ATW: What does 🙌 - Raising Hands Emoji mean?

Hey guys, this will be quite a big post. I feel like I need an outlet on everything that has happened and hope to find some positives from it.
Background:
My wife and I have been married for 4 years and together for a total of 10 years. We both met through our professions and fell in love. From both accounts, we've had an incredible time together with very few arguments (I would say less than 5-6 in that whole time).
Both my wife are both super active and took a huge interest in this together which built our relationship to being really strong.
3 years ago, our daughter was born and we bought our first place. Things couldn't have looked any better. My wife took a year off work and spoke to me about loving being a mother and considering having a second (which was a total no go before, she only wanted one). My wife and I decided she would go back to work part time to spend more time at home with my daughter. She was happy with this.
My wife continued to go to work part time but she was unsettled at her workplace and believed she had so much more to offer than the position she was in.
Around a year ago, my wife applied for a very senior role at a new company. I encouraged her to look outside and go for it. My wife is very intelligent but didn't have the full credentials for this job she was applying for on paper. I told her if she can get an interview, that's all she will need to shine.
She ended up getting an interview and subsequently won the job. Her package basically doubled what she was on however, she would now be working 5 days a week instead of 4 days one week and 3 days the following week (part time hours). As a condition of that 5 day a week job, one of those days must incorporate Saturdays.
My wife and I went from being off 3-4 days a week together to 1 day a week. I work 10 hour days 4 days a week. We both discussed this at the time and thought we could get through it as it involved a substantial increase in salary and I would stay where I was to look after our daughter more.
During the first 3 months of her new job, a member of the team decided to leave, leaving her in charge of basically two roles. Her job became super busy and she was constantly working back an hour or so a night and was shifting through work emails when she got home. I supported her where I could but I could tell she was busy. During this time I was having a really emotionally draining time at my work and I came home a few times to try to vent to her about it. I could tell she had other things on her mind and she would basically just shrug me off. I felt deeply hurt with this and I would effectively just stone wall any further conversations regarding my feelings and thought I would just keep them to myself (worst possible thing you can do).
My wife approached me in February and said that she is frustrated that I wasn't helping around the house as much as she is working a lot. She had a fair point and I understood her. I asked her if she still loved me during that conversation and she said yes, of course. I thought this was just a conversation you have when you are a bit angry at work and push it off onto your husband. I began helping with cooking for a few weeks but fell back into not helping as much. I still looked after my daughter, cleaned the house etc (shes always said I am an excellent father) but I just got slack again and stopped cooking.
I ended up buying myself a new computer and getting into video games at night because I felt like that was an escape from reality for me. My wife use to ask me to come to bed and I would say I don't feel like it and I want to stay up. This lasted for a few months before it stopped. Knowing now, that was a huge sign of disconnect.
In early September, I noticed my wife was super distant. I would talk about future plans or trips and she would say don't book it as she doesn't feel like going. I thought that was a bit strange but didn't think too much into it. Sex leading up to the week before D-Day was drying up and she would always make an excuse not to have it. I remember a few days before D-Day we had sex and it felt so uncomfortable - like she didn't want to be there. I knew something was up.
A few days later we were in the kitchen and I could definitely see something was wrong. I asked her if she was okay and she just said yes, fine. I kept probing and she looked at me and said "I'm not happy anymore, I don't love you". It was at that stage that my whole world I had built with her just shattered. I cried uncontrollably and we went for a drive. I was in a state of total shock. How can it feel so good and then a week before D-Day it doesn't feel right and she says this? I just didn't understand.
My wife and I spoke in the car (away from our daughter) for a few hours and she was quite cold about it. She said that she feels like we have grown apart, we are distant and it feels like we are room mates. She stated that she doesn't think I'm emotionally intelligent enough. She blamed my playing of the computer to be the main reason. I tried to understand her point of view on everything she said and I definitely could see that it could feel the way it does. I pleaded for her to see a Therapist and she agreed, reluctantly. She stated she wanted to make it work for our daughter. I was happy with this as at least it's something.
I sat back and had a huge self reflection on myself and thought this isn't the person who I am and it's definitely not the person I want to be. Having heard my wife say she doesn't love me anymore was the most painful experience of my life. I cherished my wife and my daughter more than anything on this planet.
For the next 6 weeks, I began my growth as a man and really stepped up. I was cooking nearly every day, keeping the house spotless, completely stopped all social media as I knew this was just pointless scrolling through other people's lives and began reading a book a day, everything you can imagine on mindfulness, gratitude, love, marriage and everything in between. I began to really see how a marriage needs work all the time and being present in the moment is something I wasn't doing for 4-5 months. I understood how you can become comfortable and complacent in your marriage and forget about date nights and time together is so important. I began to actively listen to my wife and I was beginning to read her better than I have ever before. I was falling further in love with her during this process, even though she wasn't giving me much back. I noticed it was strange that she wouldn't give me any appreciation for anything I do the majority of the time. I wasn't expecting it, but I thought it was weird she wasn't giving anything. It felt like I was going around in circles and I tried even harder to get any recognition I could. She would constantly tell me it feels like I'm smothering her with everything I'm doing. I turned it back a few notches but noticed she would get distant even more so I started doing more things again to help.
I wrote her a love letter and left it on the kitchen counter so she saw it when I was at work. It was really nice with some touching information about how we met etc and It was something I don't usually do but really wanted to. I received a text from her a few hours later that read "I received your letter. Thank you. x". I couldn't believe how cold and callous that was. It was like a reply you give to a work colleague, not your husband and best friend of 9 and a half years.
My wife and I began seeing a counsellor, both together and individually. My counsellor of 30 years was shocked with the progress I was making in such a short period of time and really saw how much I was growing as a man. My wife also saw it but didn't really note it.
During the 6 week period I noticed my wife was becoming obsessive with her phone. It would be face down where ever she goes and she would take it with her anywhere in the house. I began to get really suspicious as I knew this wasn't her at all. One day I observed a message from her boss come through on WhatsApp while she was showing me a video on the phone. My wife must have messaged him and said "I'll give you a call later" and he replied with a "thumbs up" emoji. She flicked the message away really quickly which I thought was odd. About 15 mins later I was standing near her and observed her WhatsApp recent contact conversations and didn't see her boss's name on there. She must have deleted it.
I began adding things up more and more. I would notice my wife and I really connecting for a few days while we were at home and then she would go for a run with her boss after work and she would come back being really distant and cold. She put it down to good days and bad days, but I knew something was off.
One day she was going to have a shower and I saw her plug her phone on charge and turn her phone off while she was in the shower. Once she got out of the shower, she picked up her phone and said "Oh my phone must have automatically turned off". I knew she was lying. I confronted her in the kitchen of our house about this and she went completely white, like she saw a ghost. She sat stunned for a few seconds and said "I turned it off as I didn't want you to see the messages to my best friend about us". This best friend I knew that she was close to. I don't know why, but my gut was telling me her facial expressions didn't add up to the crime, but I asked her flat out if she's having an affair and she completely denied it.
Two days before D-Day, my wife invited me to a black tie work dinner which included some really high profile people. She told me she wanted me to see her work and to see what its all about. I have been asking for an invite to one of these events for a long time and finally got one. I was excited. My wife told me that we shouldn't be physical at the event as its a black tie and was inappropriate. I chalked this up as not wanted to look unprofessional and as we were having problems, I understood her predicament.
A day before D-Day, my wife and I attended the black tie dinner. I was seated on a table with most of her collogues who she introduced to me. I noticed her boss was seated on another table and I found it strange that she didn't introduce me as they go for runs together once a week and she talks about him infrequently at home.
Whilst the presentations were on, I noticed my wife was constantly looking over her shoulder trying to make eye contact with her boss. It was persistent and reminded me of what I did when I first met my wife, it's that first part of the love process which you are infatuated with each other. I looked at her boss out the corner of my eye and noticed him doing the same thing. When he made eye contact with her, he made eye contact with me and looked away really fast. My wife would then look at me and ask if my dinner was okay. I knew this was a sign of guilt and something was going on. I continued with the night, not wanting to spoil it in front of her colleagues. At the conclusion of the dinner on the way home, I put it on my wife that something wasn't right with her boss. She didn't deny anything emphatically straight away which made me even more sure. She just said I'm seeing things. I went home and explained I think shes having an emotional affair or more with her boss. She said that she enjoyed his company and that she likes and cares for him but tried to play dumb and say whats an emotional affair? I knew my wife was intelligent and she knew what that was. We finished the night talking.
D-Day - Next day she went to work. When she was about to finish work, she messaged me saying she's going to go have a few drinks after work with her work colleagues (she had began doing this a lot in the last 6 months which is totally out of character). My daughter was constantly saying "Mummy not coming home" or "Mummy at work". She was noticing it and she wasn't even three yet. Anyway, my wife said she was going to have a drink or two and then come home quickly. I said sure, go ahead.
My wife ended up coming home 4 hours later and told me she had a good time before hitting the showers. I asked her who she was out with and she told me about 3-4 colleagues and her boss. I thought that was so strange she would go out with him in a group setting after I just told her what I suspected. Whilst she was in the shower, I checked her phone. I noticed that there was no conversation with her boss however she had a message she had written to her boss that she hadn't sent yet which read "I love you too. I just know you're not in a great spot".
My whole world just collapsed. My wife was telling her boss she loved him. I just couldn't believe it. The last 6 weeks since she told me she doesn't love me I was doing so much stuff right and she was just luring me on, knowing she is falling in love with someone else. I always thought everything I was doing was falling on defs ears, which was so surprising as she said if I made these changes in February when had the discussion that she would be more in love with me now.
I confronted her about it and she was just expression less. The first thing she could say was "Why are you going through my phone?". I was so stunned I just didn't know how to comprehend my feelings. I was pacing up and down the house and firing questions at her left, right and center. My wife told me it was an emotional connection only and was happening for around 3 months. My wife knew if the relationship came out she would lose her job at work as it's a massive conflict of interest but she continued anyway.
I told her to get out that night and she left for her friends. I was still trying to process everything. How could she do this to me? How can you do this to anyone? We've had 9 beautiful years without any troubles and you do this? I'm at home minding your daughter while you progress your career and you just shit on me? I was struggling big time.
My emotions were running high but I knew I still loved her so much. I knew the person she became in the last 3-4 months was not the person who she was. My wife has never been a liar, deceitful or liked going out drinking after work. Her boss had taken advantage of her vulnerabilities and told her what she wanted to hear while she wasn't getting that emotion met at home.
For the next few days, I was devastated and hurt but I knew I wanted it to work, not only for my daughter, but for everything we had built together over 10 years. I also knew the person she turned her into wasn't the person she was.
I took my wedding band off and she noticed. I told her I took it off as you hurt me and it didn't feel like the ring meant anything right now. My wife was still wearing her rings and through guilt, took hers off the next day and put them in her bedside draw.
We talked a lot and she told me that she hated herself for doing what she did and felt disgusted she could tell someone she's only had an emotional connection with that she loved them. I told her everything he was telling you is infatuation and not love, he was telling you what you wanted to hear when you were missing it at home. She kept asking me if I understood how it got to this point and I would get really angry at it. I told her I understood how it can be a perfect storm of a number of things but I'll never justify what you did.
My wife and I didn't get much sleep in the next few days. I was at home looking after our daughter and she was sleeping on a friends couch.
4 days after D-Day and my wife came home and we had a long conversation. She was totally exhausted and looked like death. I told her to sleep in our bed tonight and I would sleep on the couch so she can get some sleep. She agreed. Before she went to bed my wife continued to apologies and said she needs to know in herself why she did what she did. I told her that people make mistakes, although I can't ever justify what you have done and my trust with you has been torn to shreds, people do make mistakes. We aren't perfect. My wife said she had stopped all text and phone conversation with her boss and is only seeing him at work on a professional level when she has too with other colleagues, so maybe twice a week for 10-15 mins.
My wife said she is still confused with her feelings and has felt overwhelmed the last 7 weeks. I told her that's because she has been emotionally connecting with her boss outside the marriage and then coming home and seeing her husband make huge improvements but not giving him any credit for it. I told her I can imagine how mentally draining that is. My wife explained to me that she was happy with our life before she had this affair but wondered if she was truly happy. She told me for once she put herself first and that's part of the reason she did this. I told her that she has always put others before herself since I've known her, and that she does this because thats what makes her happy. I said as soon as you put yourself first in front of everything else, look what has happened? You've lost all your core beliefs and morals and had an affair with someone. I told her that she is doing exactly what her mother did to her father 4 years earlier. During that time, she told me she couldn't believe what her mother did and that she never wants to be her mum...and here we are.
A few days later my wife came around before I got home and took our daughter out for dinner. I got home and I noticed her rings were not in the draw where they had been sitting for a few days and I thought she must have them on. She got home a bit later and I noticed her rings were on. When she wasn't around my daughter I told her it was nice she has her rings back on and she looked at me and smiled and said you don't have yours on. I took this as a good sign that the few days away was affecting her and she was starting to realize what she had done. I went out to play some squash and came back a few hours later. I hugged her and then looked her in the eyes and said "I love you", before I could say anything else she said "I love you, too". For the first time I felt it was genuine. Whenever I said this in the past she wouldn't reply or she would say "You know I care for you". This signified a positive step forward.
We sat down and I just listened to her. She told me she looked at a few places to stay for a bit longer to clear her head but was upset at how crap they were and that home was comfortable. My wife indicated she needed space for 3-4 weeks to evaluate everything that she has done without having everyone in her ear. My wife has always been a person that likes her own space to think and I could clearly see she was getting bombarded from our close family, myself and her friends. My wife said she needed time to see why her feelings for her boss were strong and if it was infatuation or was it something more. I agreed that time apart would be good. Even though I still love her so much, I wanted her to have a clear mind before we move forward with the marriage. I want her to realize that the grass isn't always greener on the other side and that what she had at home, a family, means more to her than an emotional affair with her boss.
Although we had some times at the beginning of the year that was difficult in our marriage, I have grown as a man and understand the role I played and learnt how much communication is key to everything, especially talking on a deeper level. I also understand that being present in the moment and grateful for what you have is a hugely important. Becoming complacent in your marriage or life is a killer and I realized that I never want to do that again.
The next day my wife organized an apartment to stay in for 4 weeks. We both agreed we would talk to each other throughout and our daughter would stay with her on a few occasions. My wife would come over a few nights a week for dinner and we would take our daughter out for family time together as well. I wanted to keep normality with my daughter as much as I can, and she did too.
Although I am devastated that my wife will be away for 4 weeks and I don't know what the future is going to hold, I know it's a process that must take its course as we were constantly talking about it at home and it was becoming overwhelming for both of us. I don't think we could have worked through this in a home environment without her evaluating the situation alone.
It feels so weird that I'm fighting for my wife after what she has put me through the last 7-8 weeks but I cling to hope that the week or so during that time we were connecting a lot (when the boss wasn't messaging her), I could see my old wife was back and everything felt normal
I guess I came to this sub to see if anyone had similar situations to me and what I can do to try and make it work? At the end of the day, she will make the final decision whether she believes the marriage for 9 years and what we built is worth another crack. I just feel ashamed that I don't feel more angry for what she has done, but I feel like I've grown so much to realize that it wasn't who she is.
Is there anything that I can do to help repair this situation - or do I need to let it take its course?

