Are we alone?

The ground beyond the door is animated. Like the inside of a volcano, it’s molten. Loch feels crowded but there’s no one here but the Detective. It’s just the two of them. Belva and Astra had disappeared a while ago, hanging off the Detective’s shoulder one moment and then gone the next. The Detective wouldn’t tell him where they went. Maybe the Detective would’ve answered if only they knew there was a question Loch wanted them to answer. Body language can only say so much, after all.

Loch catches Detective attention by bumping his head against their shoulder. The Detective watches as Loch’s expression clouds with concern. His eyes search the hallway, hyper-aware of how isolated they both are.

The Detective cocks their head. When they speak, Loch is surprised by how hoarse the Detective sounds, “You’ll be fine, little one. I’m right by your side. In this domain, you’re never alone.”

Perhaps that was supposed to be comforting. It’s not. Loch’s expression must give that away because the Detective tries to steps closer but they stumble. Loch barely has the time to flinch before the Detective is stable on their feet once more, as if they’d never stumble in the first place. Loch does have to frown. Is the Detective not feeling well too?

“I apologize.” The Detective says, “Does that frighten you?”

Loch wants to say no. He’s not even in the room yet; he’s only standing in the entryway, looking in. It’s pitch black. Nothing to see but the unsteady floor. Nothing to be scared of.

He squirms, Maybe.

The Detective pats Loch’s head. The mistiness that the Detective is shrouded in feels heavier. They’ve been slouching slightly; it’s only become more and more apparent since Lenore fell ill. Their pace is unsteady as if they’ve recently spun around and around and are now too dizzy to walk straight. Is the Detective feeling sick? Maybe they should rest. But how can Loch suggest such a thing without Lenore here to translate for him? Before Loch can make a decision, the Detective steps through the room’s threshold, melting into the darkness.

“Come along, child.”

Suddenly, Loch wants to leave. At the very least, he doesn’t want to follow. But the room awaits him with this unyielding draw. It beckons him forward and Loch obeys. The door slams shut behind him. Without warning, Loch’s vision loses depth. Blind and panicking, Loch’s eyes dart around, searching for something to lock onto and focus on. Spinning around, Loch finds that even the Detective has seemingly abandoned him.

“The room will adjust,” The Detective’s voice mumbles from an unknowable direction and distance, “As will your eyes. Look around, your discomfort will mitigate.”

He does as he’s told. There’s something abstract about this space. It couldn’t exist, perhaps it even shouldn’t exist, but it does. It shamelessly remains in this space between sanity and sense. Like a canvas on which paint never dries; the design never finished. Always moving and yet hauntingly still. Stop, start, and still motion in choppy photoplay. Glitching in the static.

“Are… are you ready?” The Detective’s voice stutters and echoes.

Loch nods.

“Lovely… Very lovely” The Detective sighs. They sound like they’re falling asleep, “Now, if you’ll indulge me, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Loch frowns, I thought you were going to teach me how to talk to you? How am I supposed to answer if you can’t hear me?

“Question one,” The Detective talks over him, “How are you coping with this body?”

Loch hesitates. Is he missing something? Is this some kind of test? I don’t know? This is my body. I don’t remember being anything else.

After he’s finished speaking, Loch is left waiting for a reply. It doesn’t come for an awkwardly long length of time. Something is circling him. He can’t see it or hear it but Loch knows it’s there. It’s this slow force that’s gradually taking up space.

Finally, the Detective speaks again, “How does the isolation of silence affect you and your relationship with others?”

Um, Loch sinks, his papers fluttering against the too-soft ground. I don’t like being alone but I don’t know if I really feel alone? And I’m not silent, I’m talking right now! It’s other people that can’t hear me. Lenore understands me and she’s the only person I’ve ever known. Besides… besides you, I guess.

He really misses Lenore. Especially right now.

It’s getting bigger and the bigger it becomes the closer it gets. It’s closing in from above now. Mist falls sluggishly overtops of him. Where is the Detective? Left wondering, Loch startles when the Detective’s voice whispers to him from behind. When Loch spins around there’s nothing there. Their voice has this unusual vibrato, like it’s shaking apart.

