STAGE: The Freeman Household

TIME: 5:48 PM

Kieren’s Memory Bank: Accessing Memory…

The festive look that I left Bianca with slowly transitioned into a neutral one. I was left staring at the carpet, replaying the scenario in my head multiple times. The way Bianca looked as she told me what she had learned was a face that haunts my memory. I should have just denied everything that she said. It would have been easier just to play stupid. I mean, most people already thought I was. However, I could not keep trying to escape the past. No matter how many games I played to distract myself or where we moved to, I have never managed to escape the haunting past. Even when I thought I was getting better by moving on, by fulfilling his promise… the past still haunts me.

How much time had passed? Minutes, hours, days? Well, realistically, it could not be days because my annoying sister would have bothered me at least once in that time. So, it had to have been hours that I laid distraught on the basement’s couch, head sideways, watching yet another videotape from the box of my Dad’s belongings. This tape opened with Dad setting up the camera on a tripod. Beside him was me at the age of four, most likely. That young me held a marker and stood in front of a whiteboard. “Alright, guys,” Dad said, rubbing his hands together enthusiastically. Man, he was a showman. Even now, as grown as I was on this old couch, he had me. I was half ready to jump in too. Unfortunately, I was watching a videotape. Everything that was on this thing had already been. It already happened. And mournfully, all I could do was watch, knowing how it all would end… in tragedy. “I’m going to show you the result of homeschooling. Are you ready, son?” The younger me nodded his head. My head? Our head? Uh… This was getting a little too existential for me. So, I tried not to think too much about it and just watched the video. Steady, Dad hovered his hand over the top of a timer. “Ready... Set... Go!” Bang! He slammed the top button abruptly. Little me began to write out complex formulas related to physics and chemistry. Unsurprisingly, this was the source of the answers I received on yesterday’s quiz. No amount of public education could ever amount to what my old man taught me. Little good all that did for me now… In the video, Dad slammed his hand on the timer once I turned around and dropped the marker on the table. 

Twenty-one seconds, the timer read. “Wow...” Dad gawked proudly. In pleasant awe, he stood up slowly to better observe the work shown on the board. “At the age of four, you’re able to remember complex formulas and copy them perfectly from memory. Amazing...” 

And then the tape cut to black. Guess these old physical media things were less reliable than everyone made them out to be. If it was streaming, there was so much more I could have done, so much space that could have allowed more footage to be recorded. Why did it take so long to invent the cloud? Sulking, I slunk, rolling off the couch and allowing my body to hit the wooden floor. Did I deserve it? Maybe… I was a bit rude to Bianca. I could tell she wanted to say more, but I was so dismissive because I just… Well… I guess I will never tell… Still rolling, I let depression get the better of me.

On the floor, I pulled one of the dusty, neglected moving boxes towards me and continued looking through the remaining items. One of the items I took out was an old family portrait. Underneath the bottom right-hand corner were brief glimpses of a page hanging. Flipping the frame over, I saw a notebook paper taped onto the back. The page showed one-half of what looked like a topographic map. I noticed one edge of the page was torn. Meaning, there was more to the map. I knew about this half of the topographic map for quite some time, but I needed to find out where the other half was located. Why did Dad separate the two? Why would it be taped back here? What did it mean? Setting the frame to the side, I dove deeper into the box. There was mostly junk. Some of it was sharp. Most of it was broken. We really needed to go through these boxes. Honestly, I think the moving crew did a terrible job, and we should have gotten our money back earlier. Just then, my hand met a notebook. I could tell by the texture of the frayed pages against my fingertips that it was pretty old. Risking getting cut by all the broken junk, I pulled out the old book, desperate to find anything more of my old man that I had since forgotten. It was old. It was marble. And it was labeled ‘Research Journal #1015.’ Would it be cliché to say that it was dusty? Well, it was not. It was the strangest thing. The whole box was a dusty, old, smelly mess, filled with broken items and forgotten junk. But this thing was pristine, well cared for. Skimming through the faded, discolored pages, I found the other half of the map. This was the easiest puzzle I had ever seen, and I used to play modern-day game station sad dad simulators for the story. With the map pieces in hand, I set the flipped frame on top of the blank side of the journal, connecting the map like a puzzle piece.

