The Approach
That Evening

- Audio Transcript -

I walked down to the retirement home after my "conversation" with Dryo, looking for more answers from Crystal. The way I saw it, she had something to do with my living shadow. And from the changes she's made this last week, the spook himself may have had something to do with her. As I neared the doors I felt myself getting slower, my fear raising in pitch. Was it a reaction... or anticipation?

[KNOCK KNOCK]

Dryce:
Hello?

An attendant opened the door.

Attendant:
Good evening!

Dryce:
Is it okay if I come in?

The attendant looks off in the distance, but closer than at the horizon.

Attendant:
No, I don't think...

Dryce:
I just need to see my grandma. You know Crystal?

Attendant:
Crystal!! (she laughs freakishly) You know Crystal?! AHAHAHAHA!!! Oh wow!!!

Dryce:
Yes, she's my grandma. We're related.

Attendant:
Okay, mhm. Mmmmmhmmm. Well she told mmeeeeee... noooot... tooooooo... leeeeeet... yooooooouuuuuu...

She was dragging out her words as if she was waiting for something. By the time I had the good sense to look behind me, there was a bag over my head.

[Muffled screaming]

I was taken blindly back down the walkway by several young men, reasonably fit. My struggle wasn't enough to break free.

Trois:
Got 'em!

Deux:
Get 'im into Ron's car!

Uno:
I'm not Ron, you DOOFUS, we're in DISGUISE. Remember?

Deux:
Oh, yeah.

Uno:
We have code-names now.

Trois:
I'm Trois...

Deux:
Then I'm Deux...

Uno:
And I'm Uno.

Deux:
That's not french.

Uno:
Well, "un" doesn't sound as cool as "uno".

I was stuffed into the trunk of a beat up car. I tried to peer through the scratchy potato sack's dense fibers, into the lightless space in which I was trapped.

I wondered to myself, how were a bunch of thirteen to fifteen year olds driving? One of them must have been a little bit older, and was helping them out. Ron, I'd guessed, using my innate skill to hear words that were spoken in my native language. The pros call it "listening". I "listened" a little bit more to the screeching wheels and bumps of the road. Just as I was facing up, the car hit a massive bump and my face slammed into the inner ceiling. My nose bled inside the bag, and the boys in the car were laughing like jackals. Assholes.

Some time later, I could feel the car slowing down on gravel. In that moment, I was grateful they hadn't yet caught my recording device. Just as quick I realized that they still might. The trunk opened, and I was carried out.

Trois:
Oh sick, that bag looks gnarly.

Deux:
You still alive in there, bro?

Uno:
I think we broke him.

[Shared bro laughter.]

They placed me in a chair, and tied my hands together with rope. By the smell (my nose was, despite the damage, sensitive as ever), I could tell I was in someone's garage.

Deux:
So...

Uno:
Bro, I'm Uno. You're Deux. I go first.

Deux:
I already star-

Uno:
SO. YOU'VE BEEN SNIFFING AROUND, HUH?!

Deux:
Yeah, sniffing arou-

Uno:
YOU THINK YOU'RE THE BIG MAN AROUND HERE?!

Deux:
Yeah, the big ma-

Uno:
WE TELL YOU WHAT YOU ARE, YOU GOT THAT?!

Deux:
Yeah, go-

Dryce:
Whud izzis aboud eggsacktly?

Uno:
You should know, Grifter, you're the one's been tryna solve some big mystery. Always writing your notes on magnets and shit, telling us we're a bunch of dopeheads. Why don't you tell us?

Deux:
Yeah, tel-

[CLOK! Thud. The sound of someone being knocked out with a single punch.]

Uno:
WHOOOOOOOOOWW!!!

A whooping scream as terrifying as any. These guys were crazier than a tinfoil hat on a baked potato.

Trois:
Stick to your script, loser.

Deux:
(Grooooaaaann...)

Uno:
As we were saying. Tell us what you know, or you get a one-way invite to our pavement slumber party.

Dryce:
Heh.

Trois:
Is that funny to you?

Dryce:
Yeah, kinda.

Trois:
What about THIS?!

Trois started twisting my ear through the sack. When I was a kid, I know that would have hurt like hell. For some reason, it just didn't. I felt like I had more than enough pain tolerance left. Like he was massaging it, if anything. I almost started to blush.