“If you could speak, what kind of voice do you think you would have?”

Loch tenses. Why does this question spark this awful fury in his chest?

I have a voice, I can hear it in my head! Loch shouts pointlessly, You’re not listening to me!

As sudden as the fury appeared, it dissipates. The something stalking him is moist. Its hot, steamy breath makes his papers crinkle. Sheepishly, Loch says, I mean, I know it's not your fault but… I’m sorry. I feel sick, can we take a break? I need a break; I need to leave.

The Detective’s voice only gets lower. Close and quiet, tempting him in his own mind. But for what reason? Why are they doing this?

“How much do you long for a past you can’t remember?”

Loch shrinks, I… I don’t. I feel weird but I don’t know if that means I’m missing something. How do I miss something I don’t know I'm missing?

The next question comes quickly; there is no pause.

“How much does the loneliness eat at you?”

I’m not lonely! Why do you think I’m lonely?

It’s getting too warm. There’s no breeze, just this warm body hovering close enough to feel its heat. Loch hates it. It’s clammy. He hates how harsh, yet distant its presence is.

“When,” The Detective’s voice stumbles. Their words are mispronounced and slurred, “When you feel misplaced, what do you do? Do you do it on purpose?”

What does that even mean? I’m not doing anything ‘on purpose’, I don’t even know why I’m here! Like an insect pinned to a board, Loch feels trapped. Do you think I’m misplaced?

Too close, too close, too close; it’s secretions are almost touching him. A mass swelling like plump maggots drowning in bile. He can’t see it. He doesn’t want to see it but he knows he has to see it. Where is it? Where is it coming from? What is it? Wait, where did it go?

The Detective’s voice is a gurgling hiss, “How do you cope with feeling like a burden? A mistake? A regret?”

A pitiful silence. Familiar like sour vomit and the callous chill of rejection.

I… I’m not…

And just like that, Loch becomes detached.

********

Here they go again.

The sounds they make can’t be tuned out. Too loud, they’re impossible to ignore. Too quiet to mask dainty footsteps sneaking away.

Huddle tight into the corner, far far away.

Don’t stop listening. Stay focused. Be ready for the drop.

The sounds start moving. Where are they going? Where did they go?

The beginning is scary but the silence is even more so.

But they'll start again, that’s a guarantee.

Huddle tight into the corner, waiting…. waiting…. waiting… waiting…

Where is he?

********

You’re mean… Loch whispers, That’s a really mean thing to say, you know! I’m not answering you anymore!

His body is surrounded by this doughy flesh. Honestly, Loch’s only half-aware of where he is right now. In the dark of the laboratory, he glows. If only it was enough light to see. Mind foggy, Loch slowly returns from semi-consciousness. The Detective and the something stalking him haven’t revealed themself. Nothing’s changed. He’s alone.

But he keeps talking anyway.

Why’d you say that? Loch struggles, his body thrashing like a skewered fish, Why are you being mean to me? You were so nice! What happened? What’d I do?

The fleshy, doughy thing pulls away but Loch keeps thrashing. Flailing to the floor, which is suddenly cold and hard against his paper skin, Loch’s distress doesn’t abate.

“Why aren’t you angry...?” It’s the Detective’s voice once again, “Haven’t you been wronged? Don’t you think you have a right to be hateful? Isn’t it your right to be bitter? Don't you deserve to have revenge?”

There’s a full minute of silence.

Loch stares and sees nothing, What is wrong with you…?

He half-expects more questions but the Detective says nothing. Until, Loch hears a cough. Then another, and then another. Gurgles and gasps reverberate wetly and the something stalking Loch has fully recoiled to the far side of the room.

Cautiously, Loch rises from the ground. There’s a big part of him that doesn’t want to do this, but an even smaller part just knows he has to. Loch floats a little closer to the something from which the Detective’s voice resounds. It’s shaking like a leaf.

