Jax

For a minute, I stand at the door, cautiously anticipating a response from the other side. Instead, I am greeted with a dreadful sound of silence. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, considering what I already know, but…

I muster up the strength to try again. Knock knock. Still no reply. 

With every passing second of waiting, my heart sinks further into doubt, as all I’m continually greeted with is the sound of deathly silence and the faint gush of autumnal wind. Still, despite my ever-growing doubts, I do not budge. I remain steadfast, planted to the ground. 

Minutes pass, with no sign of activity. But then…

Footsteps echo through the house, faintly audible through the door, growing in volume with every step. Then, I hear the click of a latch, followed by a creaking as the door swings open. 

A tall, thin woman, presumably in her forties, groggily emerges from the door, seemingly pouting, all the light drained from her eyes. Then, her eyes land on me. For an instant I can see shock and fluster in her eyes as she sizes me up. That fades away almost as quickly, and I can see light return to her eyes as her expression shifts completely. “Oh! Hello, young man!” 

“Hi there, are you Kit’s mom?”

“Y-yes!” Something seems to be trickling down her forehead. I can see the sun’s glint. “Call me Mrs. Kono. What about you? Are you a friend of his? I don’t believe we’ve met before.” Her voice is full of an exaggerated enthusiasm, mixed with a twinge of sheepish and apologetic. It’s that overenthusiastic demeanour that people try to pull off when they’re looking to paint a different picture…

I race to recall everything I remembered about Kit. “I’m Jax. I wasn’t exactly…close with him, but he was quite a friendly guy.” Which was true. I don’t know how he managed to do it, but he somehow always managed to have that bubbly, outgoing disposition. He was a ray of sunshine. Even to those who didn’t deserve it. 

For this occasion specifically, I decided to throw out some of my so-called “sales pitch” tactics. That meant no twisting or otherwise bending the truth in my favour. It would be cruel to deny her transparency. The situation was already tense enough, with the incident and me showing up at her house unannounced, and the last thing I needed was to add fuel to the fire by going the way of Evan Hansen. Some tact, in this case, was warranted, and so I relented. 

“How about we continue chatting inside?” Mrs. Kono maintained her bright, chirpy tune, although this time it was starting to quaver. I nod reservedly, then follow her as she ushers me into her kitchen.

Mrs. Kono

“Here, have a seat.” It’s quite difficult to get used to talking to people again when I’ve barely done so in weeks. 

To ease my mind, I shuffle over to the countertop, pouring a cup of tea, which I then slide over to him. “Have some tea. Sorry, it’s cold. I don’t have the energy to brew a fresh pot.” 

“Thanks”, he replies, smiling faintly while sipping away at it.

I’m not sure what compelled me to invite him in, especially when I’ve made do with shutting everyone else out of my world for weeks now. 

It’s just…he struck me in a different way from all the cops and neighbours that have come to visit me over the last few weeks. The energy he gave off wasn’t the menacing, imposing demeanour of the cops, nor was it the overbearing care and concern that my neighbours have been trying without success to pamper me with. Rather, he’s more quiet, focused, stoic. He knows what he’s here for. And it’s not to question. 

I have to say, I admire his gumption. I remember seeing him at least twice before today, when I was still very much resolute in being a hermit in my own home. Walking up to a house in a neighbourhood that’s foreign to him, multiple times for that matter, each time with the possibility of being turned away, that takes guts. He didn’t need to come all this way, and he did, so whatever it is he wants, it seems quite important to him. Besides, it would probably help if I talk to someone fresh about these things. And that’s probably what was going on in my head when I decided to have him as the first guest I’ve had in weeks. 

I decide now is a good time to press the offensive. I don’t have anything else in mind at the moment. “So, what business do you have here?”

He looks back at me, putting down the cup of tea, curiously yet businesslike. “I would like to interview you.”

“W-what?!” A chill was suddenly sent down my spine as goosebumps flooded my skin. Had I guessed wrong? I did not bid to be asked questions today. 