Book 1 of The HEL Jumper
Book 2 of The HEL Jumper
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“You know, I don’t usually find myself proven wrong in such matters, but I’m happy to concede in this case. So you believe it will be a girl then?” Gentia asked, looking over Asha’s ultrasound results with Yvonne. “I think Zolta will be very happy.”
At the later hour there was not much traffic within the temple of Meylith, the cubs too young to work and worshippers having returned home for the most part. As such it was easy to find privacy on one of the wooden benches without retreating to the maternity ward annex. The priestess was turning another copy of the blurry, black and white photograph over in her hands, examining both the subject and the material.
“Certain assumptions had to be made given I have never examined one of your kind before,” the doctor admitted. “But I am quite confident in making them at this juncture, with the child so well developed. Oh, would you excuse me for a moment? I should see who that is.”
Gentia’s old ears had caught the sound of faint ringing and vibration, which turned out to be the inscrutable tablet-like device that Yvonne used for a variety of tasks. Every human, save Russell, seemed to carry one about at all times. Whatever the message was, the doctor only needed a moment to process it. “Was it young Alice? You have that look about you,” Gentia offered with a knowing smile. “I assume it’s mild exasperation, but you’ll have to tell me if not. At least you are able to speak our language with those marvelous devices of yours. I realize I never told you that I like your fur better this way. I believe it looks more dignified, but that’s my own age and graying fur showing, perhaps. This is your natural color?”
“You don’t seem very surprised. Yes, it is,” Yvonne confirmed, running a hand through her thick, shoulder-length locks.
“Why should I be surprised?” Gentia countered, rolling her shoulders slightly. “You mentioned such a thing could be done to young Asha the other day. I have no reason to not believe you. Now, what news?”
“You may not like it,” the human warned, though her tone was not dire by any stretch. “It appears that your husband would like to accompany us on a resource gathering mission in space. The way Alice describes it, it is considered to be the realm of your god of death? I have been asked to verify his health as a matter of safety, but I did not bring my tools with me. At least life is never boring with Natori and Alice in the mix.”
Gentia rested two fingers against her brow, indulging in a world-weary sigh as she clearly felt the same as Yvonne. “The young ones have already done so safely but… yes, that does sound like my dear Thantis. His spirit seems to grow only younger as our bodies grow older.”
As though called by name, the death priest himself chose that moment to shuffle into the temple. “Dear? I made some tea for dinner. Shall we eat here or at my temple?”
“It would seem you also bring some news for me, hmm?” Gentia replied, giving Yvonne an apologetic glance before standing and leaving her side. She and Thantis nuzzled one another briefly before the head priestess of Meylith was back to all business.
“Yvonne will have dinner with us tonight if she is amenable,” she declared with a look over her shoulder. “There is much for you to explain, my love. Yvonne, we spoke of your family when we first met. Did your mate accompany you on this journey to our world?”
“Yes, we spoke briefly of Gerard and my children,” Yvonne affirmed, currently in the process of penning a text message to the very same. Even if he did not deliver her medical equipment himself, she trusted him to select the right tools for the job of reviewing Thantis’ state of health.
“Do you think he’d like to join us?” Gentia proposed. “If the rumors are correct, it seems those who share meals with us on Mara have a tendency to come back for more. Do you know what Ursol does every morning now, Thantis?”
“I believe I’m about to hear. But perhaps we should formally extend our invitation first, my dear? Your mind is moving faster than your lips and feathers,” Thantis replied, his tone making it clear that such a quality was one of the reasons he and Gentia were mated.
“He tells me what he and Lachlan eat for breakfast and what the human likes most. Simply adorable. Yvonne?” Gentia asked simply, gathering up her cloak and a basket. “Our dinner would be at Thantis’ temple. Some privacy will be afforded there.”
“And we would be happy to accept. I hope you don’t mind a bit of a later night? It will take some time for him to join us,” the frenchwoman explained.
“Unless you wish to dine on dried meat and raw vegetables, I am not concerned,” the priestess replied kindly as Yvonne checked the shuttle schedule for the Event Horizon. Seeing how late the return window would be, she quickly added a request to her husband for a thermos of coffee. Her reply was a thumbs up, a cup of coffee, and a French flag emoji. With a satisfied, loving smile that could only be conjured by her eccentric husband, along with a brief snort through her nose in place of a laugh, she stowed her tablet away so as not to be rude.
“My husband and I gladly accept. Is there anything I can help you with?” Yvonne wondered. Gentia waved her hand, bidding Yvonne to accompany the two older Cauthan on a short ‘shopping trip’ to the granary at the back of the temple.
“I will show you some of our produce then. Come, please. How much does your mate eat? I was going to cook for four, but if he is the particularly hungry sort?”
“You need not concern yourself,” Yvonne assured her with a small laugh. “Gerard and I appreciate quality over quantity. After so much time aboard, I think he will be most pleased simply to come visit and have a real meal. Although...”
“Is something wrong?” Thantis wondered as Yvonne stroked her chin thoughtfully.
“No no, not at all. I am simply concerned that if I am not there to meet him when he arrives we may never see him tonight. He is an exceptionally curious man who would no doubt find even those little animals caged outside the walls to be interesting.”
“Then I eagerly await this evening’s conversation,” Thantis piped up. “Speaking of which, Gentia, did my apprentice ever stop by with his human?”
Gentia paused, having just reached out to select a dato from one of their storage baskets, made to keep produce dry and unspoiled between harvests. “His human? Thantis, just what have you been getting up to over the last cycle?”
“Nothing my dear! I simply misspoke. He is accompanying one of the humans who is supposed to help us grow more food. She visited our village for the first time today. I had thought they might have stopped by to speak with you.”
“I have seen neither hide nor hair of either him or this human you speak of,” Gentia related firmly before refocusing her mate on the task at hand. “Now, shall we have grain or bread with our stew tonight?”
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Elsewhere in the village, a similar question was being answered as Xan’s mother fussed about her family’s communal pot. In a remarkable coup, her eldest son had brought home a girl. Disappointingly from the perspective of grandcubs, that girl was a human. “So, how did you two meet?” she asked her son as he sat on one of their chairs and warmed his leg by the cooking fire. Anita blushed furiously upon hearing the translation, but she generally had her hands full speaking with Xan’s younger sister. Given her older brother had been palling around with humans of one form or another for almost a year, she was in no mood to allow such an opportunity to go to waste.
“Do you have to ask it like that?” Xan demanded of his mom. From behind him, his father chuckled as if to say ‘yes, of course, she’s your mother’. “It’s nothing like that. She’s in charge of these crazy metal machines the humans have that grow all sorts of plants I’ve never seen before from their homeworld. I suppose it’s what they all eat on board that thing. I didn’t see any animals like chesko or shen up there. Anyway, since Antoth made that agreement to try and have them grow some of our food, I was being shown this stuff by Alice and we met. Now she’s here to learn about our plants. Here, Anita, as promised,” Xan offered, interrupting his sister who was touching the human’s braided ponytail with an expression that bordered on reverence, her feathers shaking with excitement. His mother had just finished slicing up a couple of kina, and he secured a small portion of the fleshy, seed-filled center of the vegetable for Anita. He handed that over along with several motes of grain that he knew would sprout if planted and watered.
With gentle touch, Anita separated herself from Xan’s sister and opened up her bag, the practice of horticulture taking her mind off of how incredibly nervous she was. His mother making dating jokes only added to the oppressive weight of not wanting to commit a cultural faux pas amongst aliens she barely understood and with whom Alice and her brother had established relationships. Plants, however, she was comfortable with. Each crop was meticulously stored and the respective tubes labeled before she stashed them away again. “Thank you, Xan. I will plant them tonight!”
“He didn’t give you much trouble today, did he?” Xan’s father asked. “Didn’t coerce you into joining us tonight with the promise of seeds?”
“Oh for the love of Kel, dad!” Xan exclaimed before turning back to Anita. “Sorry, this may have been a mistake.”
“He was quite helpful and definitely didn’t engage in any such thing,” Anita offered in his defense. “I’m sorry I didn’t bring anything to contribute. This has all been rather sudden. I didn’t even bring real boots with me when I left Earth.”
“Nonsense! No need to worry about such things with times as good as they are and harvests coming in. You can pay us back when you grow some of these things yourself, eh?” Xan’s father suggested before poking his son. “You told her the tips and tricks?”
“What? About the kina?”
“About all of them!” the older male exclaimed, gesturing to their guest. “What’s your name again?”
“A-Anita, sir.”
“Well Anita, it’s a good thing you came here tonight. My son’s had swords and shields on his mind from the time he could swing one, never cared much for the cultivation of the food that kept him alive to do so.”
Xan grumbled and muttered as his dad clapped him on the shoulder. “And we couldn’t be more proud of him, and what he’s done. We’ll get you set up right, tell you all you need to know to make those seeds sprout.”
“My my, you’re feeling so generous tonight, dear!” Xan’s mother commented, shaving a bit of root into the stew with a cooking knife. The unassuming Cauthan mother sported glasses on the bridge of her nose, a gift from Alice and the crew of the Event Horizon.
“These humans gave you your sight! This is only appropriate,” he insisted. “Besides, more food couldn’t possibly be a bad thing, right?”
“He happens to find them quite fetching, is what he means. I like them too!” Xan’s mother said quietly to Anita. “What do you need to know?”
Suddenly on the spot and scrutinized by five pairs of eyes, including Xan’s younger brother who’d not said a word to her, choosing to stare cautiously instead, Anita found her voice quite fleeting. “Do you want something to drink?” Xan asked. “Come on, we can go grab some water nearby. Mom, dad, you can tell her all about farming over dinner. Just give her a chance to get settled alright?”
“We have some right here,” Xan’s mother pointed out, gesturing to a wooden bucket. “But that’s fine, sweetie. We can speak while we eat dinner.”
“How did you make your fur grow so long?” Xan’s sister interjected, unable to contain herself any longer in the midst of such boring conversation. “Mine falls out every year!”
“Oh, well this isn’t fur exactly,” Anita tried to explain. “Where I come from there are many animals that have fur like you do, that sheds every year. My hair is a little different.”
“What’s hair?”
“Well it’s… fur that doesn’t shed or fall out every year. I’m sorry, I’m not very good at this,” Anita apologized as Xan’s sister just cocked her head in confusion.
“Eh, it’s fine,” Xan assured her. “I’ll ask Alice or Io to explain it to me and then I’ll teach her.”
“Everyone grab a bowl now,” Xan’s mother ordered, effectively declaring dinner to be prepared. His younger siblings rushed to collect their helpings, and when Anita insisted it was fine that they be served first, the meal began in earnest. All she could do was hope that dinner’s discussion would prove a bit less awkward and that the food wouldn’t disagree with her.
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As it turned out, Anita managed to survive the meal. And while she felt she’d come through relatively unscathed, waiting for a very late shuttle at the western gate with Xan, it was clear that a certain couple had positively thrived during their sharing of Cauthan victuals.
“As we grow older we lose bit by bit off the ends, every cycle coming closer to destroying the important parts that we need.”
“My word! How terrifying,” Thantis exclaimed as Gerard explained the concept of a telomere with the sort of gravitas that only a cellular biologist of romantic origins could conjure. It was for the best, however, with metaphor and a dash of fantasy being the only way to adequately convey such ideas to a priest whose scientific acumen was defined by a rudimentary understanding of germ theory.
“Yes, quite humbling, isn’t it? To think we have our own wicks burning within us, billions of candles slowly and inevitably snuffing themselves out. If they stop, we stop. I would not be surprised if you are the same way, my friend,” Gerard posited as a faint, moving light became visible in the skies above.
“Has he always possessed such a flair for the dramatic?” Gentia whispered in Yvonne’s ear, the two matrons having spent an enjoyable evening together over stew and discussion of maternal and prenatal care.
“I am pleased to report that he has always been this way,” Yvonne answered, both of the women smirking knowingly as Thantis proposed a rather acute question for a Cauthan who had only just been introduced to the concept of a cell.
“But Gerard, and I do hope I pronounced that right.”
“Stupendous, Thantis! Please, carry on,” the Frenchman encouraged.
“You said that this… essence of life, if you will, is passed from parent to child. How can it be that it itself ages, and yet I assume your offspring are born young just as ours are?”
The very starlight above seemed to twinkle in Gerard’s eye, convincing Gentia at least that there was such a thing as fate. Nothing else could have brought such men together over such distances. “Thantis, mon ami, that is the question that I have striven to answer my whole life. If one could solve that riddle, perhaps one could stave off death itself.”
“Such things are not to be trifled with,” Thantis warned sagely.
“On this I am in agreement,” Gerard stated. “But if you could spend another year with your beloved, would you not?”
“I will spend an eternity at her side, Gerard. Such things are not necessary,” Thantis said in turn, causing Yvonne to heave a dramatic breath and fan herself in the warm air of that summer night.
“Do you have any idea what they’re talking about?” Xan whispered to Anita. Her answer was a fitful shrug.
“Something about aging and telomeres, I think?”
“A what now?” the young Cauthan requested with a wiggle of his scarred ear.
“Xan, I don’t think I’ll be able to explain this to you if I couldn’t even tell your sister what hair is,” Anita lamented.
“Oh it’s fine. She just gets that way anytime she can’t know something about anything. It really is quite long though. I’m impressed. This is probably as long as my fur or feathers will ever grow. But at least I have scales and you don’t!” he laughed.
“Yes, I suppose you do,” Anita agreed, looking down at his wrists and feet. Small, interlocking scales glinted in the light of several torches that were lit at the gates. Even with the addition of numerous modern lanterns, the guard force was not so quick to abandon tradition.
“Do you have everything you think you’ll need?” Xan asked her. “From the sound of it, before they went off on that tangent about life and everything else, it seems like Thantis will be going up to your ship for a couple days after all. That means I’ll have to stay down here.”
“You and your family gave me everything I needed and more, Xan. I am very grateful to you all. I will do my best to ensure these seeds bear fruit,” she promised as Cromwell’s shuttle touched down for the third time that day. “Farewell, Xan.”
“Woah woah hey, don’t… don’t say it like that?” he requested, standing a bit straighter as Yvonne showed Gentia and Thantis how to bid a close acquaintance good evening in the French tradition, with a quick kiss on each cheek. The Cauthan took to it splendidly, laughing as their longer muzzles resulted in inadvertent eskimo kisses.
“Like what?” Anita asked, meeting his eyes. He tapped his cane a couple times on the ground as though the vibrations might conjure the correct words.
“It’s just that when you put it that way it sounded like you were saying goodbye for good, you know? You all aren’t leaving, right?”
“No, no of course not, Xan. The Event Horizon will return after a couple of days while we search for raw materials, and Thantis will be returned to your village,” she promised, feeling confident that Natori, for all his harebrained schemes, would not engage in any funny business regarding such an emissary as the chief death priest of the village.
“Ok, ok that’s good,” Xan nodded. “Do you think you’ll come back down here or… do you have what you need?” He wondered with an oddly tight chest. He shook his head briefly to rid himself of the momentary funk. While Xan’s proved fleeting, by the time he refocused on Anita she was still processing what he’d asked of her.
“You want me to come back to the village?” she asked, glancing at the shuttle. “I’m sorry, Xan. I need to go. It’s already quite late and I’ve kept you from your family. Thank you so much for everything today, you were very kind.”
“You’re welcome,” he murmured as Anita suddenly dashed off, making for the shuttle and the Event Horizon beyond. Left behind was a rather confused and conflicted apprentice death priest, observed closely by Thantis and Gentia. With assurances that a shuttle would arrive in the morning to collect the elder for his voyage, Brick kicked off the ground and began its ascent.
“I haven’t seen you this confused since I started teaching you runes, my apprentice,” Thantis observed.
“Oh Thantis that’s not confusion,” Gentia insisted sweetly. “That is the look of words unsaid.”
“Can I be confused about what I should or shouldn’t have said?” Xan asked sarcastically before changing his tone to one of appropriate respect. “Are you really going to go up there, Thantis?”
“Even if it is to be the last thing I do, I feel that I must,” the Cauthan stated bravely. “You have seen His domain, Xan. I selfishly wish to do the same.”
“After a lifetime of service, you tell Kel if you see him that if you are not returned to me I shall find him when I pass on and deliver unto him a tirade to last a thousand years!” Gentia insisted before taking Thantis’ paw in hers. “Just remember those of us you will leave behind.”
“Of course, my love,” Thantis promised. “Besides, Xan has yet to master my long list of brews and teas!”
“Look, if that’s what it takes,” Xan allowed, turning for home. “Let’s get back inside though. Even with the ursae gone the forest still freaks me out at night.”
-----
The next morning, the village was paid a visit by a rather important envoy in the form of Natori Kaczynski himself, who sought out Gentia and Thantis at the Temple of Kel.
“First of all, please allow me to extend my gratitude to you for allowing one of my horticultural engineers- I’m sorry, that’s a rather obtuse way of saying farmer!” he chuckled, realizing the translation likely wasn’t going through too well based on their expressions. “Thank you for allowing one of our farmers samples of your crops and soil. I have full confidence in her ability to grow a fine crop.”
Gentia and Thantis looked at one another. “I did not distribute any seeds from the granary last night,” the priestess of Meylith supplied.
“That was me, actually,” Xan piped up from where he sat in the corner. While he wasn’t involved in the conversation per se, Thantis was about to depart the village for the first time in living memory. It was necessary for him to be present. “We gave her some seeds and dato from our dinner last night, nothing serious. We didn’t have any erulass seeds though. It might be good to give her some of those? They have the space. Would be nice to have some more of that stuff without cutting down on food production.”
“You believe such a thing is wise, Xan?” Gentia demanded curiously, looking between him and Natori.
“If it were him planting them? No,” Xan laughed, promptly followed by Natori himself.
“An excellent judge of character! Can’t say I have a green thumb by any stretch of the imagination,” the human cut in. The Cauthan all looked at his rather dark and certainly not green thumbs, so he elaborated. “Ah, pardon me. It’s another human saying. To say one has a green thumb implies that one is skilled at growing and caring for plants. Anita has two of them, if I say so myself.”
“Just a handful, Gentia? Let her see if she can make it work?” Xan requested. The elders spoke silently with one another, feathers and long decades at one another’s side more than sufficient to come to a conclusion.
“I will send Thantis with the seeds today,” she affirmed before turning a stern gaze on Natori. “Now you will convince me that you will return my mate to me. I am not yet ready to say goodbye to him.”
“You have my word, madame,” Natori promised. “The safety of my crew and any guests aboard our vessel is always my first priority. This will be a standard operation and he will be offered a seat next to my own to oversee the process. I can assure you it’s quite a comfortable chair.”
Xan chuckled as Gentia’s feathers ruffled disappointedly. “If I were worried about his bottom we would not be speaking. My dear, you should go before I change my mind.”
“I will return him to you in two or three days depending on how quickly the operation proceeds,” Kaczynski continued. “And I will offer you the same pledge that I gave to Alice and Russell’s father. If I break my promise, for whatever reason, it will be because there is nothing left of me in this world.”
That statement held Gentia’s attention as she took Thantis’ hand in hers. “If that should happen I will be sure to find you all when I pass on. Go with Meylith’s blessing. all of you. Selah. I suppose while you are gone I can attempt to convince Ratha to see this healer of yours, Yvonne Dupuis. She’s made quite the impression on Asha.” Gentia held up the photograph of Asha’s child as proof before suddenly waving her feathers violently. “I’ve changed my mind.”
Natori sat straight in the simple wooden chair he’d been offered, still a great height above the assembled Cauthan as early morning light filtered into the temple and onto Thantis’ scrolls, ‘operating table’, and other tools of the trade. “Might I request an explanation, Gentia?”
“I have an additional condition, if you insist on borrowing my mate for this little voyage.”
Though it would have been easy enough for Natori to point out that he was hardly insisting on anything, and that if anyone was intent on the voyage it was Thantis himself, he allowed her to continue. “Please, I would hear it then.”
“There is an orphaned girl I care for at my temple every day, Ketra. Her parents did not survive the raid on our village.” Gentia fell silent for a moment, uttering a silent prayer to the Mother for guidance, to give her a sign if what she was about to propose was insanity. “I want her to grow up in a world of ample food, shelter, warmth, and healing. I want her to grow up in a world where you can look at a cub before she is born, a world where metal can fly, a world that produces people like Russell and Alice Winters… and Lachlan MacGregor for that matter.”
Natori blinked twice in rapid succession. He had seen the pacification of the Gorgons firsthand, pioneered the Juggernaut initiative, negotiated funding for the Event Horizon against Generals and Admirals from Delta, and stared down William Osmundson and Marshall Winters simultaneously, in person. In that moment however, he found himself more nervous than the day he’d gotten down on one knee and asked his wife to be his.
“I want two humans, a male and female, to adopt Ketra and care for her alongside me. I want them to educate her as she grows older and find her a profession or occupation like all of your crew seem to have,” Gentia finally laid out her plan, her feathers flared in warning.
“Gentia, can you do that?!” Xan demanded, utterly aghast. “Or… I mean… wouldn’t it make more sense for one parent to be Cauthan at least? I assume when she gets to my age she’d want to take a mate of her own kind and everything? Humans don’t know about that.”
“You are thinking of Russell and Veera?” Thantis presumed keenly. Xan looked at the floor and raised his small crest of feathers in assent. “My dear, did they not already speak with you about Ketra?”
“It has come up,” Gentia affirmed. “And while I think it would be a splendid idea under other circumstances, they are a very active couple. They are raising a hyrven, Xan. They leave the village for cycles and seasons at a time.”
“Oh, yeah that’s a pretty good point. I just can’t see Alice raising a cub, you know?” To Xan’s surprise, his comment had Natori almost doubled over in laughter.
“On that you and I are in agreement, my furred and feathered friend!” he boomed. “Just don’t tell her I said that. Gentia, this is not a request given lightly, and I will not take it lightly. Please allow me to ruminate on this over the course of our resupply voyage. I promise a reply upon our return. What you suggest could place an impossible burden on this young Cauthan’s shoulders.” Natori paused and brought his hands together between his knees, adopting a most serious posture. “And it could solidify a bond between our people that endures for generations.”
“Very well, that is a reasonable request,” Gentia assented, standing with the help of her cane. “Thantis, my dear, come find me and I will have some seeds ready for you. And Xan?”
“Y-yes?” the young Cauthan replied, surprised to be called upon at all at that juncture.
“I am pleased that your sword swinging days are behind you. It has allowed your wisdom and compassion to show through. Do look after the temple while my mate is gone?” she requested, though he knew well enough it was a demand, coming from Gentia.
“Of course, Gentia. Thanks,” Xan replied awkwardly, though it earned him a look of immense approval from Thantis. Natori stood as well.
“Might I ask one of you to direct me to the residence of Veera and Russell Winters?” the Admiral spoke.
“I can,” Xan volunteered.
“I appreciate that very much. Thantis, my shuttle is waiting at the western gate. The pilot is expecting you. I should not be long,” Natori explained.
“Thank you, Admiral. I will see you shortly then,” Thantis agreed. With negotiations concluded for the time being, the four individuals filed out of the temple and into the light of another warm but pleasant summer’s day. When Thantis and Gentia turned for the Temple of Meylith, Xan continued west and then north with Natori. After a leisurely stroll on account of Xan’s leg, during which the Admiral took the opportunity to acquaint himself with a new portion of the village and Cauthan life, they arrived at the unassuming blockhouse that was Veera’s residence. Fenrir’s low growl could be heard from inside.
“Oh stop it you, it’s just me,” Xan ordered, entering after a perfunctory knock to find the couple in the middle of breakfast along with Alice.
“No need to get up!” Natori added quickly as Russell made to stand. “Once again I apologize for intruding upon meal time but I found myself in the area and needed to make a request of you, Lieutenant.”
“What’s that, sir?” Russell wondered as Io joined the crowd, projecting herself from the B-MASS as Xan gave Fenrir some love and attention in the form of claw scratches under the chin and behind the ears.
“As you are likely aware we will be leaving orbit to resupply our stores of water, organic compounds, and various metals. During that time the Event Horizon will be out of real-time contact with the orbital communications network we established upon arrival here. While I am not worried in the slightest about the two of you,” Natori gestured to Russell and Alice. “It would allow me to rest easier if you would oversee operations at the Forge while I’m gone, Lieutenant.”
“Isn’t your Jumper team currently there, sir?” Russell asked as Veera’s expression turned slightly sour.
“They are,” Kaczynski confirmed. “However you and Io explored much farther into the facility than they did. I am not authorizing any expeditions while I am gone, but in the event the situation on the ground changes at an inopportune moment, I would feel much better knowing that there are five Jumpers and an AI protecting my science teams.”
“Fancy a trip back to the hot springs?” Russell asked his wife. Veera unsheathed her claws and looked pointedly at Natori.
“So long as those barbarous men know to stay away from me,” she declared without fear.
The Admiral tilted his head and nodded in acknowledgment. “I have made it abundantly clear what will happen to them in the event of another incident. I daresay they would prefer to be gutted by those talons of yours in that event. I would also like to reiterate that Lance Corporal Mendes is now in command of the Jumper team. I ask that you give him a chance to prove himself in this role.”
‘And me, Admiral?’ Io questioned. ‘Fret not, Veera. I am more than capable of locking their armor if those boneheads decide they fancy some revenge.’
“I have notified the crew of your existence, Io,” Natori explained as Veera offered him a bit of breakfast, dried chesko with vegetables. His expression brightened immediately upon tasting it. “Oh, thank you kindly Veera. Mmm, no wonder pilot Cromwell is feeling overworked of late! Cooking like this might put Gus out of a job. Yes, thank you indeed. Let’s hope Anita is able to replicate something similar. To the topic at hand, however. Io, you should feel free to introduce yourself to the crew as you see fit. There will not be any further surprises as there were with the Dupuis couple. That being said, it may be best if things remain on a ‘need to know’ basis, so to speak.”
‘I do not disagree,’ Io replied after some consideration. ‘You are aware that with our connection severed the various VI operations aboard the Event Horizon will revert to their previous levels of functionality, yes?’
“I presumed that would be the case. Though it has been a boon having you aboard, Io, we survived without you and we must retain our ability to do so,” Natori stated diplomatically. “Lieutenant, thank you in advance for your efforts. You should be able to get in touch with Private Orlova via the communications network. She has a shuttle on the ground and will be in charge of transportation while we’re gone. Do you have any questions?”
“None, sir. Seems simple enough,” Russell replied, turning to Veera. “You think we should bring Fenrir along?”
“So this is one of those human requests that isn’t a request at all?” the Cauthan deduced easily, waving her feathers in agitation. “Yes, I suppose we should then. And for the record, I’m firmly against anyone going inside Kel’s Forge!”
‘Veera, under other circumstances I would agree with you,’ Io offered compassionately. ‘However there’s a very good chance that the forge is what destroyed Russell’s ship. If that’s true, it’s also preventing the Event Horizon from returning home. This is a danger that must be faced.’
“I know that,” Veera grumbled, causing Natori to reflect upon Gentia’s request and just how challenging such a thing as raising a Cauthan in modernity might be, to say nothing of asking younger members of the crew to potentially volunteer as parents. He didn’t think any of his texts on ethics back in his cabin would be of much use. Reality tended to frustrate those sorts of lofty considerations.
“Hey, with any luck we’ll just hop over for a couple days, glare at those two idiots, and spend some time having sex in the hot springs, alright?” Russell assured her. Veera’s feathers exploded into motion as Alice choked on her breakfast and Natori’s brows ascended so quickly they threatened to leave his forehead altogether. Io was fanning herself delightedly.
“Well,” the Admiral cleared his throat. “I will just say that I’m all for making the most of any down time and that I trust your judgment, Lieutenant. Veera, I appreciate your concerns regarding the site, and I assure you we are doing everything we can to not disturb it as we learn more. Alice, will you be remaining here or coming along with us?”
“I think it’s best if I remain here, sir,” Alice replied. “Xan will be in charge of the temple all on his own, and it would be good if I’m around to answer any questions Zolta or Asha have since Yvonne will be aboard the ship.”
Natori tapped his chin and nodded in agreement. “Very well, then I believe we have nothing further to discuss! A good day to you all. We will be back in touch in a couple days.”
“Yes sir, Admiral,” Russell replied, standing and saluting quickly as Io waved a handkerchief at him.
‘Allzeit gute Fahrt, Natori.’
“Thank you, Io. Selah to you, Veera and Xan,” the Admiral offered before heading on his way, allowing them to finish their breakfast.
“I would have been fine at the temple if you wanted to go,” Xan muttered Alice’s way.
“I never said you wouldn’t, Xan,” she replied apologetically. “But I still think a human should be around for Asha and Zolta. Lachlan has his hands full with Sentaura and her son.”
“That one spiraled out of control rather quickly,” Veera added. “But I’ve seen them around the village often. I think he’s been a good influence on the little one. Wasn’t he originally supposed to be protecting you, Alice?”
The civilian shrugged her shoulders. “Of course, but things have been pretty peaceful so far. I don’t think anyone doubts he’d be on the walls with his rifle the moment trouble shows up.”
“Why didn’t you ever do that?” Veera asked her husband, struck by how sensible a defensive play that would be.
“Didn’t have a gigantic forge full of raw materials floating above my head to replenish my ammunition?” Russell offered matter of factly. “They were also inside the gates by the time we woke up.”
“You’re right, I shouldn’t be questioning the actions that delivered us this happiness,” Veera said with a sage, soft tone, standing and planting a light kiss on her husband’s cheek. She began clearing away plates and putting out the cooking fire. “I should speak with Staroth if we’re going to be galavanting around Mara again.”
“I’ll pack our things. Ready to check out the forge with full batteries, Io?” Russell asked as he joined in the morning work. He winked at his AI companion, who had summoned forth spelunking gear, completed with ropes, a helmet, and quite a few carabiner clips.
‘I certainly wouldn’t mind checking in on our robo-Cauthan companion. Unless you believe I should sneak aboard the Event Horizon to watch over Thantis?’ she suggested cautiously.
“Much as I worry about him sticking his cane into an electrical socket… intentionally,” Russell began, chuckling along with his sister. “I think we should trust Natori on this one. If something bad happens down here, they’ll need us. We can’t really shoot our way out of a mining accident,” he pointed out. Io conceded the argument.
‘Yes, I suppose you’re correct. Besides, it’s not like Thantis will actually be operating the…’ she trailed off with a look of worry. ‘You don’t think Natori would let him use a mining laser, do you?’
Ominously, neither Russell nor Alice could truly convince themselves that Admiral Kaczynski would not place a primitive being behind the trigger of an industrial mining laser. Veera’s tail swished pointedly as her curiosity demanded satisfaction.
“What’s a laser?”
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Own The HEL Jumper: Survive in the format of your choice: Hardcover, Softcover, and epub from Lulu | Amazon Kindle