Loch wants to reach out, but alas, he has no hands. So he speaks, knowing he won’t be heard.

How… How do I help you?

It’s shaking grows worse and worse until the very ground beneath them shivers. Then, in time with a blink of Loch’s eyes, it vanishes. Its body heat leaves a trail of warmth that Loch quickly follows.

Wait! Don’t go! Don’t leave me here! Wait! How is the room so large? Is feels like they’ve crossed the length of a football field several times over.

“Stop!”

Loch stumbles to a halt. The something has huddled itself behind this dark mass that Loch can’t quite make out in the darkness.

“Stop…” It gurgles, “Wait, little one… Just for a moment, please…”

The something vanishes once more. Noises, crunching and snarling like a dog gnawing on a bone, make Loch cringe. The noises don’t persist long and suddenly Loch is blinded by bright light.

A lukewarm pair of arms embrace Loch from behind. He jumps but struggle as he may, he can't escape this mystery person's grip.

“I apologize,” The Detective mumbles, “Truly, I am. I shouldn’t have frightened you as I did; I am so very sorry, little one, so very sorry… I don’t know why I let it get so bad.”

The Detective’s soft, pillowy flesh comes in great contrast to Loch’s sleek and brittle body. His eyes flutter shut. His unease doesn’t last long under their embrace. If only he could do the same for the Detective, who’s voice is shaky with terror. Yet the Detective wastes no time comforting themself, which Loch thinks is kind of sad. The hug feels like it could go on forever. But, eventually, the Detective lets go.

“That was a rather rotten start, hmm? I’m sorry If you’ll allow me, I’d like to make it up to you.”

Loch’s eyes blink open.

“Well? What do you think?”

What Loch sees before him, he certainly wasn’t expecting. In fact, it’s the last thing he’d have expected. That’s not necessarily a bad thing.

I… It’s so…

~*~

It’s become very clear to the little lady that whatever Loch feels, Lenore feels it just as strongly. It’s a problem. When strange visions overtaking his mind’s eye, she’s pulled in like a log into a whirlpool and vice versa. Swirling and whirling down into the depths.

Privacy, it seems, will be nonexistent in their relationship. Perfect.

“Remember back when we first met and you were a head taller than me?” Odell says as she prances down the hallway, “Oh, how time flies!”

But Lenore has no energy to dwell on worries and concerns. Luckily for her, Odell is very good at keeping her distracted. Lenore’s legs had given out a while ago. Frustrated at her body’s unwillingness to do as it's told, the little lady broods. Unfortunately for her, Odell is very good at keeping her distracted.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” Lenore grumbles. Her legs swing from the swagger in the singer’s steps. Being unable to walk under her own power strikes a tender nerve within Lenore but she’s left with few other options. She lets Odell carry her the rest of the way. Odell is delighted by this turn of events and Lenore, decidedly, is not.

“Of course I’m enjoying this!” Odell grins, nuzzling her chin against Lenore’s forehead, “How could I not enjoy having the most dazzling creature on earth in my arms?”

The singer’s arms encircling her tenderly and the sound of Odell’s heart beating beside her ear is calming like a lullaby. This is nice. As much as she hates to admit it. Lenore presses her face against Odell’s shoulder. The redness in her cheeks is nothing but fever, damn anyone who suggests otherwise.

The little lady sighs, “You are ridiculous…”

“And you love me for it!” Odell kicks the doors open, carrying Lenore through the threshold like they’re a newlywed couple.

The door slams shut behind them and they behold before them, the belly of the beast. The Cocteau Castle’s stomach. Gummy with pink rugae and stomach acid. Hot mucus. Flowing, glowing slime. The Detective’s Laboratory should be something gross. A nightmarish sight to haunt unlucky visitors for many nights to come. It shouldn’t be this beautiful. This glorious place that had, for so long, given the little lady so many wonderful memories. Like a forest of only one tree, connected underground by a vast system of roots. Eusocial like a colony of ants. An ecosystem. A cluster of cells working together to keep the whole body functioning. Like the Theatre but more. Instead of one heart fighting to keep everything working, there are many. This fantastical harmony; how marvellous is this thing that shouldn't be possible.