Dryce:
Uhhh, it's terrible.

Trois:
Yeah, it's... wait, you're not...

Uno:
Dude, what the fuck...

Deux:
(From on the floor) Take the bag off.

They took off the bag, and as my eyes adjusted, I learned I was exactly where I thought I was: some dude's garage. Probably Ron's. Aka Uno, he was definitely the leader of the group. A tall, African lad of maybe sixteen, probably already in high school. Lean and muscular, he had an expensive-looking trim and shaved bristle where peach fuzz probably used to be. Each of them was dressed in a black hoodie, though not all the same kind – Ron's had an 'S' on the left breast, while Deux's was plain black and Trois's had skulls on it.

There were hammers and saw-blades, power tools galore. I suddenly became awash with fear, but also relief. Even if these guys resorted to torture, the neighbor across the street, sitting on his porch and sipping what smelled from over here like a Long Island Iced Tea, would call the cops. They were limited to "boys will be boys" levels of violence.

Trois, who turned out to be Beakley, looked at me directly, then looked away immediately as if embarrassed. He was starting to blush. Without making eye contact, he tried to twist my ear again. I sat there trying to pretend that it hurt, and for a second it did – it was stiff and cold, so I felt some pain – but after a moment his warmth and kneading started to feel good, and my body seemed to hum in response. It was like I had some kind of healing factor in response to the pain that made it feel amazing.

Trois:
Dude, I can't do this. He's getting off on it.

Deux:
Are you gonna cream yourself, little man? You makin' yourself somethin'na eat?

Dryce:
I don't, uh, eat cream.

Uno:
Neither do we, buddy, cause we're as straight as they come.

Dryce:
Right, when they cum together.

Trois:
That's not what we said.

Dryce
(Snickering.) Yeah, I know. I'm not really into guys either, so that's cool.

I was kind of lying, but they really weren't my type. Now Deux, who I already knew as Quincy, was starting to tear up. If they were so straight, why did they look disappointed? Their mean façade was starting to wane. It was as if the one thing they weren't expecting was that I'd be calm. In all honesty, what I felt was that they thought I was... cute. Maybe I was just being delusional, or vain, I thought. Better act like they're as straight as they say. Don't call their bluff.

Dryce:
Yeah, I'm really into the, like, v-word, on women. Definitely not men at all. You guys are way too scary for me, anyway. And manly.

Now Deux was straight-up starting to cry, his shoulders heaving and his face red. He turned around so nobody could see, but I could smell it from here, and I could hear and see and feel it. Every delicate movement of each of these boys was as a note on a music sheet, plain as day. It was obviously upsetting them, as their impenetrable secret selves had been perforated. But Ron wasn't buying it. He got meaner.

Uno:
Listen here, you fucking unicorn. You're ON the baseball team, but you're not ON the baseball team. Not until you're sworn in by The Strings.

Dryo:
(That sounds so gay, dude.)

Dryce:
(Maybe they ARE gay and this is just some mind game they play.)

Dryo:
(Nothing wrong or completely weird about that.)

Dryce:
(Lay off, they look sensitive already.)

Dryo:
(Yeah, maybe in the prostate.)

Uno:
If you're done WHISPERING to yourself in two distinct voices, we're TRYING to inVITE you into our SECRET SOCIETY.

Trois:
It's not a cult, or like, an order. Those have strictly hierarchical assemblies. This is more like a unilateral group in which all members have equal power. It's a democracy!

Deux:
Yeah, a secret democracy. Where no stupid majority can tell us what to do, except Ron.

Ron shot him a look of disdain.

Deux:
I mean Uno.

He turned his attention back to me.

Dryce:
Were you on the team last year?

Uno:
I was. Star player, infield and out. Nobody could stand up to me, I put them all in the ground.

Dryce:
So you're raising up the next generation.

Uno:
Coach isn't gonna do it, you're certainly not gonna do it. Look at you.

Dryce:
...I've been told I'm a good outfielder.

Uno:
But do you remember it?

Dryce:
Do I...

He gives me a long stare, the kind that's searching not just your eyes but your mind. He wants to know what I'm thinking, and his confidence is stronger than mine by a whole league. What did he mean, and how did he know I forgot that day?