Reread his app last night and thought I would crank this out for fun this morning lol.
Things I’m thinking while reading this entire APP:

• 1. What do I learn about this student, either implicitly or explicitly, in each part of the application? Is it surface-level, or is it actually substantive? (Surface-level would be something like “I like to run”… yes, ok, but why? Answering the “why” part is what can give your answer nuance—namely substance.)
• 2. Do I feel anything while reading this? Did it make me laugh, cry, smile, think, pause, etc? Did I actually resonate with this person through this essay?
• 3. What I do think of this person as a whole from reading this application? What impression do I get?

I’ll be analyzing each essay and how we learn a lot about him, but I’ll also be talking about a bigger part of the application: a hard and soft theme.
Common App Analysis

It was finally my turn for Show-and-Tell.
I patted my pocket, checking on my prized possession. Looking to the crowd, I counted thirteen preschoolers and one teacher—full attendance, as I had hoped; everyone needed to see this.
Eagerly, I rushed to the front and removed my friend from the ziplock bag in my pocket.
“Hi everyone, this is my new bir-,” I managed to say before all hell broke loose. “RYAN, YOU CANNOT BRING DEAD ANIMALS TO SCHOOL!”

I’m categorizing these first couple of lines as his introduction, because, well, they are. It honestly serves as a pretty interesting introduction. A lot of suspense is built, and all of that suspense is led to an odd destination: a dead bird. I found it pretty funny, actually, and I think that’s why this introduction works so well. It certainly wasn’t my expectation to read about a dead bird lol. A lot of introductions will try to follow a similar flow of suspense, and it can sometimes works, but I find a lot of people fall short of that suspense when things become predictable. I couldn’t predict a dead bird.
Also, humor is an underutilized tool in these essays because not everyone can pull it off. Arpi does it well, and it helps showcase his personality. You can tell he’s a bit eccentric, very curious, and intensely driven. And all of this stemmed from the age of 4.
A lot of people tell students to not go that far back in time in their essays, but Arpi obviously doesn’t listen to that convention. My general rule of thumb is that if it’s actually that important to you and it’s substantive, it can be worth a try to do so, but more often than not, you probably don’t need to dig back to fourth grade or whatever. With Arpi’s essay, it serves as his origin story and a unique twist that provides comedic relief when most essays suck.

I remember finding him on the street outside my apartment. I had seen birds before, but he was the first with a broken neck. Intrigued and inspired, I knew I had to share my discovery in class.
As my classmates screamed in hysteria, I realized it may have been a mistake.
Yet, the response excited me. I imagine I looked bizarre, slowly smiling as madness overtook the room—but I couldn’t help it. In that moment, amidst the cries of my classmates, I felt like the loudest person in the world. Never before had I seen a group of people so moved—and from my doing. At the age of four, I fell in love with Show- and-Tell.

We start with a little more background on why he picked that bird for his show-and-tell. Pretty interesting and quirky. One criticism I have would be to showcase a little more care for the bird itself as opposed to wanting to immediately showcase it, but upon reflection, I think the essay does fine without it. Why? Because if he did add a part where he tried to show his compassion, it would probably ruin the flow of the essay so far. That is, it’s really hard to go from “I felt bad and wanted to care for the bird” (an essay that’s been done before) to “I also wanted to showcase this bird’s broken neck to the world”.
The main point of this section of the essay, though, is how he highlights his own excitement to showcase something. The enthusiasm behind it is felt and acknowledged, and you can tell it’s authentic. It’s not contrived or anything. What really helps with that authenticity is him describing his feeling, how he felt like the loudest person in the world. It implies that he normally doesn’t feel that way, and suddenly he gets a rush from it in this instance. It also helps when he says he couldn’t help it; this is natural to him, being a communicator. The fact he gets excited is also something to take note of! He’s explicitly telling us here that this is a passion of his, to inspire some sort of emotional response whenever he communicates with people. This kind of theme ties back in later in the essay.
At the end, we learn that this becomes his new mission in life (in a way). It establishes what the rest of the essay is probably going to be like because it serves as a transition to the next paragraph.

Besides the bird, I found myself that day. The experience has grown from a simple memory to a lifelong mission. It is the same conviction that told Homer’s epics, gave MLK’s speeches, painted Dali’s works, shot Kubrick’s films: the aspiration to use one’s vision and voice to impact others.

Some more explicit things we learn about Arpi. It’s pretty much written there for you, so I won’t reiterate anything. I find it interesting how he compares his conviction to Homer, MLK, Dali, and Kubrick. These are some of the greatest communicators of all time, all through different mediums. And these different mediums imply that Arpi is trying to do the same, through whatever medium he can (and indeed he does, which he declares later in the essay).
Something important to recognize is the context of this application. Arpi was involved in speech and heavily involved in art (with various awards). This essay gives the “why” behind his extracurriculars, something that the 150 char description in the activities section could not have done, and something the AO’s couldn’t infer just by taking a glance at his EC’s. All of this fits under his “arc” or “application theme”. More specifically, I would categorize it under his “hard theme”. I’ll talk more about his soft theme in a bit. For understanding the significance behind themes, see ScholarGrade’s work here. Essentially, it’s a one-line summary of your entire app, and I would say Arpi’s is “Effective communicator driven to tell meaningful stories, to inspire and to surprise others through multiple mediums of communication, whatever form that may take.” Whatever variation of that one-line summary you can come up with would probably work, too.

This spirit takes me to the stage, pushing me to show through public speaking. Recognizing the political unawareness in my community, I sought to combat the problem head-on. Recognized as a skilled orator, I landed an opportunity to speak at Naperville’s Memorial Day Parade. There, I directly addressed the city about the need for civic education. Under the gaze of thousands, I felt right at home, promoting change by sharing my message.

The rest of the essay serves as a montage. He starts with his public speaking and provides a little more depth to his mission of wanting to impact others. It also lines up with his arc of being a communicator and how he does it (one his big EC’s was speech). There’s nothing really big or anything that stands out in this paragraph, so I’ll just leave it as it is.

My voice is not limited to spoken words, however. With my camera, I forage through the depths of my mind and express it all through photography. I do not intend to make my pieces pretty, only impactful. While my art has received awards, I find far greater satisfaction in seeing my audience’s reactions. At art shows, I sneak around, peeking through display panels to catch every double-take, shocked expression, and thoughtful stare—the signs of my ideas swaying theirs.