Studying the map, I could hear my Dad cheering me on, “Come on, Kieren. Time to go to bed.” Actually, it was the tape. It was running. Guess that old thing did have some more room on it. I lifted the remote. However, even now that I was looking up from the map, the basement did not seem quite right. It had turned into my childhood bedroom from my family’s previous house back in Rowlett. An old entertainment center rested in front of me. The television displayed gameplay from an old videogame I used to own at a younger age. Man, that was a good game. Speaking of which, befuddled, I looked down at my hands. Somehow, they had reverted to being small and soft as I held an old gaming controller nearly twice their size. Looking to my left, he was there. Dad! He was leaning on the doorway. His eyes were heavy from carrying bags. The stubble at the bottom of his face seemed like it was forming into a beard.

As weird as it was, I knew what had happened. To be fair, this sort of thing happened all the time… in movies. It was a flashback, right back to that night. The promise I made. Just go with it. I did…

“But you promised we could play a game together!” Four-year-old me exclaimed. I was so betrayed and small.

“I know. I had a long day at work,” Dad responded.

“Again!?”

“Yeah, again! Come on. Turn off the console and TV.” Complying, my younger self did so and crawled into bed with little fuss. “How about tomorrow night?”

“We’ll have to go to church in the morning,” his voice got really low.

“Then how about the next night that we don’t have to go to church?”

“That’s a school night,” his voice got even lower.

“Then how about the next non-school night?” By this time, he did not respond. Instead, he avoided eye contact. That labored stance of his was off. Even as a boy, I could tell something was bothering him. So, I inquired, “Are you okay, Dad?”

Finally, “Yeah, yeah,” he looked up at me, and his eyes were so strained. There was a weight to them that I never remembered. At the time, I did not understand what was behind his eyes. It was pain. “I’m good. I’m okay....” He used his hands to hold up his head by positioning his arms on top of his knees. “Just know that you may hear some things about me. No matter what you hear, just know that I love you. I love Keziah, and I love Mom. There’s going to be tests coming up, son. It’s going to be heavy. But I know you’ll be up for it. No matter the future challenges, I only ask one thing of you. Please keep my research alive? As you get older, the more your mind will expand. There will be more to this world that you’ll want to know. I was just like you as a boy. So as one former inquisitive boy to one brilliant young man, can you please do that thing for me?”

“Dad,” my young self puzzled. “Why are you telling me these things?” There was so much more I wanted to ask him. There was just not enough time. So, I chose to ask one last question. It had to be a good one. “And why do I have to keep your research alive?”

“Just promise me. Whatever it takes. No matter the consequences....”

As I snapped out of the flashback, I found myself back in the basement. Shaking off the daze, I decided to return to my room. As I entered, I noticed an unread message notification on my monitor. It was from Skull Hacker! The job was done! I eagerly downloaded the file Skull Hacker sent me. The file was actually a folder with numerous documents. These documents were of various news articles and mentionings of my dad, in chronological order and devoid of the countless articles that may have been fabricated or unfactual. Another document contained several photos of Jeroham’s other research journals that had been leaked from various places online, some even requiring some hacking into the FBI.

I stood over my monitors, stunned at all that I saw. If it wasn’t for that flashback, I would’ve still been too on edge to face the things I saw head-on. I needed something to remind me why I was doing this. My Disscord microphone was on again, but I didn't bother turning it off and switching over to strictly messages. I decided to verbally thank her. “Hey, Skull Hacker, I really appreciate all this info. How much do I owe you for this?”

xX.Skull_Hacker.Xx: No need to worry about payment, Green Jacket. This one’s on the house.

“Really? That’s… that’s really kind of you. Thank you.

xX.Skull_Hacker.Xx: No problem. But I’ve got to ask, why did you request so much information on Jeroham Freeman?

I hesitated momentarily, thinking back to that conversation with my dad in the flashback, before I responded, “Well… I made a promise to someone important to me. And I intend to keep it.”