Odell whistles appreciatively, “Damn, I forgot how huge the lab was. Are you sure they’re here? I don’t see them.”

“I’m sure,” Lenore says, “I can feel it. The lights wouldn’t be on if they weren’t here. They’re probably on the bottom floor.”

Odell starts walking down the side on the wall. There are no stairs, just a series of declining ledges, just close enough to hop to and from. The singer goes slow. The ledges have a slight bounce to them, making it all too easy to lose your balance.

“Speaking of,” Odell says, “You and the kid have this ‘mental connection’ thing, right?”

“Yes.”

“Can you hear him now?”

“... No. The farther away he is, the harder it is to hear him. If I called out, I’d probably hear him answer. It’s like a second voice in the back of my head. He can be very loud sometimes.”

“And how are you handling that?”

“It’s a challenge.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Lenore leans her head against the singer’s chest, “It’s not… bad. It’s just new. You know I’m a very private person.”

“Boy, do I know it,” Odell smirks, “Who knows, maybe this kid will help you to open up a little. Might just be good for you, shapeshifter.”

The little lady closes her eyes as Odell hums and her gentle melody almost soothes Lenore into slumber. The trip down will take a few minutes. It gives Lenore time to think.

Something down here had frightened Loch. What could possibly scare him? He’d been oblivious to the horrors of the city streets; had laughed when mangled hands hunted them down from the shadows. The kid had a skewed sense of danger, to say the least. But something had made him afraid down here. His fear had made Lenore’s blood pump with adrenaline, both their minds muddled with one sobering thought, ‘Oh fuck, I’m about to die…’

Odell hums a little louder. There’s a slight delay in the sound and at first, Lenore mistakes it for an echo. Then the humming duplicates. The little lady feels the slight vibration of the singer’s chest go still but the humming persists.

“Um,” Odell looks around, a slight frown on her face, “Hello?”

They’re halfway down. The view is changing as the hum changes key. It’s not a normal hum. It’s rumbly in a monotonous, inhuman way. Like a car engine, a ringing bell, leaves rustling in the wind, or a deep flute symphony.

Lenore yawns, “They like your tune.”

A surprised smirk blooms on the singer’s face, “Do they now? I’m flattered.”

Odell joins in the humming once more, louder this time with a fast, jazzy edge. It’s a familiar purr. A pleasantly aimless song that Odell and the others craft out of thin air. So pleasant in fact, that Lenore feels the singers' steps take on a frivolous pace. Down the ledges, Odell dances, light as a dandelion in the breeze.

Unfortunately, it's not enough to keep Lenore distracted. There’s still this feeling of unease. Loch’s unease. The fear is less potent now, less likely to make them drunk on terror, but the nauseous aftertaste hasn’t faded. Is Loch actually in danger? No, not with the Detective around. They’d never let anything happen to one of their own, that much Lenore is certain. But, then again…

The little lady chews on her bottom lip. Should she say something now? Or should she wait until they’re face to face?

Suddenly, the navy fabric of Odell’s dress flaps upwards, obstructing Lenore’s view. The little lady can’t see what has happened from her position, but it isn't hard to guess. A gust of wind sends the singer’s skirt and both their hair flying. Carried by the wind, or perhaps creating the wind itself, are countless red and brown feathers. Odell stumbles, almost tripping over the edge.

Odell shouts in surprise, “Hey! Watch yourself, you feathery fuck!”

As quickly as it appeared, the wind and the feathers disappeared down to the bottom of the laboratory. As the wind fades, so does the humming. The Singer scowls. She belts one more soulful tune but her invitation goes unanswered. It seems their song is truly over. Cut off like a needle scratching off of a record.

Odell pouts, “Asshole. They threw off our rhythm.”

“What a tragedy. I weep for you.” Lenore smirks.

They reach the final ledge. Beyond that point is a dense vapour. The sound of childish giggling steadily becomes clearer and clearer in the back of Lenore’s head. Odell pauses.