This paragraph starts to tie in other mediums of communication. Earlier in the essay he alluded to different mediums, but now he’s taking the step to really showcase why these mediums are important to him. A lot of students will try a montage style of essay but never really state why those snippets of their essay mean anything to them.
In this paragraph, we start to understand his motivations behind his art, photography. He’s showing his fascination and curiosity with peoples’ reactions here, which is good. My only criticism here is that I would have liked to see what else that does for him. Sure, we get that he loves seeing their faces reacting and whatnot, but how does it change his perspective or encourage him to do other unorthodox things (keeping with theme of subverting expectations)?

Film, too, is another way to share. Last summer, while taking classes in Seoul, I encountered a fascinating street performer—a drug dealer turned Christian evangelist, he had devoted his life to praising Jesus on the streets. Inspired, I took the initiative to film a documentary about him. After weeks of researching, interviewing, shooting, and editing, I finished a project I found worth sharing online. The acceptance into film festivals was rewarding, but I was prouder knowing that, like in preschool, I had found and shown the world a meaningful story.

Once again, another art form in which his desire to communicate and inspire shows. Again, there’s not much here other than what he says. In isolation, these montage parts can be kind of uneventful or perhaps just a rehash of what he did, but I think the point here is how it adds to his overall arc, which you’ll see throughout the application.
If I were to edit his essay, I would probably delete the last line and exchange it for some reflection on what this project in particular did for him. Again, did it change his perspective or encourage him to do other unorthodox things?

I take on education with the same spirit. For me, all learning is research for my next exhibit—my next Show-and- Tell. As I study statistics, Veristic sculpture, or Hofstede’s Cultural Dimensions, I quickly see their potential applications. Outside of school, I eagerly attend film festivals, art galleries, and TEDx events, searching for both the subjects and techniques for my next productions. Knowing my education will someday affect others, I am constantly motivated to learn.

We see that his curiosity starts to show more and more as the essay continues (and application), and I think Stanford loved to see that. Arpi doesn’t settle ever, and that’s a great quality to have. Moreover, we learn that education is not meant for self-enrichment for him, but to inspire others with what he has learned. You might ask, what’s the difference… wasn’t that always his goal? Yes and no. His goal from the start has always been to inspire through some story-telling medium, but that doesn’t necessarily mean education was a part of that or even a critical component for him to do so. If I were an AO, I could get a sense of how he would use a Stanford education, and how down the line, he can be an amazing leader in some field or art form (and he arguably already is).

I lost the bird long ago, but Show-and-Tell has stayed with me for years—guiding my studies, leading my actions, giving me purpose. The contents and methods of my presentations have expanded, but the same goals remain. Be it in class, within myself, or on the streets, I look to discover. Be it with words, cameras, or bird carcasses, I strive to share. Be it as shock, inspiration, or screams, I aim to impact.
Every day, I look for dead birds—ideas worth sharing with the world. And when I find them, I Show-and-Tell.

I think this last part just drives home the point he makes in the entire essay. He wants to inspire, shock, make people think and question, and it stems from his own curiosity.
I thought this essay was a pretty pleasant read. It made me laugh, I felt kind of strange while reading because I was shocked that he brought in a dead bird, and I was curious to learn how his story unfolded.
Earlier I mentioned that he had a soft theme. I’ll touch upon that in his supplements.
SHORT SUPPLEMENTS

Most significant challenge society faces In a world full of information, very few people listen. Due to differences in gender, race, age, culture, or opinion, we often ignore each other’s voices, preventing progress. No matter how far knowledge advances, there will be no use if nobody wants to hear it.
Last two summers In Korea, I audited classes in Advertising and Photojournalism at Hanyang University, filmed a short documentary, Youtube vlogged, and met a fascinatingly large amount of foreigners obsessed with Korean pop music. At home, I volunteered at a summer school, Camp Pride, and started organizing a TEDx event (coming in November!).
Historical moment or event One of Reverend George Whitefield's sermons. A master orator, he reportedly made audiences weep by merely enunciating the word “Mesopotamia” and even got the stingy Benjamin Franklin to empty his pockets for the offering. He truly mastered the art of speaking, and I’d love to see how he does it.
What five words best describe you? Listen, wait, and talk straight.
What do you read, listen to, or watch? Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov - somehow makes the disturbing sound beautiful The Room directed by Tommy Wiseau - so bad but so watchable Freakonomics podcast - makes every car ride fascinating TED-Ed Youtube Channel - amazing lessons + amazing animations = amazing experience Reddit.com - front page of the internet
One thing you are looking forward to at Stanford Vlogging my life at Stanford. Everyone knows about the elite academics at Stanford (which I will cherish, of course), but few really see the special stuff: hikes to the dish, sports games, Frost concerts, amazing food, more amazing people. I want to share all of that Stanford with the world.
Extra hour in the day Taking my mom's drawing lessons again. When I dropped 10 years of drawing experience to fully pursue photography in high school, I found my real voice—but I also lost a meaningful part of my childhood. With an extra hour, I could return to where it all started: drawing with mom.

The soft arc: Being a better listener
Not all of his supplements hit on his soft arc 100%, but most of them do.
Notice how in his most significant challenge response, historical moment response, and five words to describe himself response, they all are about communication in one way or another. All of this adds to his soft arc of wanting to be a more intentional listener. It’s a nice contrast from his essay in which only demonstrated that he wanted to communicate (that is, show and tell). Here, he’s eager to learn to listen and wait. It illustrates his patience, desire to learn (again), and tenacity.
Hopefully you can start to see a fuller picture of who Arpi is: a really thoughtful and easygoing person. His personality, I think, really shines through in his supps more than his common app essay.
His other short responses that don’t hit the soft arc or hard arc completely
His other short responses don’t really hit the soft arc 100%, but it does add some more dimension to his character. I think a lot of students get caught up in making EVERY single essay response hit on their arc, and while it can be helpful, it isn’t always necessary.
The extra hour in a day response has a really sweet sentiment to it. I don’t think you really need to look too much into this, but if we must, the reader learns what he gave up along the way in his journey to become a better (or more shocking) communicator. It complements what he already has without touching his arc too much. There are so many ways to take this prompt, and I don’t really think there’s a wrong way to approach it. You can say more sleep if you want. You can talk about pursuing another intellectual adventure. You can talk about exercising more. Whatever goes. I honestly just think this prompt was thrown in because it’s amusing and entertaining to see what students can actually say here.
As for the response about what he reads and watches, it sort of touches his hard arc (his commentary on Lolita, specifically). Again, I don’t think there’s a right or wrong way to approach this prompt. Just write what feels true to you.
The last two summers response is, at least to me, looking for whether or not you’re being productive. I suppose they’re looking to see you’re not just a robot during school, but you also are living life during your breaks. Not much else to say here lol.
SHORT ANSWER SUPPLEMENTS
Idea or experience that makes you excited about learning

My first Good Friday service—a annual service to mourn the crucifixion of Christ—was the greatest show I had ever seen.
It opened with an emotional musical performance, setting the tone for the rest of the night. In the second act, the pastor preached the gospel, speaking with so much power and conviction that everyone fell to their knees in prayer. For the finale, the lights dimmed for Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ: 100+ minutes of incredibly graphic, gut-wrenching scenes of Christ’s torture and crucifixion. By the end of the night, the entire congregation was weeping, emotionally bombarded by the experience. Amazed, I wondered, How?
Sitting in that service, I realized that Christianity is, in a way, the world’s greatest mass communications case study. Through Christians, Jesus’ words echo in books, sermons, music, art, movies, and television. Moved by faith and with the Church as their stage, Christians skillfully perform life-changing shows—a feat I can learn from. When giving speeches, I mirror how pastors conduct their sermons: controlling their volume, pace, and tone to sway the audience’s thoughts and emotions. When I make art, I recall how the graphic, unfiltered depictions of the crucifixion evoke the strongest responses. Following suit, my own grotesque photography discomforts audiences but also provokes thought. By studying Christian communication techniques, I can improve my own.
Some believe God is real and powerful. Others do not. But in the Church, his story and its telling undoubtedly make people feel—and I seek to find out how.

I’m not going to go too in-depth on analyzing this supplement. Know that the big questions I ask still apply to the supplements.
What I like about this essay is that you really get a sense of the passion behind his fascination with reactions. The details of the story have a point, and it’s to illustrate just how much he really paid attention and was captivated by the people’s responses.
The point of this response is really to see the enthusiasm behind learning, and Arpi does that beautifully. I particularly love the lines where he acknowledges how Christians “skillfully perform life-changing shows” and how he wants to learn from it, and then follows up with how he mimics that kind of story telling. That really showcases how excited he is to learn, because he literally copies what they do, just in a different form. It adds another dimension to his hard arc of wanting to be a better communicator. He even connects back to photography, which was mentioned earlier in his common app essay.
Note to future roommate

Hey Roomie,
Communication is vital in any relationship, and ours will be no different. But don’t worry! I always try to speak purposefully, listen carefully, and text thoughtfully. However, there is one limit to my expression:
I never send emojis—and I beg that you do the same.
Of course, emojis are a revolutionary form of communication. They’re remarkably fun, expressive, and efficient. Unfortunately, after July 28th, 2017, I can only see them as the subjects of the insultingly bad, wholly unfunny, 50- million-dollar mistake that is The Emoji Movie (a generous 10% on Rotten Tomatoes). The Emoji Movie was an insult to comedy, film, and artistic expression as a whole. Every blandly-delivered line, blatant advertisement, and shameless poop joke was a stab to the heart. It truly hurt to watch. Once an avid user of emojis, I can no longer touch them with a clear conscience. The Emoji Movie has seared its ugly mark onto my permanent memory, and now, whenever I see the “crying laughing emoji,” I cry for other reasons.
Please understand: I'm a pretty laid-back guy—easy to talk to and hard to offend. But when Sony Pictures disgraces an art form I love, it makes me feel like poop emoji.
So, let’s just stick to the classic all-text emoticons. My favorites are :D, :’(, and :P. Or better yet, we can just call! Nothing else can capture the wonderful nuances of vocal expression.
I hope we get to know each other well, Roomie—just not with emojis.
-Ryan :)

I’m sure this response is a favorite amongst Arpi fans. More than anything, we get a sense of Arpi’s sense of humor, but as a bonus, we see how it connects back to his arc. Throughout Arpi’s application, he continuously talked about how he wanted to shock others, but we never really understood what shocked Arpi. Welp, now we do. It’s an interesting contrast while still being humorous (see: “a generous 10% on Rotten Tomatoes”). As a result, I think we can get a clearer picture of how he also intends to shock and inspire others.
I honestly don’t think I need to go in that deep of an analysis here since the main point of this post was to talk about his arc. However, I will note that I’ve never wanted to be anyone’s friend more than after reading this supplement. My guess is that AO’s felt a similar sense of calm and happiness when they read this response.
Something meaningful to you and why

Receiving my 9th grade ID card, I nearly jumped when I saw my picture.
I must not have heard the photographer say “Smile” as he took the photo. I just sat with my neutral expression (a terrible mistake).
My eyebrows angled sharply, my eyelids slanted downwards, my lips slightly pursed, my eyes locked in a cold stare—I somehow looked bored, judgemental, and mad all at the same time. My face was basically telling the photographer, “Burn in Hell.”
I then realized I had a problem. I suffer from what is commonly referred to as “Resting B*tch Face” (RBF for short). When my face is relaxed, I unintentionally look very angry.
As someone who cares deeply about connecting with others, it is incredibly frustrating when my face sends the wrong message. Before I can say a single word, my RBF broadcasts: “Stay away.” If I do not maintain a smile, strangers, friends, and even family are afraid to approach, assuming I am in a grumpy mood.
However, while my RBF has caused some difficulties, it has also provided strengths. To make up for my disadvantage, I must be constantly conscious about how people feel. As I exercise adjusting my own facial expressions, I learn to read others’ as well. For both their sake and mine, I always try to be socially perceptive.
Now, when I check the mirror and see the serial-killer-face glaring back, I am grateful. A blessing in scary disguise, my RBF matters to me because it develops careful communication.

Once again, we see this response hit his arc (more specifically, his soft arc). This was my favorite essay, primarily because I have RBF too. It was relatable, it was funny, and it gave me a deeper understanding of just how much Arpi cares about communicating with other people. I can understand his intentions better, and I can definitely get a sense of how he tries his hardest to rise above RBF and create a more welcoming atmosphere for those around him.
What I love most about this essay is that he took something negative and saw the positives within it. That shows he's more of an optimistic person, that he can see the silver lining between things when they look incredibly bleak. That’s a quality I think is harder to find nowadays. Moreover, while he highlights the positives within his RBF, he also showcases his desire to learn and become more aware (see: “I always try to be socially perceptive”).
This essay was also pretty funny, as most of his application was.
CONCLUSION
Alright, this is getting really long, and I could analyze his entire application for days and talk more about it, but hopefully you get the gist. Arpi’s application, in my opinion, had a hard and soft arc.
Hard arc: “Effective communicator driven to tell meaningful stories, to inspire and to surprise others through multiple mediums of communication, whatever form that may take.”
Soft arc: “Become a better listener by ensuring that he listens carefully and with intention.”
From those arcs, we get a sense of his purpose and why he pursued the things he did in high school, while also getting a sense of his personality (funny, quirky, eccentric, intentional and careful, open-minded, etc.). In other words, his common app and supplements are well-crafted and vibrant, and create a fuller picture of who he is behind the 14AP classes, test scores, gpa and EC’s.
Hope this helpful!

