“You know,” Arthur Reeves mused as he took a deep drag off of the cigarette in his left hand, plumes of smoke leaking from his nostrils and between his lips, “Everything that goes on in the world, is complete and utter nonsense. I mean, the government? Shambles. The police force? No doubt has blood money coursing through it as we speak. What’s the point?” Another drag of the cigarette. Across from Arthur sat Jillian McEvans, elbow on her knee and chin in her hand, listening quite intently to Arthur. She brushed her long dark brown hair from her eyes, a light smile playing along her lips.

“I most definitely see your point,” She replied, snapping her fingers. The cigarette was passed to Jillian, and as she exhaled the smoke after her drag, she blew upwards. Arthur and Jillian had been in the study so long though, it didn’t particularly matter, a low cloud of dense smoke hung over them. “You could change all of that you know, Arthur. You could expose the wrong, the injustice, the evil-doings of these people! You are a reporter! This is what you are meant to do!”

“Jillian, we’ve been over this.”

“No! I mean it! Look at the world!” Jillian shot up from her seat, ripping aside the curtain and gesturing outside. About two stories down, people were living their lives. Walking, talking, driving, all of it. They all had something going on. Arthur slowly shifted to his feet and leaned against the window frame. Jillian put her hand gently on Arthur’s shoulder, grinning. “See, all of those people down there? I bet some of them, work for the government! Spying on us! See that woman over there?” Jillian pointed down at a woman in a large faux fur coat, babbling away into what seemed just the air around her, but it was most likely her cell phone. “She could secretly be a drug dealer!”

“A woman like that?” Arthur scoffed, turning his attention to a man with a dark grey flat cap tucked so tightly around his head, there was no sign of any of his hair. Jillian grumbled and stepped away from her companion, hands on her hips. Arthur stayed still, eyes trained on the flat cap man.

“Anyone could be someone willing to do some harm for some cash! Anything is possible!!”

“Alright enough!” Arthur snapped, banging his fist against the wooden window frame. Jillian wrapped one arm around her stomach, looking away.

“I’m just trying to keep you aware of things Arthur,” Jillian admitted quietly.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Arthur waved her response off, and his full attention was outside. The flat-capped man was creeping behind the corner of a building, his shoulders tense, and his hands constantly curling and uncurling from fists. “He’s up to something,” Arthur muttered, biting the end of his thumb.

“Who?” Jillian inquired quickly, rushing to Arthur’s side to see in his line of sight. “That man?”

“Yes. I can just tell. I need to go find out. I need…”

“Arthur?” A soft-spoken voice interrupted Arthur and Jillian from their ramblings. In the doorway to the study, stood a small framed woman with thin blonde hair and a hesitant smile on her lips; Arthur’s wife, Margret Reeves. “Honey, what are you doing?”

“I… Nothing. Where’s my camera?” Arthur stormed past Margret, Jillian following suite.

“Same place as always after I clean it. On the dining room table, why?” Margret’s voice trembled as she spoke, her hands messing with the hem of her apron, a thin thread coming loose from it.

“There’s something about to happen, I can feel it,” Arthur shouted, his Polaroid camera in one hand and an extra roll of film in the other. “There’s a man I need to follow.”

“Follow? Follow, oh Arthur no, not this again. Do I need to-”

“Margaret! Shut up! Jillian, come on, we have to hurry!” Arthur’s shoes squeaked against the tile floor as he rushed through the front door, his wife whimpering behind him. Jillian picked up her dress and ran after, sending a glare Margret’s way.

“Your wife is stupid, you know. She doesn’t get it does she?!” Jillian shouted to Arthur, who was taking a test photo to make sure the film was intact. It was.

“We have to find the flat cap man, Jillian.” Arthur turned the corner, just as this man in questioned went down the alleyway. “Stop! You!” Arthur’s shouts were met with confused and crazed looks by passerbyers, but he paid no mind. That man needed to be found. He was suspicious. Arthur and Jillian rounded the corner of the alleyway to see the flat cap man tuck a nice dime bag with, what appeared to be, cocaine into his tattered jacket pocket.

Arthur held up the camera and started to click away. The flat cap man grimaced, finally noticing he had company. He looked around frantically but the only way out of the alley was forward.

“Get outta my way,” he grumbled, his voice low as thunder would be.

“No! I will expose you! Ah, this is great! I found a druggie! What else are you? Are you a delivery boy? For who?! Maybe for the police even! Why! My, oh my! My story will be-”

“ARTHUR REEVES!” A different, booming voice shouted. Arthur whipped around, his wife Margret stood next to a tall, stocky police officer, his arms crossed over his chest. “Yer wife rang me again. Said something about you goin’ crazy? Not again, really Arthur?”

“No no no, of course not! Jillian and I were-”

“Jillian? Arthur, we’ve spoken about this...”

“Jillian, s-she’s right here. Can’t you see her?” Arthur questioned frantically, pointing to the woman beside him. The officer and Margaret exchanged before he shifted uneasily on his feet. “What about the flat-capped man?! Huh?!” Arthur shouted, close to hysterics.

“H-honey,” Margaret started, her voice still quiet. “Please, just come home, it’s okay.”

“NO! NO, THEY’RE HERE!! THEY ARE!! THAT FLAT CAPPED MAN HE-” But as Arthur turned to point at the culprit, he was gone. Vanished into thin air. Arthur turned to where Jillian had once stood, but all that was left in her place was a bag of dank, slimy garbage. The ground was littered with photos, but no person on them. Arthur Reeves sunk to the ground, picking the pictures up and observing them.

“Arthur,” Margaret kneeled down next to her husband, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I think it’s time we went and saw Doctor Pym again, don’t you agree?”

Arthur looked up at his wife, in fact, he looked past her at Jillian, who stood behind her. Jillian’s face held a glare that felt as icy as death. She shook her head.

“No. Don’t let her do that. I’m real. I’m here, see?” Jillian pat her body, but Arthur knew. He knew, deep down.

“I think,” Arthur started as he got to his feet, wiping dirt and gravel off his trousers. “I think that may be a good idea, Margaret. When can we make an appointment?”