Jax seems to read my body language for a moment. Then, as if to alleviate my concerns, he reassures me, “No, no. I’m not here for questions. I’m here for answers.”

“What does that mean?”

He fishes out his phone from his pocket, positioning it right in the middle of the kitchen table. Then, he opens a voice recorder app. Every step is done methodically, and all with a straight face. He’s clearly done this a lot before. 

For a moment, his tune becomes synonymous with a businessman laying out the terms of a contract. “So, here’s how this will work. I want your perspective.” He makes a point to emphasise “your”, while directing his attention at me for a moment. “I want your honest, unadulterated thoughts and feelings about everything that’s happened since that day. I will ask no questions, or otherwise do anything to influence your thoughts or point you in any particular direction.” Then, his expression shifts. A faint smile emerges, one of inquisition but also of pleading. “Would you perhaps be agreeable to that?”

My mind starts to ease. My main concern was being inundated with questions from him, like with everyone else. But he said he wouldn’t do so. So while I am still mildly unsettled by the whole idea of being interviewed, the fact that I get to decide what I say at least lets me preserve some semblance of control. I won’t be pried for things I’m not ready for. Not to mention, whatever he’s working on seems important. He was quite emphatic when talking about it just now. 

“Sure.” 

With his finger hovering above the “record” button, Jax looks at me reassuringly. “Alright then. Start from the top.”

I take a deep breath.

Ray

“It was…an ordinary Wednesday. The bell had just rung and everyone was roving in the hallways, moving between classes. There was so much chatter, so much vitality…

“I found…him, emerging from the opposite classroom…I remember running up to him, striking up conversation with him about this new game “Silksong”…there was little to no warning that such a thing could just…happen, so spontaneously. No warning sirens, no signs of dread hanging in the air, no disturbing premonition…

“He was brimming with energy and life that day, as he always was…did he realise what that incident would do to him—”

Dr Denver raises a hand to stop me. “I don’t think you realise this, Ray, but you’re being quite…deliberate. Not in a good way. Your mind repeatedly resorts to scouring for euphemisms and sugarcoatings and otherwise more palatable ways to describe the events of that day. Feels like you’re…defending against something.

“For instance, you were referring to the same person in pronouns. And also…” Dr Denver briefly questions himself, whether he should mention what he’s about to say. “...you keep referring to the events of that day along the lines of “the thing” or “the incident”, as if it were a vague, ambiguous chronological timeline. This incident…that left Kit dead.”

“How do you know—”

“It was on local television. Major casualties: 11. Death toll…1.” He rests his hand on my shoulder, whispering, “I’m so sorry.” He’s…trembling. 

Time seems to stop as I relish the moment. Neither of us speak for a while. All I can think of is that…that…

…I feel safe.

Eventually, he withdraws his hand, looking earnestly into my eyes. “Is it okay to ask you to skip to the moment…where everything unfolded?”

He has a point. Ever since that day my mind has perpetually been on high alert. There’s been…a lot of guarding, a lot of suppressing. I’ve been attempting to forget the specifics of it all. It’s just…too painful to play it back in my mind, second by second, looking at every waking moment where, with the benefit (or curse) of hindsight, I could have warned him…maybe he’d still…

In fact, in this very moment of me dwelling on the specifics of what unfolded just before it all unfolded, the rustic, cozy atmosphere of this entire space is about the only thing that’s keeping me from bursting into tears. My tears are right there, ready to wreak havoc, and my eyelids are barely holding them back. 

Dr Denver must be a psychic. “Ray? If you don’t want to go into specifics, that’s fine. You don’t have to talk about it right now. But I want to remind you…that you can’t run from it forever. It has to come out, sooner or later. If nothing else, a brief rundown will do.”

I blink rapidly, suppressing the tears that have accumulated in my eyelids. Once I have regained my composure, I inhale, bracing myself to explain the rest of it.

“We were immersed in conversation. And then…” Dr Denver leans in as I pause for a moment, searching to find a way to describe that moment as it resided in my mind. 

“Boom.”