Chapter 2: Brother
‘God blesses him who helps his brother.’
Abu Bakr
One thing is clear as I gathered my thoughts after the emotional battle against Mother. I am definitely in hell due to my sins that are yet to be reclaimed. I still cannot remember everything as there are snippets slotting into place like a puzzle of doom and despair. However, it does not explain the mystical library that has a mysterious divine aura. I wonder how I can reach that place since I want to rest my troubled mind and tormented soul.
I got my knife back in the inventory after Mother’s corpse crumbled into dust. I wearingly continued wandering about in the corridor. There was a double door in front of me as I inspected them and it looked like I seen it before as a child. It was an antique-looking reddish-brown door with big black metallic rings instead of door knobs. I pulled the rings as it made a clanking sound while opening the door. There was a white flash that engulfed my vision and I felt an icy cold rush sensation that ran shivers down my spine.
I opened my eyes and I was in another bedroom. There was a double bed with an animated ink blots as a cover. There was a large cupboard and a dressing table next to it from the left of the room. There was a big black study desk with a sturdy office mobile chair. There was a portrait of flowers on the side of the wall to add some kind of color in a dull-looking room.
There were no carpets or rugs on the maple-wood furnished floor but there was a single barefoot left as a dusty proof that this room is currently occupied. I nearly touched the barefoot print but it blew away all of a sudden. I looked up to see a window being left open as the dust swooshed away into nothing. I peered at the window but there was an empty darkness beyond. I shivered and tried to distract myself by examining the room even further.
“Cool looking bed.” I said to myself. I looked around and noticed some shiny object on the desk. I went over and it looked like an expensive analog watch. I picked it up and moved it around in my hands. It had a black strap and the analog watch had a shimmering logo. Just then, a memory fragment emerged once again.
“Hey Ali, I got a gift for you!” A little boy said as he was eagerly showing the watch to me. He seemed more excited than I was. I can barely see his face as the sunlight entered from the windows that angled it in such a way that it blinded my point-of-view. However, I can tell from his cheery light voice that he sounded enthusiastic and delighted about the fancy watch. We were in this very room and it was my 13th birthday.
“Oh…how nice. Thanks, little brother.” I said absentmindedly as I was barely looking at the watch. I was looking into space, feeling dejected since none of my friends responded to my calls. I wanted to invite them but not one even wished me today. I felt so depressed but my little brother was trying to cheer me up.
“Oh, don’t worry about your ‘so-called’ friends.” He said. “Do you like the watch I bought for you?” I could barely see his face but he seemed to be anxious and eager about the expensive watch.
“Like I said, it’s nice.” I said a bit harsher than intended. My little brother flinched and looked a bit hurt. He put his head down and grumbled softly to himself.
“What was that?” I asked him. I never liked it when he mumbled and grumbled to himself every-time he does not get what he wants or if I don’t react the way according to his expectations.
“Nothing!” He said with a sharp tone in his voice. I expected him to behave better than that since he should know how to act in a normal way.
“Hey…come o-,” I was about to reach out but he just ran out of the room.
The fragment ended right there, I felt a bit guilty at that time when my little brother tried to give me a gift but I showed no interest or gratitude. I looked around in this bedroom and there were photos on the shelves fitted on the wall.
I examined them and noticed that there were in a progression of chronological order, showing how my little brother grew from childhood, adolescent to adulthood. The first picture showed him as a toddler in a brightly lit dining room that I saw earlier with Mother. The frames were black and dull brown to give a sober look to an otherwise funny-looking picture of this merry child. His hair was a bit curly and lively that added a certain attractive charisma in his character. His mouth was opened with glee and it was painted light green of baby food. His brown eyes were wide and twinkling with light of awe. He was sitting on the adult chair, looking innocent and lonesome. He was holding plastic spoon and fork as his body was facing the table and his head was tilted towards the camera.
There were no adults except there was a hint of shadow of the photographer that seemed tall and foreboding that casted a bit of a shadow over him. That kind of contrast seemed a bit weird as it portrayed a bad omen or perhaps some ominous fate awaited him.
I shook that thought and checked the second picture where he was a teenager outside in the garden. His hairstyle was cut short and tidy while his head titled upwards to signify pride and confidence. He stood casually with his hands in his pockets. In this picture, there were people in the background that looked like they were the same age as him. There were boys and girls dressed in blue jeans and similar white shirts with logos, chit-chatting in a casual social exchange in the background. Perhaps my brother was doing an internship with an NGO for the underprivileged class as he was also wearing a similar shirt. The rest of them were scurrying around, setting up the area for the social event of ‘Feeding the Poor.’ I held the picture in my hand to look at it and I barely remember this at all.
“Where was I?” I asked myself as I saw my own brother amidst the crowd of unfamiliar people.
“I still don’t remember your name, little brother.” I said with a tinge of regret as I nearly put the picture back. Somehow, it slipped off my hands, the picture frame broke instantly and the photo slid to one side away from the mess.
“Aw, damn it!” I attempted to clear up the little clutter but something caught my eye before I took a step. I went to the photo and picked it up to inspect it even further. I noticed that the photo was folded in such a way like it concealed a secret. I straightened it, only to note that there was a solitary girl looking out of place. She was wearing a black formal business suit and she seemed to be older than the volunteers in that area. She seemed to look like a manager of some sort as she had a serious look in her face while observing the young volunteers getting the event ready. I felt that I knew her very well as a close friend of sorts and my heart skipped a beat when I saw her face. Her hair moved like waves in a still-like motion, her complexion was as pale as death and her lips were blood red. One of her hands was holding a file clipboard while the other flicked her hair. She was wearing similar kind of dark red high-heel shoes to match her lipstick. She almost looked like the ‘Lady of Death.’
“Wh-who are you? Do I know you?” I stammered and I felt a similar cold rush behind me, I looked around as there were phantom shadows swarming around in the room again. They were more restless and agitated, screaming their soundless screams in the black noise.
“Oh, not you guys again.” I said annoyingly. Instinctively, I rushed towards the light switch close to the door, I avoided a few of them whooshing past me. I turned on the light, the sudden flash blazed at them as they retreated into the shadows. Their agonized screams echoed longer even after they disappeared to non-existence. I noted that they cannot stand brighter environments.
I looked at the photo that was still in my hand and I gasped in shock as the picture of the girl was looking straight at me with her eyes wide with fury. The light flickered again and the photo was back to its original position.
“What the hell is happening here?” I asked a rhetorical question but I don’t think I am ready to hear the answer anytime soon.
I decided to keep this photo in my inventory. I looked at the last photo where little brother was standing proudly in a business suit with a navy sober tie outside a corporate office. He was taller and looking like a professionally accomplished adult. The picture frames had a golden and black mix to give off a happy formal vibe. Little brother was smiling naturally, showing his perfect sparkling teeth. There was a golden title ‘Lazer Khan’ at the bottom of the portrait.
“Lazer?” I asked myself in an attempt to jog my memory but nothing rang a bell. This did not sound like my brother’s name but I felt there was a connection. I took the photo off the frame just to see if there were any secrets in this one as well. I flipped the photo to see the reverse side. There was a name written along with the date in a scribbled and rushed handwriting.
Latif Zahid Biliwal Khan was on one line and the date March 22nd 2012 was on the second line.
“Latif? Lazer?” I felt I didn’t know my brother at all since nothing else was emerging in my mind. I put the photo back inside the frame and returned it to the shelf. I turned around to note anything else that I need to examine in this room.
Suddenly, the light flashed incredibly bright enough to blind me. I closed my eyes as the extreme intensity began to hurt my vision. The ground shook hard and I fell down on the floor. The violent rumbling and quaking sensation really freaked me out as everything started breaking apart all around me.
I kept my eyes closed and held my hands over my head as a protective measure. Eventually, the grounds stopped shaking and I opened my eyes to see what the hell was going on. I cautiously got up, feeling a bit sore and shaken up after that unexpected quake event.
“What the fuck?” I noted the entire room has been totally altered into something different. The shelves and photos remained intact for some inexplicable reason. However, the double bed turned to a single standard turquoise color with a plain brownish red quilt. The large cupboard turned to a smaller one. Out of curiosity, I opened it to check my brother’s taste of fashion. There was only a sober blueish grey suit hanging there. I took it out and examined it further.
I inspected the pockets of the suit and there were several items I placed on the single-sized bed. The items comprised of a wallet, car keys, breath mints, smart phone (dead) and a pocket charger for the phone. I looked around closely to check if there are any sockets, I can use for the charger so that I can utilize the phone. There was one socket near the bed. I pray that there is electricity running in this God-forsaken place. I plugged the charger and switched it on. A green light from the charger greeted me reassuringly and I placed the phone on the bed and connected it with the charger. I sat on the bed and waited for the smart phone to come back to life.
The smart phone clicked on and the screen began flashing brightly and eagerly. I grabbed the phone and looked at all the apps. It seemed to look like it was a standard setup and the phone looked clean and it was in top-notch quality. Apparently, little brother had quite the taste in technologies as well.
I decided to look at the messages and emails first. I browsed through several messages and I noted that Latif or Lazer was quite a friendly but firm person with his fellow colleagues. He even accepted invitations from his close friends to attend social events and parties wholeheartedly due to his over use of emojis and exclamation marks as well as animated gifs to express his commitment, enthusiasm, openness and recklessness.
I smirked at his remarks wondering how my little brother can be so ‘different’ yet related with me. I looked at his emails next and he was more business-minded and stern in taking care of the affairs of the family business. He seemed to have the brains in the family in terms of problem-solving, accountability and reliability. Latif really knew how to lead and manage the finance team in ensuring our family business was kept as a clandestine concern, especially from his fellow colleagues who had a close relationship with Latif.
One email caught my eye, this one was about how the stocks were beginning to plummet due to the senior partners made a hasty exit despite our careful strategic plans in keeping our business profitable and stable. Latif was really trying to reassure them not to bail on us but they didn’t seem keen to cooperate. Apparently, the exchanges got rather unpleasant and unprofessional on both sides as the risks and stakes were high.
I looked at more emails and there were no other clues as to why the senior partners decided to foil our partnership with our business. Feeling disconcerted, I put the phone back to the charger and allowed it to feed until it got sated.
I got up from the bed and decided to check what else changed in my brother’s bedroom. There was a big black office desk and a mobile black chair standing stationery. On the desk, there was a laptop that looked like it was high-specs.
I sat down at the table and opened the laptop. Latif’s PC sparked to life and I checked the documents folder that had the projects, fiscal projections, business plans, financial dealings and even photo IDs of our long list of employees. There was also a list of names of powerful and rich individuals as well as corporate offices that are loosely linked to our criminal syndicate.
I looked at one specific document with keen interest. It was a business proposition regarding an expansion of our family business through the investments from the senior partners. The document was written on July 22nd 2013 and there were several names that attended the board meeting. My name was also there and just like that, a new memory flashed before my eyes.
“Ali? Will you get that document for us, please?” asked Latif as there were 20 members of the board sitting together at a large round boardroom table. The boardroom table had a light brown color as its sleek wooden design reflected the well-lit fluorescent white lights with majesty and prestige. All the mobile office chairs were comfortable and sturdy as the top young players and hardened-faced business men over their 50s were ready to begin the meeting. It was a formal occasion as everyone wore expensive Italian and tailor-made suits and colorfully striped ties.
“Here it is, Latif. The floor is yours.” I said with a business-like expressionless face as I handed the document to my little brother. I always thought that I should keep my emotions and personality under lock-and-key because I was grilled and drilled by my family upbringing and my expensive education to act like a ‘cog’ in this workspace. The truth is I never had the heart to be in this kind of business because of its soulless empty void that sucks on the lives and wealth of everyone around the world. However, I kept these thoughts to myself since my family expects me to lead the business.
“Right, Thanks big brother.” Exclaimed Latif with enthusiasm and excitement. He smiled his sparkly teeth smile in front of the board, ready to sell our business proposal. He looked at the document for a second and then with a loud confident voice, he takes the plunge that would change our lives forever.
“Hello everyone, as you know we ARE the future for your humble businesses. We extend our hand out of friendship to you all in a personal and professional sense. We offer a bridge of abundant opportunities that would expedite progress in your wealth and secure your future forever!”
There were a few murmurs and whispers in the background. Someone was taking a photo of Latif with his smart phone while giving a speech. Just a precaution, I took a photo of that person with my own in silent mode to ensure that this isn’t going to be uploaded on Social Media. My unwritten job description was to safeguard the family business no matter who or what would prove to be a future obstacle in our path.
Latif continued his speech as he watched the reactions of the senior partners with his sharp predator eyes. He always did have a knack to read people better than I could.
“You will find our proposal is attractive because we act as a scaffold for you and your businesses. In return, we expect you to invest in our services in a low-risk and cost-effective financial plan that gives you a peace of mind that you ARE under our protective umbrella that will cover you for insurance frauds, accidental deaths, health risk and excreta. And I do mean excreta!!”
Latif added the last catch phrase with a wink and a trademark thumbs-up. I watched the speech alongside others and I overheard some background voices of rising approval and intrigue from the crowd.
Apparently, Mother made the right call to let Latif do all the talking while I monitor any suspicious activity. I looked at the crowd of young and old members of the board. However, I was more focused in watching the senior partners. They seemed to be interested in our offer and financial plan. I smiled as they were going to be our best assets in establishing our network of assassins that would eventually expand our criminal syndicate exponentially.
The memory fragment ended and I blinked again as I was startled by these new memories. All I have are fragments that are fitting the puzzle but I am still not seeing the entire picture yet. I looked at the computer screen for a second and decided that it was enough. I shut down the computer and as soon as the screen turned black, there was someone standing near the door.
I turned around alarmingly just to see a shadow moving out of the room. I swiftly got up and ran straight towards the door just to see whom the shadow belonged to. However, there was no one there in the corridor. The corridor looked different as my vision titled and angled from side to side, trying to process the unexplainable changes in this place. The corridor was darker and there were grayer frames on the walls and roof with similar arabesque pattern that was in a swirling circular pattern that made me dizzy and nauseated when I looked at them closely.
I averted my gaze straight ahead and saw a similar looking shadow that was taunting me and beckoning me to come closer just within 30 feet from me. I ran straight towards the shadow as it moved away inch by inch. The shadow was close to the bend as I turned left at the intersection.
It was none other than my little brother, Latif. He was still wearing his business suit with a navy-blue tie. He wore black Italian shoes that matched with his overall getup. His face was similar to the one in the picture when he was an adult except, he looked ‘different’. He wasn’t smiling nor was there any warmth or friendliness in his overall body language except for the pure malice directed at me. His predator eyes were on full alert and he had a malicious grin on his face. His hands were opened and fingers were spread as if he was ready for a fight. I felt disturbed because there was a gunshot wound in his chest that still looked fresh.
“…Latif? What happened to you?” I asked him, hoping this wasn’t going to be another battle with another family member. Somehow, I knew that deep down that this was going to be unlikely since this is MY hell.
“Ali…you are a total fucking idiotic loser who couldn’t accept that you failed us all, including yourself” he snapped at me. Even his voice was different. It was cold as ice and alienating unlike the sunshine warmth that my brother would fill with his presence and voice. I felt a bad chill in my back and my throat went dry as I was about to choke due to my rising anxiety and guilt.
I gulped it down and then I took a step towards Latif.
“ANSWER THE QUESTION, GODDAMMIT!!!” I shouted at him as my shrieking voice echoed throughout the entire corridor that ricochet across the area that created a crescendo of wrath.
“Well Ali, I was killed…-“Latif attempted to explain but I cut him off as I didn’t want to hear any more about it.
“Just shut up, Latif. SHUT UP!!!” I snapped as my chest grew heavy and my head started to hurt. I put my hand on my head trying to breathe as I felt overwhelmed that even my own little brother was killed too.
“I didn’t kill you too, did I?” I started to weep as I asked him this question.
He only smirked at me with his predator eyes and he smiled his fang-like smile. He began to levitate off the ground and he started to emit a mysterious bloody fiery red aura of rage and death.
“Talk is over now, dear brother of mine!!” He waved his hands up in the air and the ground began to shake again. His red aura grew stronger and brighter as the strong winds started to blow from all sides. I covered my face as it overpowered me.
There was a violent red storm that struck at all sides and my knees eventually gave out as I couldn’t sustain myself. Latif merely moved one hand straight at me and unleashed the red winds of fury. I was literally blown away even though I tried to safeguard myself. I propelled my legs up in the air and flipped myself back up again and got into my fighting stance.
“Stop it, Latif!” I shouted over the deafening fast winds that were blowing straight into my ears. It looked like Latif was about to say something but I was not too sure since the storm winds affected my vision as well. I needed to do something to stop my brother’s tantrums.
“You were always the crybaby, you know that!” I taunted him, hoping he would make a mistake and let down his guard. I got my knife from my inventory and I kept it behind my back, waiting for his next move.
Latif lowered his hands and clenched his shaking fists and teeth angrily. He put his head down and stopped levitating from the ground. I needed to be ready for his next strike but I was not prepared for what he wanted to say to me.
“It is your fault, Ali! It is all your fault. Your fault. Your fault. YOUR FAULT!!!” he screamed in agony and pain. He had tears in his eyes, his face crumpled into sorrow and he put one hand in his mouth to control his outbursts unsuccessfully.
“Ali…I died because of you!” his voice was breaking as the icy wall around him started to waver.
“You didn’t even protect me when I needed you the most. We were supposed to be brothers.” He continued his accusation in a lower and emptier voice.
He looked straight at me and his eyes became blank all of a sudden as he stood there motionless and soundless. His face cracked from the center and it started shaking uncontrollably. The ground started to quake and rumble again.
I stared at Latif or the demon, in horror and was just about to turn away but as soon as I took a 180, there was a red blinding swoosh on my right. I turned back and Latif had disappeared, however as I looked ahead, my eyes found that Latif had beaten me to it.
“What the-” I couldn’t say anything more as Latif grabbed my neck in a single swift movement.
“Ack!” I could barely breathe as I was at Latif’s mercy. I tried to struggle from his death grip. Although, as our eyes met, I felt a similar sensation with my heart that beat at the same time as his own. This demon who can summon the red storms, is my little brother after all.
“Latif….I’m sorry.” I said as I got the knife out from my pocket and stabbed him in his gunshot wound.
He roared in pain and I twisted his wrists to a breaking point. One of his knees fell to the floor and I elbowed him straight to his face. Latif recoiled and shook his head to recover from my counter attack.
However, I didn’t want to wait to fight him again as I got out of there just in a nick of time.
I kept running and running aimlessly and desperately in a never-ending corridor. It seemed to stretch as far as I ventured on and on. Although, my body was quick to betray me as I nearly lost my balance and fell hard on the floor. I coughed and grabbed my chest and tried to keep it together. I felt my heart breaking into pieces.
“…First my mother….and now my brother?” I started to cry silently and I was all alone. I lost track of time as I knelt on the hard marble floor of black and white. My teary-eyed reflection from the black marble floor stared back at me, only to amplify my misery and agony.
“What do I do now?” I asked myself another rhetorical question. This time, I wanted an answer or a guidance to overcome this demon.
I slowly got up and looked around. Latif is nowhere nearby, so I had enough time to do some plotting for my next move. There was a blueish white door to my right with a shiny golden door knob. I opened the door, not knowing or caring of what to expect since I don’t even give a damn anymore. I went through the door as the white flash engulfed me over again but I didn’t blink or flinch this time. I passed through the blinding light with my head held high.
I returned to the starting point where I first entered the house. It was a bit different as the pictures of mother and brother were crystal clear but the rest of the family were still obscure and blurry. I looked straight ahead at the formal portrait and part of the arabesque was broken apart by some unknown force. I was able to see the lower portion of his body that was wearing tailor made pants and expensive corporate black shoes.
“Well, this is new!” I exclaimed in a loud voice as I observed the minor changes of this side of the house. It became increasingly clear that this place was warped by space and time. I just realized that this house is not really a house. Somehow, this place is a collection of my memories, thoughts, perceptions and my sins that are yet to be reclaimed.
“Alright…what to do….what to do.” I began pondering on how I should defeat Latif. I went over the facts regarding Latif based on my last encounter with him. I know that the brother I once knew has changed as he is filled with cold malice. On the contrary, His true nature was preserved in this hell as he felt sorrow once I challenged him. Somehow, I was able to recall that he was a sensitive little brother who always tried to do his level best for his family. He was the source of pride but Latif had a tendency to be secretive and he kept his thoughts and opinions to himself. He wouldn’t even share anything with me either.
That would explain why I was unable to get more facts or memory fragments from the items I touched in his room. I have to figure out how I can acquire more memories of my little brother in order to get cliff notes that lead to this….unfortunate outcome.
I shook my head to keep my focus. If only I can go back to the library to seek refuge and guidance.
“Where the hell is this library when I need one?” I asked and a sudden loud bang answered from behind me. I jumped like a scared cat and got into my fighting stance. I noticed that there was an antique door that had some kind of mysterious divine light and aura that felt inviting and peaceful.
I took a fast step forward and opened the door. I breathed a sigh of relief as the library found me instead. The library maintained its divine aura and wonders, it almost felt like a lifetime coming back to this place. I shook my head to stop reminiscing and romanticizing over this place and began to make my preparations in defeating Latif.
I noted that there was a new file cabinet that had the initials ‘L.T.K’ somewhere between the computer section and the wall with an abstract art with borderless frames that have rough design of interconnected rectangles that were linked around each corner.
I slowly walked towards the cabinet and investigated the exterior first. It had a silver color like you would find in banks or lockers in secondary schools that would be either overly used or a waste of space. I attempted to open the first drawer but it didn’t budge. It appeared to be locked. I tried the other two and it was closed due to the lock mechanism of the first one.
“Great…nothing can be done easy around here,” I was getting frustrated but I took a breath and tried once more but it refused to unlock without a key of some kind.
“Where am I going to find that damn key?!” I thought out loud as I looked everywhere for the key that would fit the cabinet. However, I was overlooking a simple fact.
“Wait, where is the keyhole?” I attempted to inspect the front of the first drawer and instead of a keyhole, there were various pieces that looked out of place. It looked like it was a puzzle of a photo. I can barely make out the details as I tried to see if they were adjustable. I moved one piece downwards and then I tried different combinations with different pieces until they all fit together perfectly.
I took a step back to see the photo clearly and I gasped in amazement.
“This photo!!! I remember this moment!” It was Latif and I in the middle of the urban neighborhood. We got our arms around each other, smiling merrily in our formal attires as we were attending a family wedding. I suppose we always liked to dress up during a special occasion just to impress the public since we were really excited to go out together. This was the time when we were only kids and we had the rest of our lives ahead of us. I must have been 15 years old while Latif was 8 years old. We looked truly happy together.
“Latif…what happened to us?” the mystery was gnawing at me from my inside. I felt my guts churning and burning as my adrenaline shot through the roof. My vision got hazy and my head grew heavy, I nearly stumbled on one side and fell on the floor.
“Uuuhhhh! What is happening to me?” my vision became dark and blurry as my head started to drown in an ocean of fatigue. My eyes closed and my body refused to move, no matter how much I willed it to get back up again.
A bright flash spread the darkness as I saw something. Something that could have or would have been if I just held on to that.
“Hey Ali…is this fun?” asked Latif after the photo was taken by Mother.
“Yeah, Yeah. This is a lot of fun.” I agreed with a big smile on my face as we were ready to attend our family wedding.
“Where’s dad?” I asked Mother.
“He should be coming in 2 minutes, my dear.” Mother said with her deep and husky voice while still holding the camera near her face. She appeared more like an observer in this moment.
“Alright, hey Latif, let’s go and check out the food inside the place,” I said excitedly and I was getting ready to go with Latif.
“Okay!” Latif grinned and he was about to follow my lead until Mother stopped us in our tracks. She looked at us with her wide eyes and shook her index finger from side to side. Latif and I just looked at each other and then we started to laugh wholeheartedly.
“Hey Ali…” Latif said in a sudden quiet voice.
“Yeah Latif?” I asked him with a big wide grin on my face.
“This never happened.” Latif said and put his head down to cover his facial expressions.
“What?” my grin disappeared as the scene froze and became a monochromic dream.
“What the fuck is happening here?” I asked Latif a question but I already knew the answer before he responded.
“Wake up, you blistering idiot!” Latif sounded more like an adult in his childlike form. My vision grew shaky and hazy as I looked around and everything started to break apart once again. Latif and I were the only ones standing in the dark void. The shadows attempted to strike from the void just to add to the turmoil.
“Latif….I…..” I hesitated as the shadows were approaching him, multiple pale white hands were creeping up to grab him from all sides.
“NO!!” I screamed and I reached out to my brother but I stopped right there to see Latif’s eyes has changed back to his cold predator look and his red aura scared away all the shadows.
I gazed at him with a mixture of amazement and horror as Latif levitated and showed his awesome power of the red storm. The dark void became bloody red as it recognized Latif as the master of the hour. He approached me with his cold condescending eyes and pointed at me.
“Ali, Wake the fuck up!” Latif snapped.
I woke up on the floor, feeling seriously disoriented and tired. I painfully got up and looked around the library.
“I need to get out of here,” I made up my mind that I will survive this as each second is adding more to my torment and suffering. The cabinet was magically unlocked since the door was partially opened ajar.
“Time to study!” I said as I rubbed my hands together in a rapid motion to get myself psyched and awake in this situation.
I went to check on the first cabinet, it had several files of Latif’s business dealings and list of corporate sectors that were related with healthcare, education and social services.
There was one specific document that had detailed information regarding a business meeting with the senior partners. It was dated 22nd March 2015 and there were several other names of small and large corporate businesses in this meeting as well. The names of the senior partners also caught my eye as each of them had interstellar profile and experiences. There was a sub folder that had files of detailed information about their travels, network, work history and so much more.
I also knew that each of the senior partner had dark secrets of their own since we had information about their underground network and under-the-table deals in our organization. I kept skimming through the files, attempting to get a flashback but to no avail. My eyes hurt and my head ached as I tried to find the reasons why they bailed on us.
Exasperated, I put the files down and scratched my head vigorously. I looked up at the ceiling to breathe easier and to take a step back before I get overwhelmed once again.
“That’s funny..,” I suddenly remarked. A single thought sparked that took me by surprise when I realized that I have not eaten or drank anything ever since I got here.
“So why am I feeling so tired and stressed?” I asked out loud. I took another deep breath and looked at the files once more. Perhaps, I have overlooked something in the scores and scores of files. I decided to place each file separately in a pattern to better comprehend them.
Latif always dealt with the senior partners with respect and in return, they would respond in kind. There was a specific incident that occurred in which our trust and respect was put into question. I read the file even further and it stated that a mishap occurred that put them in serious crosshairs with the media and on the news. This mishap occurred in Bangkok, Thailand in which we were involved with a senior partner with a Thai background.
The date of the incident file was 21st Dec 2016 and it was in one of the Thai corporate office of trade and merchandise. We disagreed about the state of operations as our partnership became strained due to the conflicting interest of keeping the future in mind. I wanted to push the plans forward while the senior partner demanded to wait for the ‘right time’. Latif was acting as a mediator to keep us in check of our goals. However, upon reading the files in an objective manner, my behavior showed impatience as I demanded to get more ‘volunteers’ in our organization.
I put that file down and put my hand on my head. I was thinking about my reactions but I couldn’t recall anything specific on this event.
“Why did this all go so wrong?” I asked myself. An answer revealed with a memory flash of Latif trying to talk to me. He was an adult, wearing that same suit and shoes but he looked nervous for some reason.

