A few hours after finishing Martin’s laundry (receiving no further answers from him) and having a silent dinner with her brother, the anxious girl makes her way to bed—at which point it’s nearly eleven o’clock. She’s surprised Andrew hasn’t gone to bed, as well, considering how tired he was when she first saw him this afternoon. It almost makes her suspicious.

She would have a better time sleeping if her brother didn’t talk so loud on the phone. It’s far too easy for her to hear him say things such as “What time?” or “Don’t call me Andy,”—the latter of which gets a muffled chuckle out of her. However, what really gets her is one little phrase: “I guess I’ll have to cancel my plans for tomorrow, then.”

If there was so much as an ounce of melatonin floating in her head before, it’s gone now. Almost immediately she goes from lying down to sitting up, mouthing Damn it! as a balled-up fist tears the sheets from her body. Now what am I gonna do? she wonders, as if Sunday simply isn’t an option.

Her anxieties accumulating, the miffed teen remembers the discolored bit of rock outside her house. There has to be something interesting about that, she realizes.

Without further hesitation, she steps out of bed and begins blindly searching for a few things. She makes sure to tie up her messy hair just before putting her glasses on and scurrying for a flashlight and her voice recorder.

If I’m going to go out and see what the heck this thing is, I may as well do it right. That in mind, she takes a step outside and realizes her brother’s door is wide open, casting a light down the rest of the hallway. Most would see that as a sign to stay put, but Andrew’s the guy who set his desk to face the other side of the door.

Jocelyn makes sure to keep her footsteps quick and light like kitten steps. In due time, she makes it to the downstairs backdoor, knowing Andrew is probably too caught up in his current call to pay the happenings of downstairs any heed. In an attempt to prevent squeaking, she opens the backdoor as quickly as she can and heads outside. Though she realizes her bare feet will be sore at the end of all this, all she can do is shrug it off now. This kind of thing tends to happen when someone delays her study time.

Even with it being as cold and dark as it is outside, Jocelyn hasn’t yet turned on her flashlight—for fear that perhaps someone in this neighborhood is only pretending to be asleep and will pounce on any curfew-breaking kid the second they give the neighbors a signal. Maybe it’s irrational to think someone would poke their nose into her business like that, but she can’t help but think there’s someone like that just waiting for her to screw up.

If not a nearby neighbor, she’s likely to be caught by a research scientist, security guard, or her own brother. If she put aside her petty fears of being caught by some creeper, the only person she has worry about is Andrew, since scientists are not really known for athleticism and very few of the security guards are even trained properly.

By the time she makes it to a point where she can see the rock, she realizes one annoying possibility: her recorder could be out of battery. A worse possibility: what if somebody were to hear her speaking into the recorder at some point? There must be some kind of sweet spot somewhere in this neighborhood—a spot where she can speak quietly enough that nobody else can hear, yet loud enough for the recorder to fully pick her up.

Just to test it out, she presses the record button and leaves a voice log: “It’s Jocelyn.” Almost immediately afterward she itches to know what it sounds like when played back—but again the thought of someone else hearing it crawls in her mind and leaves her wondering.

She wasn’t feeling timid when she left the house; what’s stopping her from taking a little listen now? Oh come on, she tries telling herself. Nobody will hear it. Still she can’t do it. It seems she’ll have to simply rely on her memory to keep track of the notes she’ll take on this rock. How fun, she huffs.

May as well just get this over with. That thought in mind, she turns on her flashlight and points it at the rock, noticing the way it glistens in the light. It looks more like a gem rather than a regular rock—but it didn’t look that way earlier, did it?

There’s no doubt in her head that the rock’s color is brighter than those around it, but beneath her flashlight, it looks almost as white as the moon. Did this thing turn into a diamond or something? she snorts.

Soon enough she finds out that’s impossible—for she notices something she hadn’t expected from any rock: it begins to crumble. Like a clay pot set too long in a stove, the bits and pieces of the wall chip off and fall to the ground the longer Jocelyn keeps her light on that spot.

Are her glasses fogging up? Just to be sure, she wipes them clean—but no; it’s all real. Neither her eyes nor her glasses are playing tricks on her; the wall really is crumbling to dust.

And the more that’s chipped away, the more interested she is in finding out what’s behind the rock. At first Jocelyn expects to see a long tunnel leading to where the boy is now—but with further inspection, she realizes the boy has been hiding there behind the rock all along. Even from where she stands, she can make out his features—the tattered clothes, dirty face, short brown bangs and all that make up who he is…whoever he is. The curious teen finds herself a little amused at the fact that he’s asleep—much like a mummy behind the face of its sarcophagus—and apparently has been sleeping for some time behind the now-destroyed rock wall.