“I hate this part…” Odell mutters.

“Deep breath, Odell,” Lenore says.

They both inhale sharply and hold the air in with tight lips. One last hop and the two of them drop, through the vapour which has a smell that is sour in the sweetest possible way. The fall is brief and the ground, when they meet it, is neither soft nor solid. The singer stumbles again. Her ankles ache. Her shoes feel like they’ve become one with her feet. But, ever graceful, Odell quickly finds her footing as a familiarly mumbling voice greets them.

“Good day, my good miss.”

The giggling is louder now, boisterous enough to make the little lady’s head pound. Lenore’s eyelids flutter open and when her eyes eventually focus, her mouth falls open. Bewilderment brings a flush to her cheeks and crinkles to her brow.

Odell conveys their mutual confusion quite concisely with three simple words, “What the fuck?”

The laboratory was crafted for constant change. The fact that it doesn’t look the way Lenore remembered isn’t too unusual. Still, this is… unexpected.

“... Hello, Detective” Lenore says slowly, “I see that you’ve… redecorated.”

“Why yes, I have.” The Detective says brightly, “Mister Laymon is quite a fan!”

The little lady hasn’t seen a school, let alone been in one for more than a decade, and yet it feels like her first day of kindergarten all over again. The furniture is tiny. Classroom chairs and desks, also brightly coloured and set up in squares. Brightly coloured posters and childish drawings cover the walls. Pictures of playful puppies and crafty kittens, sketches of smiley faces and rainbows. A big red chest overflowing with toys fit for the most spoiled toddler. Fluffy carpets, soft enough for a baby to sleep on, with cartoon animals stitched into the fabric. It’s so vibrant, so silly, so light-hearted. It’s so out of place, but Lenore doesn’t dwell on that long. In the middle of the largest carpet, which is canary yellow and covered in bird doodles, is Loch. All traces of fear are gone from the back of Lenore’s mind, and it's not hard to see why.

He looks so carefree. Happily spinning around as the feathers circle him playfully, tickling Loch when his back is turned and fluttering away before he can catch them. Another spin and a high pitched giggle, then Lenore and Loch meet eyes. The giggling cuts off, interrupted by a joyful and surprised squeal.

Lenore! You’re alive!

Odell lowers the little lady to her feet. Loch breaks free from the circle of feathers, flying across the room and ramming into Lenore head first. He would have knocked her off her feet if the singer hadn’t been there to steady her. It would have been a brutal hug if Loch had arms to embrace her with.

“Of course I’m alive.” Lenore huffs haughtily, even as she delicately strokes the back of Loch's head, “Was that truly in doubt?”

“Knowing you?” Odell scoffs, “Yes.”

Loch tenses. He pulls away from the little lady, eyes widening when he sees Odell towering over them. When he straightens up they are eye to eye. This makes the singer take a half-step back in surprise. Damn, she wasn’t expecting the kid to be this big. Still, she’s never one to give a bad first impression, unless doing so would amuse her. She grins confidently. Unfortunately, aside from that, the singer has no idea what to do next. This bulbous creature is apparently a little kid. How do you talk to kids? Kids are smaller, stupider, adults; Odell would know since she was a kid once upon a time. But Loch isn’t exactly small and, according to Lenore, isn’t exactly stupid.

He’s still just staring at her. Silent like a ghost. She should say something. It’s not like the kid is going to. He can’t. What is she supposed to say?

“Hey there, buddy…” Odell ends up stammering, “Mister Laymon, is it? I guess Lenore gave you that name, right? I’m a… um… friend! I’m Lenore’s… best friend. Nice to meet you?”

Loch’s head tilts to the side. His eyes flicker to Lenore, then back to the singer, then back to Lenore again. So this was the silky haired lady he’d seen with Lenore. She’s so much taller than she looked when sitting down. And she’s Lenore’s best friend? He didn’t think Lenore had friends, aside from the Detective; Loch doesn’t want to think about them right now.

He’s too nervous to talk at first. Why bother trying when no one can hear him? But then he remembers, Lenore is here! She can talk for him! But what should he say?