If you’re reading this right now I’m going to ask you to do something very important. You may not want to do it, but you will feel so much better when it’s done. You will feel a relief that you did not know you needed. A weight that you did not know you were carrying will fall off your shoulders. I promise. Don’t allow yourself to end up in a situation like the one I am now in. I have never been so terrified, so miserable, ever before. My hands are shaking as I type this. The monitor is blurry from the tears.
Please. I’m begging you.
Go into your contacts on your cell phone. Call every single person you love and if they don’t answer tell them to call you back as soon as they can. Don’t skip a single one. Make it clear that you need to hear their voice. Do not text them and assume they are fine. Statistically, yes, they are probably going on with their lives and they will only find your out-of-the-blue call to be an amusing but unnecessary wellness check. For your sake, I hope that’s all that happens.
It’s weird, you know, how much we rely on our phones to tell us that our loved ones are okay. How satisfied we feel when we get a text message or a response to our comment on Instagram. The thought that it could be anyone else on the other end of that phone, typing away, never goes through our heads. It certainly never went through mine, millennial that I am. The boomers joke we were born with phones in our hands, and we turn up our noses at their criticism. But they have a point. Our brains are different. The way we maintain our relationships… it’s different. Different but not better. We text our mothers a goddamned heart emoji and tell ourselves ‘yeah, that’s enough. I’m sure she knows I love her.’ We get a difficult text from a significant other and have the privilege to just sit on it and ask our friends to play psychologist so they can tell us what to say.
We text friends we haven’t seen in months and assume that when they text back, everything the text reads is true. As I found out earlier today… that isn’t always the case.
My best friend and I have known each other since we were five. We went to elementary, middle, and eventually high school together and even as our own social circles ebbed and flowed we always stayed close. I’m talking first name basis with each other’s parents, sleepovers, being first on the call list when something bad happened. She got her driver’s license first three months before I did, and she drove me everywhere. To soccer practice, to the diner for disco fries at two AM… home after I got drunk with a boy I should not have let my guard down around. My parents still don’t know about that night and I don’t know if I’ll ever tell them. Long story short, Madison was practically my sister. My best friend. And when she went away to college, moving halfway across the country to pursue the sorority lifestyle I’d always gently mocked her for wanting, I assumed that wouldn’t change. I hoped it wouldn’t. And it didn’t. Not until sophomore year.
I still knew her like the back of my hand for the first year of our separation. We called each other every weekend, video called frequently enough that the people living on my dorm floor got used to the sound of her voice and noticed when she dyed her hair. We kept each other updated on grades, guys, and homesickness. Nothing felt all that different. I missed the way she smelled but that was about it. (Yeah, I know that sounds creepy, fuck off. You all know exactly what I mean. The people that you love always smell a certain way, and it’s comforting. It’s not something you notice until you’ve been reunited after a long separation. It’s like coming home.)
Unfortunately, time’s arrow marches forward and the calls became less frequent. If she noticed this subtle change, she never voiced it to me, but by summertime I almost felt weird about calling her up to make lunch plans. Time does this to us. If too much of it passes by, it becomes harder and harder to rekindle the flame. We doubt ourselves, we stay in stasis. We tell ourselves that this is just how things are now and besides don’t we have new friends that need our attention more? Why dedicate the precious hours we have left after classes and schoolwork to someone that hasn’t called us in three weeks, when your neighbor just knocked on your door with a bottle of wine and a smile on their face?
By junior year, my best friend and I communicated solely through text. Don’t get me wrong, when we got to texting we got to texting. We went whole hog: GIFs, strings of nonsensical emojis, novel after novel of blue-bubble confessions and life updates. We’d text for so long our thumbs would cramp up, and then we’d text each other about our thumb cramps and everything felt normal for a little bit. But then the last text of the conversation would be sent, and my thumbs would linger over the keyboard. Wasn’t there more to say? Could I keep the conversation going longer? Was I being needy? Was I annoying her? And every time, I’d put the phone down and find something else to do. The cycle would repeat, not frequently enough for our conversations to feel meaningful, until six months ago. Keep in mind that I am now a senior. At that point, she and I had not spoken for over a year. Sure, I’d seen her face on Instagram, and I’d automatically double-tap on the picture no matter the subject matter, but we had not spoken in 13 months. I hadn’t seen her over summer break, either, because she’d been studying abroad. I’d been annoyed that she hadn’t made the effort to see me at all. The study abroad program had only been for a month. She could have given me at least an hour for coffee and a hug. So when I got a text from her out of the blue, I was both surprised and annoyed.
Her: ‘Hey! I miss you.’
Me: ‘Yeah? You didn’t miss me over the summer.’
I admit, I was being harsh. And I probably surprised her with my attitude. She didn’t seem to understand why I was upset with her.
Her: ‘Damn! Someone’s feelin fiesty today.’
Me: ‘Girl, you blew me off all summer.’
Her: ‘What do you mean? You know I was in [REDACTED].’
Me: ‘Yeah, and you came back halfway through July. I didn’t go back to school until August, and I know for a fact that you left even later than I did.’
Her: ‘What do you mean you know that for a fact?’
Me: ‘You posted about it on Instagram!’
She didn’t answer me for a few hours after that. I felt justified in my anger. But then she texted me back and apologized. For the first time in forever, we stayed up late updating each other on what had been going on in our lives. When she told me about the guy she’d been dating, and how they’d met on her study abroad trip and hit it off, I was ready to let her off the hook. But then she dug a little deeper, and told me about how he seemed to change the longer they dated. He became controlling, and his ‘mood swings,’ turned into full on rages. I was concerned, even before she’d told me about the first time he hit her. At that point, I was ready to fly to her school to kick his ass, years of childhood memories and mama bear instinct rising up in me. She LOL’d it off and told me that she’d finally managed to break up with him, that she had in fact done it not a half hour before she texted me. She’d been sitting in her room, crying, and needed comfort so she naturally reached out to me.
She had added the ‘naturally’ part on her own. I immediately felt like a shithead for being mad at her. I assured her it was fine, that we were good, and to my surprise we ended up texting on a nearly day-to-day basis. It seemed like, now that the dark cloud of her ex-boyfriend’s presence had been banished, she was free to be my best friend again. She started reminiscing about all the good times we had growing up, how much she missed our hometown. It felt good to have her back.
I didn’t think anything was off about any of it until the anniversary. The anniversary of my assault. Remember that boy I mentioned earlier? The one I shouldn’t have gotten drunk around. Yeah. That was the worst night of my life. I’m still in therapy because of it. Anyway, my best friend had a bit of a tradition when it came to the anniversary. She always, always texted me the morning of to see how I was doing. For years after the assault I would have horrible, horrible nightmares of that night, and while we were still in high school I would always call her to calm me down. As time went on the nightmares went away, but she still checked in with me to make sure I was okay. Even last year, when we didn’t really speak, I’d woken up to a long, heartfelt text that assured me I could always call her if I needed her on that day.
This year? No text. Nothing. At first, I didn’t want to worry, didn’t want to come off as damaged and desperate by reaching out first. If she texted me, she’d text me, I told myself. But when she texted me around noon, complaining about her subpar cafeteria lunch, I couldn’t help it.
Her: ‘The food at this hall sucks. I don’t know why I still come here. What do they serve at your school? Anything good?’
Me: ‘Nah lol’
Me: ‘You know… I missed your text this morning. Kinda threw me off my routine, y’know?’
Her: ‘What text?’
Me: ‘Did you forget what today is?’
Her: ‘Tuesday?’
I remember frowning down at the phone. Was she playing dumb?
Me: ‘Remember what happened in highschool? I called you, drunk, begging you to come pick me up?’
There was a brief delay before she responded. The reply I received made my blood run cold.
Her: ‘Oh yeah haha, you were so wasted’
What the fuck? I remember thinking. At the time, her response made no sense to me. That night was not the kind of night you just… forgot. And she had never been so cold about what had happened, so blase. Was she blaming me? Was she suggesting that what had happened to me was my fault? I had no idea. I didn’t have it in me to respond, and she noticed my sudden detachment. She started texting me, asking what was wrong.
Her: ‘What, are you offended? Girl get over it we were in high school.’
Her: ‘Why aren’t you responding?’
Her: ‘Look, I’m sorry if I offended you. Didn’t know you were still so hung up about it.’
Can you imagine? Thinking that your best friend is judging you for still being “hung up” about being raped? I was floored. I was furious. I wanted to call her, scream at her over the phone and demand that she apologize. I don’t know why I didn’t. Instead, I did what I imagine most millenials do. I ghosted her. I shut her out. I didn’t respond to a single one of her texts after that, and believe me when I say there were a lot. There was a lot of apologizing. A lot of desperate requests for communication. A lot of ‘how many times do I have to say I’m sorry?’ texts, all of which I ignored. But you know what there never was? A phone call. A voicemail.
Christmas break came up, and I was packing. I always went home for Christmas, staying with my parents so I could be pampered by family for upwards of two weeks. She texted me again, trying a different tactic this time. Instead of starting out with an apology, she asked me if I was going to be in town for Christmas.
Her: ‘If you won’t accept my apology over the phone, will you let me apologize in person?’
She was asking to meet up. This would have been the first time I’d seen her in person since the summer between our sophomore and junior years. At first, I wanted to say no. But if she wanted to apologize in person, wasn’t that a sign that she was seriously sorry? If she didn’t really care, wouldn’t she have been content to just let our friendship fester and die like so many do?
Despite my misgivings, I agreed to meet up. But things got weird again as soon as I tried to make actual plans. She didn’t seem to want to stick to anything solid, and if I suggested one of our old haunts from back in the day she shot me down. The diner was out, Starbucks was lame, even coming over to my house to hang out in the basement was out. (We’d spent a good part of our childhoods in my basement, it was finished with a full bar and an entertainment system. I actually used it as my bedroom on Christmas visits because my parents had turned my bedroom into a storage unit.) She wanted to meet up at the park, for some weird reason. We’d never hung out at the park before, ever. It was so out of character for her. When I called her out on this, she only had this to say…
Me: `Why in the hell would we hang out at the park in the middle of winter?’
Her: ‘What, you’ve never boozed it up in the park before? My friends and I do it all the time!’
Me: ‘It doesn’t sound fun. It sounds cold and stupid.’
Her: ‘Come on, I’ll bring something warm and we’ll shoot the shit on the swings or something.’
Me: ‘Why can’t we just get lunch at the diner? You a cryptid now or something?’
Her: ‘Or something :)’
I never really agreed to meet up with her, but eventually she wore me down to a soft maybe. At that point, I was traveling home and too excited to see my parents to worry about it. I got home on Friday, and took yesterday to just catch up on sleep and finish my Christmas shopping. Today is Sunday. Tonight is the night I was supposed to meet up with her. But I won’t be doing that. Instead, I’ll be at the police station, giving testimony. My best friend’s parents will be with me, her mother sobbing into tissue after tissue while her father shakes with rage.
Three hours ago, I decided to go straight to my friend’s house to see her. I’d done it a million times, after all, and knew I was always welcome there. Her parents had always loved me. I stopped by the local donut shop for a basic dozen as a peace offering, in case my showing up would be an unwelcome surprise. Three hours ago, her mother answered the door when I knocked. She looked awful. I’m not saying that to be mean, she really looked awful. Like she’d aged twenty years since I’d seen her last. She didn’t seem to recognize me at first, which was strange, but then she said my name under her breath and she softened. She let me in, thanked me for the donuts, and immediately went to go make me a cup of coffee. I took a moment to let the familiarity of the house wash over me, and when my best friend’s mother came back into the living room with my coffee, I asked her where her daughter was.
She gave me this look… one that I’ll never forget.
“Excuse me?” she asked.
“Let me guess, she’s still asleep. Once a bum always a bum, right?”
To my surprise, she started to cry. I was immediately on my feet, rushing to comfort her, despite not knowing the reason for her tears. She kept muttering something under her breath, repeating herself over and over again.
“You don’t know, you don’t know, you don’t know…”
I tried to make it better but the crying just kept getting worse. Eventually I was able to herd her towards the couch, and at that point I was relieved when my best friend’s father appeared from upstairs. As he descended the staircase, demanding to know what was wrong, I couldn’t help but notice how gray he’d gotten. When he saw me, his eyes widened, and he seemed to freeze.
“She just started crying, Mr. [REDACTED]! I don’t know what I said that could have upset her!”
He nodded, acknowledging that he’d heard me, before gently pushing me out of the way. He knelt by his wife’s side, gently shushing her as her tears fell faster and her cries turned into sobs. I looked on, helpless, until I realized that I could just find my friend on my own. I still knew where her room was. Maybe she would be able to help her mom calm down. I excused myself but I don’t think either one of them heard me, and I took off down the hallway in the direction of my friend’s room. I saw the door, shut tight with no light seeping up from underneath, and reached out to grasp the knob.
A hand reached out from behind me to slam the door shut just as I started to pull it open. I jumped, shocked by the sudden closeness of the body hovering over me. It was her father. He had tears in his eyes as well. He laid his hand on my shoulder and asked me, very quietly, to rejoin them in the living room.
“We don’t go in there anymore,” he said as he nodded towards the still-shut room.
“Why?”
He didn’t answer me, instead guiding me back down the hallway. Mrs. [REDACTED] had gotten ahold of herself by that point, but was still shaking. I could tell when she grabbed both my hands in hers. Mr. [REDACTED] remained standing, arms folded.
“Oh honey,” my best friend’s mother said. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry for scaring you. You caught me off guard, and I remembered that we’d never called you to tell you what happened.”
My stomach sank. A bad feeling crept it’s way up my spine.
“What do you mean?”
That’s when I found out that my best friend had been murdered. Six months ago. Her body had been found in her apartment… the same day she texted me to tell me that she missed me.
But she hadn’t been the one texting me. No. By the time I’d gotten that text, the ‘Hey! I miss you,’ text, she had been dead for forty minutes.
I think I blacked out once I realized what that meant. I don’t remember leaving their house, I don’t remember driving home. The next thing I knew, I was at home, staring down at my phone. I was rereading the messages, looking for signs. My first, innocent thought was: supernatural? Could this have been a ghost? No. No, it was worse than that, much worse. I should have known something was wrong when my “best friend” didn’t remember the anniversary of my rape. I should have known something was wrong when my “best friend” didn’t want to meet somewhere we could be seen.
I texted my “best friend” for the last time an hour ago. I got a response ten minutes later. And now I’m begging you, all of you, to call your friends. Call your parents. If you haven’t seen them in person in at least a month, call them. Hear their voices, demand they send pictures. FaceTime them, if you can. Make sure they’re still alive. Make sure that the person you think you’re talking to is actually there. Don’t assume, like I did. I spent six months of my life assuming that my best friend was still alive. Six months… and all this time I was talking to her murderer.
Me: ‘I know Madison was murdered. Who the fuck are you and why are you doing this?’
Them: ‘:)’
Them: ‘So I take it that means no park tonight?’

