and a runny fried egg.
"That smells amazing," Vincent said as he started to salivate.
"I know, right?" Lena replied. "This is the most delicious heart attack you will ever taste."
After the Disco Fries quickly disappeared, Lena drove Vincent out to The Grove, a place where children played roller hockey in the culs-de-sac and the neighbors were—well—neighborly. Lena's Tesla pulled up to a two-story house on Tanglewild Lane, which had all its doors and windows boarded up with sheets of plywood that had been vandalized with artwork which was actually quite good. Vincent pulled off the sheet of plywood covering the front entrance and stepped inside to see exactly what had been described to him—a boatload of miscellaneous crap that had been put into piles that nearly touched the ceiling. Everything from old issues of magazines to frivolous tchotchkes, stacks of CD-R's in transparent jewel cases to shoeboxes filled with ticket stubs, photographs, and love letters from long ago. The sheer volume of things that would have to be sorted was a daunting task.
"Alright, Moby, let's do this," Lena said as she rubbed her hands together.
Vincent watched as Lena set up her camera on its tripod just before positioning her ring light so that it would eliminate the most shadows. Once she started recording, she began sorting things into categories—trash, keep, and "what the hell is this?" Many of the hoarded items were certainly trash and those items were immediately shoved inside large, black garbage bags which were thrown in the backyard, right next to a rusty, red swing set.
Vincent cleared off a buried antique upright piano, manufactured by Ivers & Pond back in 1924. The Prince lifted the mahogany fall, the folding wooden piece which covers the ivory keys. He pressed down on "Middle C", but the only thing he heard was the crunching sound of plastic. Vincent then opened the lid and found something he'd never thought he'd find, especially in someone's grandmother's house.
"Hey, Lena—check this out. Is this what I think it is?" Vincent asked as she skipped over.
Lena looked inside the piano which was filled with a bountiful supply of Ziploc bags, all stuffed with something that looked like oregano, but the smell was a little skunky.
"Yep," Lena replied. "That's marijuana. I'm telling ya, Gran'Renèe was so God-damn cool."
After a few more hours of sorting and discarding, Vincent came across a banker's box filled with these plastic things which looked like miniature floppy disks.
"Lena," Vincent said as he held up one of the disks. "Any idea what these are?"
Lena stepped over carefully, trying not to accidentally knock over one of the many precarious piles of junk. She took the disk from Vincent and turned it over in her hand. "Oh, my God. Yeah, I know exactly what this is; it's a Sony MiniDisc. Rufus used to record himself for hours on end using these. I haven't seen one in forever. They're kinda like Betamax or LaserDisc or HD DVD. They had a short marketing run and were ultimately taken down by a better or more popular alternative—like VHS, DVD, and Blu-Ray.
"There's got to be at least 200 MiniDiscs in this box," Vincent said, thinking about the countless hours of music he held in his hands. He started wrapping his head around the number. "This—just this—is over 11 days of listening. How are we supposed to go about this? We're going to run out of time."
"Hey... Hey!" Lena exclaimed as she grabbed Vincent at the chin, turning his face toward her. "Take it one step at a time. We can't afford a discouraging outlook. We must stay positive. We can do this, Prince Vince. We can do this."
Vincent breathed in deep and allowed his entire body to relax. He took the MiniDisc player from the nearby shelf and put on the attached Sennheiser headphones. He listened to the riffs and solos Rufus had recorded as he started to sift through a mountain of laundry atop several cardboard boxes and plastic totes. He found decorations for every holiday celebrated in America. From Thanksgiving to Easter, St. Patrick's Day to Mardi Gras, Gran'Renèe had it all.
By Thursday, December 21, 2023, Vincent and Lena had thoughtfully sorted through about ¾ of Gran'Renèe's possessions, coming up short as far as contesting evidence goes. Lena was curled up in a corner, passed out from sheer exhaustion while a DiscMan with 30-Second ESP played on. Vincent sat on the piano bench with a box-full of Rufus' old journals, looking through each of them with the hopes of finding hand-written music with a date that would precede Tyson's recording. The Prince had been awake for a little over 72 hours by this point and he could feel himself drifting in and out. Soon, his body would take complete control, allowing his mind to rest and recover.