I like your spots. You’re like a really pretty giraffe.

The little lady stifles a laugh. Her snorts make Odell frown in confusion and Loch startle as he rushes to clarify himself.

No, wait! I’m sorry, I just mean you’re tall like a giraffe! But not in a bad way! Your neck is normal sized and, I mean, I’ve never seen a giraffe in real life before so maybe…!

“He says ‘hello’,” Lenore says, “He thinks you're pretty. Like a giraffe.”

Loch shoots Lenore an incredulous expression of betrayal, Hey, no! That's not what I meant!

“What?” Odell frowns, watching as Loch desperately shakes his head back and forth.

Lenore raises an eyebrow at the singer, “We’re best friends, Odell? Is that all?”

Odell’s eyes go wide, “Hey, no! I didn’t mean it like that, I just, he’s a kid! Aren’t you supposed to sugarcoat that kind of stuff to kids? I don’t know how to talk to children!”

“I’ve noticed,” Lenore replies dryly.

Sugarcoat? What does that mean? Is it a secret or something?

“Why did he call me a giraffe? Has he ever even seen a giraffe before?”

Lenore interrupts their ramblings by clearing her throat, “Odell, meet Lochlan Laymon, Loch for short. He’s that little mystery child I found slinking around the Aurora. Loch, meet Odell Averill, my partner. She’s the owner of the Theatre as well as one of its most popular performers. I’m sure the two of you will get along well enough, given all the things you have in common. Your horrible senses of humour, for example.”

“As opposed to that giant stick you like to keep up your ass?”

Loch bursts into giggles. His body trembles in laughter that no one but the little lady can hear. The boy’s mimed hysterics brings a smile to the singer’s face. Even as he laughs, Loch says, That was a swear! And it was mean!

Lenore’s knees are jittery. She leans into Odell’s side and says, “See that? You’ve barely known him for a minute and you’re already setting a bad example.”

Odell sticks her tongue out at Lenore, and Loch giggles harder.

Then the Detective walks up behind Loch, and the boy freezes. The corner of Lenore’s mouth curls downward. There’s that unease again. Loch turns around, too fast to be dismissed as casual, and that unease spikes when he lays eyes on the Detective. This chilling feeling lingers, Loch and the Detective peering at each other, expressions unreadable. The little lady steps away from Odell, reaching over to lay a comforting hand on Loch’s back. She gives the Detective a questioning look. The Detective tilts their head away.

“Well, now that you’re here,” The Detective says, “Why don’t we get started on those lessons? Mr. Rousseau, won’t you change form for us?”

The twister of feathers jitter and flutter. There’s a pattern in their frolicking that resembles a songless dance. When the dance ends, the Detective speaks again.

“I won’t make you, but I do believe Mister Laymon would benefit from your example.”

The feathers dance their reply and the Detective continues to respond.

Odell sighs, “This is a bit of a one-sided conversation, don’t you think?” The singer’s waits for Lenore to reply. When she doesn’t, Odell turns to look at her. The little lady has her eyes locked on Loch and although Odell can’t hear anything, she’s certain they’re talking to each other.

Odell rolls her eyes, “Well, don’t I feel left out…”

Oblivious to the singer’s exasperation, Lenore sends Loch a silent message.

“You’re scared of the Detective.” Lenore states, “Why?”

No, I’m not…

“We share a consciousness, Loch. I know how you’re feeling, what I don’t know is why.”

… Did you see… those sounds… and that corner…?

“Yes,” Lenore shudders, “It wasn’t like the visions we shared before… I couldn’t see anything. Only textures and yelling.”

I didn’t like it. It was scary. Was it scary for you? It felt different from the other times.

“It wasn’t pleasant. The other visions… they were mine. This one must have been yours. I don’t remember anything like that happening to me.”

But I don’t remember that stuff either.

“You couldn’t remember anything before. Now you do.”