“You should be more concerned about what I can do, Freddie,” Alice says, “and less about what I can justify.”
Margaret awakens, batting her eyes as she looks around, confused. She remains still, pressing herself against the car’s passenger seat. Pine trees whip past the windows as the sun peaks out above them, but she can’t tell if it’s dawn or dusk.
She feels pain on the side of her head. Reaching up, she finds a raised knot there beneath her skin. It’s warm, and it stings when she touches it.
“That’s what I told your father, that son of a bitch,” Alice says. Her voice drips with malice so acidic it burns holes in the upholstery. “Always putting me down. Always making me feel like I’d done something wrong whenever I didn’t do what he liked. Well this time, I did something he really didn’t like. Didn’t I, Freddie?”
Placing one hand on the wheel, Alice turns to look at the corpse in the seat behind her. It’s buckled in and sitting upright in the middle of the rear seat. Its mouth hangs open with its glazed, unclosing eyes locked into an expression of shock.
Margaret says, “Mom, look out!”
Alice turns back around and sees a bowling ball-sized rock roll out from the tree line and into the path of her speeding car. She has no time to react.
Some time later, Margaret opens her eyes once more, batting them in a daze. Her head throbs as a pulsing, shooting pain runs down her neck. Something warm and wet trickles down her forehead. She sees that the dashboard in front of her now has a small crack in the middle of it. She tries to look behind her, but mind-blowing pain engulfs her neck when she turns her head. She cries out in agony.
The car rests on the side of the road, facing the trees. A thin plume of smoke wafts out from under the hood. Margaret smells the acrid scent of burned rubber in the air. Moving only her eyes, she sees that the driver’s seat is empty.
Alice limps into view around the front of the car, muttering curses under her breath. She observes the driver’s side wheel well with a look of vexation.
A loud snapping sound comes from somewhere behind the car. Alice looks up in the direction of the noise. Her expression morphs from one of annoyance to horrified surprise.
“What is it, Mom?” Margaret says.
Alice rushes over to the driver’s side door and opens it. Then she leans into the car and opens the glove box, revealing a handgun inside. Margaret recoils at the sight of the weapon as if it were a poisonous snake. “What the hell, Mom? Why do you have a gun?”
Alice grabs it and pulls it out. As she does, she glances into the backseat and freezes, staring for several moments. Then she looks out through the car’s rear window for several more moments. Her eyes dart back and forth between the two points as her body begins to tremble.
“No,” she says. “It’s not possible.”
She pulls the trigger by accident. The gun discharges with a loud “Pop!” Margaret shrieks as the bullet grazes her leg.
“Mom, what are you doing? Please stop!” she says, screeching. Tears run down her cheeks as she sobs. “I want to go home!”
She watches, sniffling as Alice stands up out of the car and points the gun in the direction behind it. “I don’t know how you’re doing this, Freddie,” Alice says, “but I killed you before, and I’ll kill you again!”
“Pop! Pop! Pop!” The gunshots sound like firecrackers going off. Margaret screams and ducks down, squeezing her eyes shut as she covers her head. Pain shoots down her neck, but she ignores it out of sheer terror. A moment later, she hears the sound of footsteps running away from the car.
Silence fills the air. Margaret remains doubled-over in the leg space in front of the passenger seat, breathing heavily. Soon, she hears a tapping sound on the passenger side window beside her. She attempts to turn her head to look, but pain again shoots down the side of her neck. Grimacing, she lets out a low moan, then turns her torso to face the window.
Alice stands there with her hand upon the glass. She has a weird, I-know-something-you-don’t-know grin on her face. She taps once more as Margaret stares at her, dumbfounded.
“Mom? What happened? Are you ok?”
Alice continues smiling and tapping on the glass, her taps growing louder, harder, more insistent. Margaret finds herself feeling strangely weaker and lightheaded, almost as if she’s falling asleep. Then, she blacks out.
---
Gravel grinds beneath Francine’s black boots as she circles the car, smoking a cigarette. A strong, cool breeze whooshes through the pine trees beneath an overcast sky, tussling her shoulder-length, reddish-brown hair. She wears a brown trench coat over a black business suit with a detective’s badge hanging from a chain around her neck.
She sees that the driver’s side wheel sticks out at an odd angle. Leaning down, she perceives that the axle is bent inside the wheel well. A large rock, the apparent culprit, sits wedged against the axle.
Long, curved skid marks lead from one of the lanes to where the car now rests on the side of the road. A gun lies on the ground next to the driver’s door, a six-shooter. Looking through the car’s windows, Francine sees the body of a man in the backseat, wearing a dark suit. Three bullet holes perforate his face. His eyes resemble milky white marbles.
The car key is still in the ignition, attached to a keychain with several other keys hanging from it. In the front passenger seat, Francine sees what appears to be a large pile of ash. She puts her face up to the window to look at it more closely.
“Detective Monroe?” says a voice behind her. She turns and sees a man in a state trooper uniform walking toward her. His patrol car sits on the side of the road 10 meters behind him.
“That’s me,” she says, flicking her cigarette butt away as she turns to face him. “You’re the one who called this in, I presume?”
The trooper nods as he approaches. “Trooper James Magnuson,” he says, shaking her hand. “I was patrolling the area when I came across this vehicle. Thinking there’d been an accident, I stopped and got out to provide assistance.
“As I came closer, I saw a subject in the back. After calling out several times, I could see that they weren’t moving. When I looked inside, I saw the gunshot wounds on his face. Based on his general appearance, it was obvious that he’d been dead for a while, more than a day, at least.”
James looks back and forth, up and down the road.
“My guess is that the killer or killers came out here to bury their dead buddy somewhere deep in the woods, but they had a little car trouble before they could find the perfect spot. Then they panicked and took off on foot instead of finishing the job.” He scoffs and shakes his head. “Amateurs.”
He continues. “The car is registered to Frederico Gomez. Mr. Gomez is listed in our database as having been missing for three days along with his wife and daughter, Alice Gomez and Margaret Gomez. The body matches his description, but I looked around the area and saw no immediate sign of the others. The fact that someone shot him in the face a few times tells me this wasn’t just business, it was personal.”
“What about that big pile of ash in the front seat?” Francine says. “What do you make of that?”
James shrugs, glancing at the car. “I thought that maybe you could tell me. Hopefully it’s not…”
“Human remains?” Francine says, finishing his sentence.
James nods as his shoulder-mounted radio chirps, then a staticky voice says through the speaker, “Unit 77, please respond. Over.”
James says, “Please excuse me a moment.” Francine nods, then James turns and starts walking back toward his car, talking into the radio. “This is Unit 77, Dispatch. Over.”
Francine looks back at the car to resume examining the ash pile. But as she does, she detects motion in her peripheral vision. When she looks up, she sees a man walking towards her, slowly, just beyond the the tree line. He’s wearing a state trooper uniform, like James’s. As he comes closer, she sees that he looks exactly like James. He makes eye contact, then disappears behind a tree, out of sight.
“Detective Monroe?”
Francine jumps, startled, then turns around. James is standing right where he was before with a quizzical look on his face. “Are you alright?” he says.
Francine furrows her brow as she looks at him, then glances back in the other direction toward the tree line. Seeing no one there, she nods rapidly. “Y-yes, I’m fine.”
“I just got another call and I need to leave,” James says. “The police forensics team should be here soon. Are you going to be alright until they get here?”
Francine feels a flare of irritation as she regains her composure. It’s as if he’s implying that she can’t take care of herself because she’s a woman and needs a man to look after her.
With a look that’s somewhere between a smirk and a scowl, she pulls back her trench coat to reveal the service pistol clipped to her belt. “Yeah, I think I’ll be alright,” she says. James nods and turns around to leave. As he walks away, Francine leans into the car and pulls the keys out of the ignition.
---
Francine pulls the screen door open and its rusty hinges creak in protest. She stands upon the front porch of a small, tidy house. Shadows play about the home’s facade from nearby trees swaying in the cool wind. She balls her fist and pounds upon the door. “Mrs. Gomez?” she says. “This is the police. Please open up!”
She stands there, listening to the baleful wind blow, looking around as she awaits a response. The working-class neighborhood consists of small houses lined up in neat rows. A parked car sits in the driveway across the street. There’s a pile of old toys in the next yard over. No one’s around despite the obvious signs of human inhabitation.
After about 30 seconds, Francine pounds on the door again and says, “It’s the police, I have a search warrant!”
She waits another 10 seconds, then pulls the car keys out of her pocket. She tries the one that looks the most like a house key, sliding it into the lock. It glides right in and turns easily. The deadbolt disengages with a “Click.” She turns the doorknob and opens the door, then steps inside.
She finds herself inside a darkened living room. The musty air smells like ancient cigarette smoke mixed with chemical disinfectant. The shades are drawn, the mid-day sunlight glowing faintly around their edges.
“This is Detective Francine Monroe,” she says in a commanding voice. “I have a warrant to search the premises. If anyone is present, they must make themselves known immediately.”
Silence.
The floorboards creak beneath her feet as she walks across the floor, scanning the room. An overstuffed pleather sofa sits against the wall beside a coffee table. On the other side of the room is an entertainment center with a television mounted to the wall above it. At the far end is a fireplace with a simple wooden mantle. Upon the mantle sit several pictures. She goes over to take a closer look.
In the first photo, she recognizes a younger and very much alive Freddie Gomez. Sitting across from him at a table is a pretty, petite woman who’s noticeably younger than he. Between them is a little girl with a birthday cake in front of her. The cake has a candle on it shaped like the number 6. They’re all smiling, except the woman’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
“They must be Alice and Margaret,” Francine says. She notices that Alice has a silver locket hanging from a chain around her neck.
A wave of emotion washes over Francine’s mind as she recalls her own daughter’s sixth birthday.
“Oh, Marc, Esther…” she says, whispering. “I miss you so much.” Her lower lip quivers and she realizes she’s about to start crying. Stopping herself, she takes a deep breath, dons a blank expression, and continues her investigation.
The rest of the photos are all of the family as well. The family members look older and older in each photo progressing from left to right along the mantle.
Alice’s fake smile fades from one image to the next. In the last photo, she’s not smiling at all, but is frowning instead. Francine notices that she wears the same silver locket in every picture.
Walking down the hall and into the bathroom, Francine turns the light on and looks into the mirror. Her hair is disheveled, and large purple bags hang beneath her eyes.
With a deep sigh, she opens the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. Inside, she spies some prescription pill bottles along with a tube of toothpaste, a couple deodorant sticks, and box of floss. She picks up the pill bottles and examines their labels.
“Lithium – Mood stabilizer; Vioroxetine – Antidepressant; Clozapine – Antipsychotic.”
Francine looks closely at the labels. She sees that each of the fill dates are all several months ago, yet the bottles are nearly full. She puts them back inside the cabinet with a puzzled look and closes the door.
As she does, she hears what sounds like creaking footsteps out in the hallway. Holding completely still, she listens for several moments.
“Hello?” she says. “This is the police. I have a warrant to search this property. Is anyone home?”
Silence.
The air seems to become mustier, making it hard for Francine to breathe. She sucks in a deep breath as she creeps down the hallway and peeks into the living room.
No one’s there. The whole house groans and creaks as a strong wind blows outside.
She continues down the hallway toward a wooden door, then turns the doorknob and pulls. The door’s heavy, and it makes a sucking, whooshing noise as it opens into a pitch-black space. A wall of cold air that smells like rotting metal hits her in the face. She gags, fumbling her hand around on the wall next to the doorway in search of a light switch. Finding one, she flips it on. A fluorescent lightbulb buzzes to life overhead, bathing the room in white incandescence. She sees that she’s inside the garage.
A drain sits in the middle of the concrete floor. There’s a sedan on one side with an empty space beside it. A pool of congealed blood lies next to the car’s front wheels, flowing into the drain. Two heel-sized drag marks extend out from the pool toward the empty space and then disappear. Francine reaches for her holster and draws her weapon, pointing it at the floor as she grips the handle with both hands.
Slowly, she walks down the wooden stairs. She takes long, deep breaths through her nose to stay calm, despite the putrid smell of decaying blood in the air. She concentrates on the sensory input all around her, collecting as much information about her surroundings as she can.
Something shiny catches her eye as she approaches the drain. Bending down at her knees, she sees an object glimmering inside it. She pushes her fingers through the holes in the grate, and is just barely able to grasp the object with her fingertips. She pulls it out and gasps at what she sees.
It’s a gold ring, slightly scuffed and worn around the edges. It’s remarkably shiny and clean even though it was at the bottom of the bloody drain. “No… it can’t be,” Francine says. Her eyes well up with tears.
Her fingers trembling, she turns the ring around to examine its inner lining. There, engraved in looping cursive letters exactly like how she remembers, are the words, “I’ll always love you, Francine. Marc.” Her heart sinks.
Francine’s hands tremble uncontrollably and she accidentally drops the ring. It bounces off the edge of the grate and falls back down into the drain.
“No!” she says.
She shoves her fingers through the holes once more, wriggling them around. Feeling nothing, she sticks her face up next to the grate, peering down into the darkness. But she sees nothing.
After several minutes of trying to recover the ring in vain, she gives up. She stands, looking at her blood-covered fingers as she holds her hands out in front of her, and bursts into tears.
---
“You look like shit.”
Sepatha shakes her head as she looks Francine up and down in disgust. Francine cocks her head to side with a half-shrug and says, “Thanks for noticing, Chief.” They sit across from each other inside Sepatha’s office.
Sepatha scoffs as she leans forward, resting her elbows on her desk. She wears a pressed blue suit with her black hair pulled back into a tight bun.
Everything inside her office is clean, spotless, and sterile. Not even a single dust mote hangs in the light that streams through the window looking out into the parking lot. Another window on the other side of the room looks into a hallway.
Sepatha says, “Give me an update on the Gomez case.”
“I visited the scene of an apparent car accident where I reconnoitered with Trooper James Magnuson,” Francine says.
“When I arrived, I observed a deceased male’s body in the car’s backseat with three gunshot wounds to the face. I subsequently found a wallet containing Mr. Freddie Gomez’s driver’s license in the front pocket of the deceased’s suit jacket. The coroner’s report later confirmed that the body was indeed that of Mr. Gomez.
“In the car’s front passenger seat was a large pile of ash. Neither Trooper Magnuson nor I could figure out where it came from.”
“Hmmm…,” Sepatha says, looking concerned. “How’d we learn that Mr. Gomez was missing?”
“His sister called the police after he failed to show for their weekly breakfast at a neighborhood diner. She said she tried calling his phone repeatedly with no answer.”
“What do we know about him?”
“A background check on Mr. Gomez shows that he was a retired firefighter with a nearly spotless criminal history. The only blemish on his record was a misdemeanor battery charge stemming from a bar fight when he was in his twenties. The charge was later dropped.
“Mr. Gomez was married to Alice Gomez and together they had a daughter named Margaret. Alice is a teacher at a local high school, the same one Margaret attends as a senior. However, they both failed to show up at the school for two days in a row shortly after Mr. Gomez disappeared. School officials then reported them missing as well.”
Sepatha leans back in her chair and crosses her arms. “What do we know about Mrs. Gomez?”
“Mid-forties, high school teacher her entire career. Married her college sweetheart, but they divorced less than a year later on amicable terms with no children to fight over. Remarried a few years later to Mr. Gomez, a man 20 years her senior. She has no criminal record, but she does have a history of mental illness. Specifically, she was diagnosed as bipolar with psychotic tendencies when she was a teenager. She has been prescribed medication to control the symptoms for much of her adult life.”