"Hello, my angel..."
Vincent looked all around. That voice—it felt so familiar. "Lena, is that you?"
"You look tired and burdened, Vincent. Try to relax."
Vincent looked around once more, but this time, as he spun in place, he turned to face the elegant and poised woman who haunted his father's study—Queen Tabitha.
"Mum?"
"Hello, sweet child of mine," she said with a warm smile.
Vincent shook his head and rubbed his eyes. "This isn't possible. You're not real. You're a hallucination caused by sleep-deprivation. That's all you are."
"Oh, honey, do you really think you can logic your way out of this? I'm here for a reason. I'm here to show you the way."
"Show me the way? What does that even mean?"
Queen Tabitha brought her forefinger to her lips. "Shhh... we don't have much time."
"What do you mean?"
"You've been searching and searching for something vitally important, something that would solve the looming problem, but you're forgetting something crucial."
"Which is?"
"You've held the answer all along."
"What? No—the answer is somewhere in this dumpster fire of a home. I just have to keep looking."
"Vincent, please, calm yourself and really think about the predicament. Think about the things that are important to Rufus and use that as a jumping off point."
"Things that are important to Rufus? I mean, although it can be strained at times, his relationship with Savannah is important. And I suppose his career is important as well."
"Now that you've covered the obvious, why don't you dig a little deeper?"
"Things that are important to Rufus... Things that are important to Rufus..."
That's when the idea lit up the darkest corners of Vincent's mind. "His bug-out bag. His backpack! He takes it everywhere!"
"And what makes that knapsack special?"
Vincent's mind raced back to one particular moment.
"It's alright," Rufus said as he looked through the packed belongings in his bug-out bag. "It's really—oh yeah! I almost forgot the best part." He opened the bag and pulled on a cloth tab at the bottom, revealing a false bottom. "Pretty cool, right?"
"The false bottom," Vincent whispered to himself.
"And who happened to make that bag of his?" Queen Tabitha posed.
"His grandmother," Vincent thought aloud. "Gran'Renèe made it."
"Really think about this: If you have a good idea, do you use it only once?"
"No..." Vincent replied, feeling his senses sharpen. "No, you'd find other ways to use it. You'd apply the concept to anything you could."
"Exactly," Queen Tabitha said with her pearly-white, angelic smile. "I think my work here is done."
"Wait, Mum, no!" Vincent pleaded.
"This time was such a gift," she said as she started to vanish into thin air.
"When will I see you again? I need to see you again."
"I've never left your side, Vincent. And I never will. You're my handful of stardust, meant to change the world. It's your destiny."
"But, what if I fall short, Mum? What if I fail?"
"That's just not possible. You are destined for greatness, my dear, my prince, my love..."
Vincent suddenly woke from the enveloping dream. He stood up immediately and raced over to Lena. "Hey, wake up, wake up," he said as he shook her vigorously.
"What? What's going on?" Lena asked, her voice a little scratchy.
"I need you to go through every piece of furniture in this house. Look carefully—we're trying to find a false bottom."
Lena stumbled to a cedar chest at the foot of Gran'Renèe's bed, but as she rifled through it, she found no false bottom. Vincent took out the drawers of a white wicker dresser, but also came up with nothing. Then, he quickly made it around to Gran'Renèe's night stand and opened the drawer. There was a small hole in the bottom, about the size of a fingertip. Vincent stuck his finger in the hole and lifted up the false bottom, uncovering a silver Motorola Razr flip-phone with its charging cable wrapped up and secured with a rubber band.
"Lena, get over here. I think I might've found something," Vincent said as he plugged the phone into the wall outlet.
The flip-phone's screen lit up and began initializing as Vincent and Lena patiently waited. After it booted up, Vincent opened a folder with several video files. He selected the first one on the list.
They listened carefully and watched intently as the video started to play.
Lena squinted her eyes. "Is that—"
"It is," Vincent replied, sighing.
"And he's—"
"He is."
"So, that means we're—"
"Yes, Lena. Yes, we are."