Sepatha frowns. “Do you think her mental health could be a factor?”
Francine nods. “I searched the Gomez residence with a warrant and found some prescription pill bottles in the bathroom. Each had Mrs. Gomez’s name written on the label, and all were several months old. However, they were almost full. Either she had other medication she was already taking or…”
“Or she went off her meds,” Sepatha says.
“Exactly.”
Francine opens her mouth to say something else, but then sees a woman walking down the hallway past the window. The woman makes eye contact and gives her a horrific grin, then disappears from view. Francine pauses, confused.
“What is it?” Sepatha says.
Francine shakes her head, batting her eyes rapidly. “Nothing. I thought I saw someone I knew, but it couldn’t have been her.”
---
“Did you hear that Maggie Gomez went missing?”
Sophie takes a sip of beer, then leans back onto the sofa cushion.
Vanessa sits on the sofa next to her, tapping the little keyboard on her phone screen with her thumbs. The light from the screen shines on her face. “Hmm?” she says, without looking up.
The muffled sound of gunfire comes through a closed door on the other side of the room. Sophie turns her head toward it and says, “Billy, turn your game down! It’s way too loud!”
The sounds decrease until they’re barely audible. “I can still hear it!” Sophie says. Then the sounds disappear completely.
She takes another sip and says, “Yeah, she and Mrs. Gomez haven’t been at school since last week. I heard her dad went missing too. Some people are saying he was murdered!”
Vanessa reaches for her own can of beer sitting on the coffee table in front of her. “Maggie Gomez?” she says. “Wasn’t she dating Jacob Tompkins for a while?” She takes a sip, then puts the can down and goes back to tapping on her screen.
“Yeah, but they broke up a few months ago. He’s with Ashley Hutchings now.”
“Eww, I hate Ashley Hutchings.”
They both fall silent for several moments, sitting in front of a blank television screen in Sophie’s parents’ living room. Finally, Sophie says, “Are you almost done texting? I’ve been wanting to watch this movie for like, ever.”
“Calm down, you said your parents won’t be home for another few hours. I’m almost finished.”
“Who are you talking to anyway? Is it a boy?”
Vanessa smiles and says, “Yeah.”
“Is he hot?”
“Yup!”
“Who is it?”
“Oh, you don’t know him. He goes to another school. His name’s Reid. I met him at a party.”
“You met a hot guy at a party and now you’re texting him, and you haven’t even told me about him yet?” Sophie says, exasperated.
“Sorry, I guess it slipped my mind.”
“Ugh,” Sophie says, making a disgusted face.
A moment later, Vanessa turns off the screen and puts the phone down on the coffee table. Then she picks up her can and shakes it, finding it empty. “I’m gonna get another beer before we start,” she says. “Want one?”
Sophie shakes her head and reaches for the television remote.
Vanessa gets up and walks behind the sofa, down the hall and into the kitchen. Sophie turns on the t.v. and starts looking for “Nightmare on Elm Street” on the search screen. She hears the faint sound of Vanessa opening the fridge and then popping open a new can of beer.
Vanessa’s phone lights up, showing that she has a new text message. Sophie glances at the screen. It says, “Looking forward to tomorrow night, beautiful,” with a rose emoji at the end. But the contact name doesn’t say “Reid.”
It says, “Brad.”
Sophie’s eyes widen and her jaw drops. She hears Vanessa approaching and sits back into the sofa, attempting to look relaxed.
Vanessa plops down beside her. “Alright, let’s watch this movie!” she says.
“Vanessa,” Sophie says. “What did you say the name was of that guy you’re talking to?”
Vanessa gives her an odd look and says, “Reid, why?”
“Then why are you making plans for a date tomorrow with a guy named Brad?” Sophie’s eyes darken. “Is it Brad Mueller, as in, my boyfriend, Brad Mueller?”
“What?” Vanessa says.
“Don’t play dumb. I’ve seen the way you look at each other, how you talk to each other. Now I saw that you just got a text from a guy named Brad. It’s him, isn’t it? It’s Brad Mueller, my boyfriend! You’re seeing him behind my back, aren’t you?”
“What the fuck, Sophie? Were you going through my texts, you little bitch?”
“Did you just call me a bitch?! Get the fuck out of my house, Vanessa, right now!”
Sophie stands up and points toward the front door. Vanessa scoffs and says, “Whatever,” with a repulsed sneer. Then she grabs her purse from where it was sitting next to her and marches out the door, slamming it behind her.
Billy pokes his head out of his room as Sophie collapses onto the sofa, sobbing. “Is everything alright, sis?” he says.
“No!” she says through her tears. Then she picks up her own phone from where it was sitting on the coffee table and begins texting madly. She sniffles and sobs, her face red and puffy.
The front door’s hinges squeak as it slowly opens. Sophie and Billy turn to see who it is.
“Really, Vanessa?” Sophie says. She stands up, tossing her phone down onto the sofa. “What, did you come back to apologize? Well, forget it. You’re fucking dead to me, now get out of here!”
Sophie storms over to where Vanessa is standing in the doorway. As she’s about to get in her face, she hears Billy say, “Georgie? What are you doing here?”
Sophie looks over her shoulder at her little brother. He’s staring at Vanessa with intense concern.
“Man, you gotta get out of here,” Billy says. “My parents said I can’t hang out with you anymore after they caught us smoking weed the other day. If they see you here, I’ll be grounded forever!”
Sophie says, “Are you crazy, Billy? That’s Vanessa, not your little stoner friend, Georgie.” Billy looks at Sophie like she’s insane and says, “I think I can tell the difference.”
The person looks at Billy and then at Sophie with a bizarre, ironic smile, then starts slowly creeping toward them. Sensing that something’s amiss, Sophie steps behind the coffee table. But the person slides it out of the way with their leg, walking through it like it isn’t even there.
Sophie says, “Stay back!” But the person reaches for her, brushing her arm with an icy cold fingertip. She screams as she turns and runs down the hall and out the house’s back door.
Billy sees this, then looks at the person with an expression of fear and awe. “Is that you, Georgie?” he says. The person slowly creeps toward him, smiling.
---
Francine opens her throat, pouring the beer straight down her esophagus. She downs the entire pint in less than five seconds.
She puts the empty glass on the bar, then takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke. An old rock song with a raspy-voiced singer plays in the background, its melody interrupted by the sound of pool balls cracking into each other.
Someone opens the bar’s front door and enters, shining a sunbeam into the otherwise dark, dank, dreary locale. Francine cringes like a vampire caught in the daylight. She looks up, but her vision is too clouded to see who it is.
She watches as the person slowly creeps toward her, smiling. Francine shakes her head, astonished, and says in a drunken, slurring voice, “Marc? Marc is it really you?”
He stares at her, the smile frozen on his face, saying nothing as he sits down on the stool beside her.
“Oh Marc, Marc I’ve missed you so much!”
Francine leans over to embrace him, but catches only air. Losing her balance, she falls off the stool, crashing to the floor and knocking the wind out of herself. She looks up and sees that nobody’s sitting on the stool beside her, nor is there anyone nearby. She lays there for several moments, struggling the breathe. Finally, she pulls herself up, gasping, and sits back down on her stool.
The bartender approaches, frowning. “Maybe you should call it a night, ma’am,” he says.
“Ok,” Francine says, nodding. “How much is my tab?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, shaking his head. “Just go.”
Francine looks at him with shit-faced shock as she sways back and forth in her seat. “You’re kicking me out?”
“No, I’m just asking you to leave.”
---
“Just relax and tell me what you saw, Sophie.”
Francine’s head feels like it’s going to split open. She silently wonders when the five aspirins she chewed up and swallowed a few minutes ago will kick in. In the meantime, she focuses on trying to get through this witness interview without throwing up.
Sophie sits with her arms folded upon her dining room table, sniffling, wiping tears from her eyes. “My friend Vanessa and I, er… I thought she was my friend. Anyway, we were hanging out while my little brother Billy played video games in the next room. My parents were gone for the evening, out on a date night.
“While Vanessa was in the kitchen, I saw that my boyfriend was texting her behind my back. At least, I think it was my boyfriend. I’m pretty sure.” Sophie pauses, sniffling some more. “When I confronted her, she called me a bitch. Then I told her to get out, and she left. But then…” Sophie’s lower lip trembles and she looks down.
“Then what happened?” Francine says, gently.
“Then… she came back. But she was… different. She… smiled at me, like she knew something horrible that I didn’t know. I’ve never seen Vanessa make a face like that. Then, she started walking toward me in a creepy way, like she was trying to cut off my exit. But that’s not the weirdest part.”
“Oh?”
“Billy came out of his room, and when he saw Vanessa, he called her ‘Georgie,’ the name of his little pothead friend who lives down the street. When I said that it was Vanessa, not Georgie, he told me he saw Georgie standing there, not Vanessa.”
A chill runs down Francine’s spine like icy water, spreading across her shoulders and dripping down her neck. “What did you do then?”
“I… I… I…” Sophie says, her face scrunching up and turning red. “I ran away!” she says, crying. “I was so scared. I didn’t know what to do. I… I just couldn’t stay there. I had to leave. When I heard that Billy disappeared, I felt so guilty. It’s my fault he’s gone, isn’t it?”
Sophie covers her face with her hands and sobs. Francine puts her hand on her shoulder, wishing she could say that everything would be ok. But she knew that it would be a lie, because she didn’t even believe it herself.
---
Francine slumps into her chair inside her apartment. Upon the end table beside her is a half-empty bottle of vodka, an empty carton of orange juice, a glass filled with melted ice cubes, and a pack of cigarettes. She reaches for the cigarette pack and finds that there’s only one left inside.
Sighing, she puts it into her mouth. Then she pulls her lighter out of her pocket, lights the cigarette, and sucks the sweet smoke into her lungs. After taking a few puffs, she frowns as she breathes the smoke out through her nostrils like a discontented dragon.
She stares at the television screen, its light illuminating her tired, wrinkled face through the haze of smoke.
The local news comes on, and the newscaster’s voice blares through the speakers. “Police arrested a young woman earlier today on suspicion of kidnapping.”
The screen cuts to a video of a girl in handcuffs walking with her head down as police lead her into a courthouse.
“18-year-old Vanessa McClain was the last person seen with 13-year-old Billy Tamby before the boy disappeared several days ago.”
Pictures of Vanessa and Billy appear on the screen side-by-side. In them, they both appear happy, vibrant, and youthful.
“Ms. McClain was first identified as a person of interest in the disappearance by Billy’s older sister, 17-year-old Sophie Tamby. Ms. Tamby told police that she and Ms. McClain had gotten into an argument at the Tamby residence the night Billy disappeared.
“According to Ms. Tamby, Ms. McClain left the home, but then returned shortly thereafter, acting in a bizarre and threatening manner. Ms. Tamby said she fought with Ms. McClain but was overpowered, then ran to get help. When police arrived, the boy was gone. According to an anonymous source, they found a large, mysterious pile of ash inside his room that hadn’t been there before.”
The screen cuts to a middle-aged man and woman standing in front of a house. Their eyes are sorrowful, and their mouths are turned upside-down in lamentation. Microphones with the logos of various news stations surround them.
The woman says, “We just want our little boy to come home.”
Francine picks up the remote control sitting beside her and turns the television off. An eerie silence fills the darkened space of her apartment. The only light comes from a crescent moon shining through the window.
Sitting there, alone in the dark, she picks up the bottle of vodka and brings it to her mouth. Then, she hears something.
Looking over, Francine sees the shadowy silhouette of a person standing in the hallway. She lets out a sharp gasp and freezes in place, gripping the arms of her chair tight. The silhouette drifts toward her, entering the moonlight.
“Marc?” she says, incredulously. “Marc, is that you? How did you get in here? Was that you at the bar before, or was it just my imagination?”
Saying nothing, Marc continues advancing toward her with a bizarre smile frozen on his face. With fresh tears in her eyes, Francine stands and holds her arms out, ready to embrace him. “Oh, Marc,” she says, sniffling. “Where have you been?”
He takes another step toward her. As he advances, she starts feeling lightheaded and weak. She wraps her arms around him, pressing herself to him, squeezing him tight.
“Marc, you’re ice cold!” she says. She leans back to look at him and sees that he no longer resembles her husband. Instead, the person she’s holding now looks like her boss, Sepatha.
She jerks backwards, throwing herself against the wall, shaking. “Wh-who are you?” she says.
She glances over at her gun where it sits on her kitchen counter. It seems like it’s miles away. When she looks back, the person now looks like Trooper Magnuson. He smiles ironically, like he knows something she doesn’t, something horrible.
Francine squeezes her eyes shut. “This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real,” she says in a strained, desperate voice.
When she opens them, she sees Magnuson looming over her, looking deranged. She feels lightheaded and drowsy, like she’s about to fall asleep.
Fighting not to succumb, she shoves him with all her remaining strength. He falls backwards, knocking over the end table and splashing vodka everywhere.
Francine runs over to her counter and grabs her gun, then turns and points it at him. From where she’s standing, the chair conceals his face.
“Don’t move!” she says, cocking the hammer back. “Or I’ll paint the wall with your fucking brains!”
Slowly, the person rises from the ground and stands upright. Francine sees that it now resembles her dead daughter, Esther.
Esther smiles, and something snaps inside Francine’s mind. She runs out her front door and down the hall, screaming and crying, flailing the gun around in her hand.
---
Elaine lies within the silent darkness of her bedroom, curled up in bed. Her phone rings, snapping her awake. She reaches for it on the nightstand.
“Mmph, hello?” she says, groggily.
“Elaine? Elaine, it’s me, Francine,” says the voice through the receiver.
“Francine?” Elaine says, sitting up. “Are you alright? What’s going on?”
“I need help. Can you… can you come get me?”
“What happened? Where are you?”
“I’m outside of my apartment. I saw… something. I… I… can’t describe it. I just need help. Will you please come get me?”
Elaine sighs and says, “Have you been drinking?”
After a short pause, Francine says, “Yes, but…”
“Did the bartender take your keys and now you’re locked out of your apartment again?”
“What? No, that’s not what happened. I just… saw something and it really freaked me out.”
“You’re hallucinating again?” Elaine says, concerned.
“Yes! I mean, I think so. But this time it just felt so… so real. I dunno. I just need help. Can you please come get me?”
Elaine shuts her eyes and sighs. Then she throws the covers off herself and starts getting out of bed. “I’ll be right there.”
Half an hour later, Elaine’s car pulls up to the curb in front of Francine’s apartment. The morning sky’s just starting to brighten. Elaine sees Francine pressed against a brick wall, peaking into an alley at the end of the block. She seems to be holding something.
Elaine gets out of her car and starts walking toward her. “Francine, are you ok?” she says. But Francine doesn’t seem to hear her.
Elaine comes to within arm’s length and taps her on the shoulder. “Francine?”
“Gahhh!” Francine says. She whirls around, whipping Elaine in the face with her gun.
“Umf!” Elaine says, falling to the ground.
Francine’s hands tremble as she points the gun at Elaine. “Who are you?” Francine says. Her voice is shrill and raspy.
Elaine sits up on her elbow and rubs the side of her face. A red, stinging welt has already started to appear there. “It’s me, Elaine!” she says, cringing.
Francine starts breathing hard. “How do I know it’s you?” she says, cocking the hammer back.
Elaine looks at her like she’s crazy and says. “I’m your grief counselor, remember? You started seeing me three years ago after someone shot into your house while your daughter was inside, killing her. Your husband disappeared immediately afterward, and no one knows where he went.
“Someone else, a stranger, confessed to shooting your house up. They went to jail, but your husband never returned. Your mental health deteriorated after that, and you began having hallucinations. You turned to alcohol for comfort, and then your life got even worse. Then you came to me, begging for help…”
Francine slowly lowers the gun. Elaine stands, continuing to speak. “We’ve been working on helping you get past the grief so you can move on with your life. I… I thought we were making progress.”
Francine hangs the gun down at her side as she slumps her shoulders and lowers her head. She lets out a sob, and Elaine walks up and puts her arms around her. Francine embraces her, crying into her shoulder.
TO BE CONTINUED...