I guess, but I don’t--

“Thank you, Jean.” The voice that interrupts Loch is quiet, but it catches their attention nonetheless. The Detective mumbles, “I know this is difficult for you, and I truly appreciate you doing this for us.”

The wind picks up. The four of them watch as the feathers are swept up with greater force, huddling into a tight ball. Gradually the ball of feathers changes form. A figure takes shape. Eventually, the feathers settle into a person, poised and adrift above the ground. Unlike Loch, who is oval-shaped with loose folds of paper and brew, this person had the figure of a man. Every part of them is sculpted from cardinal feathers. Two legs, two arms, a torso, and even a head adorned with wispy feathers resembling hair. The clothing that the feathers imitate are weird and old-fashioned. The tufts protruding from his cheeks resemble whispers and give the illusion of baby fat. He looks youthful, in great contrast to the stuffy clothes his feathers mimicked over him.

The wind dies down and the man opens his eyes. There's nothing beyond his eyelids. Only air and shadows. The man smiles shyly. He raises his left hand to his temple and then extends that hand outward in a way that looks like he’s saluting them.

“Hello,” The feathery man signs, “My name is…” The man spells out his name, which has a great many letters, “J-E-A-N L-U-C R-O-U-S-S-E-A-U. You can call me…” The man performs a few more signs; with his thumb and index finger, he mimics plucking a feather out of his head and then he crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Feather Guard or J.L. for short. It is a pleasure to meet you. Please forgive my nervousness.”

Loch’s short attention span gets the best of him yet again.

Hello! He flies up to Jean-Luc, smiling brightly as he takes in his friend’s new appearance, How did you do that? You’re so pretty! Your name’s pretty too and you have more than one! Do I get another name too?

Jean-Luc smiles indulgently, not bothering to remind the boy of his muteness. Loch rambles on for a while. While he’s distracted, the Detective gestures for Lenore and Odell to take a seat at the tiny desks closest to the yellow carpet. The little lady squawks when Odell scops her up and sets her down on her lap. Lenore tries to muster up a scowl, but she quickly lets it drop from her face. She’s tired and these chairs look uncomfortable. This is better than sitting on the floor. Feigning reluctance, Lenore settles into Odell’s embrace.

The Detective stands on the opposite side of the carpet. Loch finally runs out of questions for the feathery man. He turns back to Lenore.

He’s like me, isn’t he? So are Belva and Astra.

“Yes, that is why I brought you here. This hotel is filled with people like you. For the most part.” Lenore’s eyes flicker to the Detective when she says that last part.

Cool! Why didn't you tell me that before?

“... I figured it would be a fun surprise.”

Before Loch can reply, The Detective speaks up.

“The majority of my guests communicate using sign language.” The Detective mumbles, “Normally, our first lesson would be a basic overview of the alphabet and a few basic signs. We rarely have a guest who's already fluent…”

Loch glances at Lenore nervously and the Detective stops. When they resume speaking, their voice is somehow even quieter.

“It’s a good thing,” They take a tentative step forward, watching Loch like one would a frightened animal, “We can move on to the next lesson; one which I think you’ll find far more enjoyable.”

They wave for Jean-Luc to come over, and the feathery man does so without hesitation.

“As you can see, the way Mr. Rousseau’s body moves and reacts with itself differs greatly from the way a normal person’s body would. A crucial difference between, say, Mr. Rousseau and Miss Laymon, is the composition of liquids, solids, and gasses that make up their bodies.”

Gradually, the air weaving between Jean-Luc’s feathers becomes foggy. Without warning, Jean-Luc falls apart, his body receding into wind and tufts of airborne plumule. With gravity all its own, the feathers hover with wavelike rises and falls.

Loch floats closer, Woah...

The Detective reaches their hand into the mess of wind and feathers. The wind accommodated itself around the intrusion by weaving through their fingers and around their palm, carrying the feathers with it.

“Rousseau is predominantly made of gases which control the solid parts of himself. Lenore, on the other hand,” They walked over to the Little woman and grasped her wrist, squeezing gently, “Is predominantly solids controlled by liquids, with the occasional gases…”

Odell giggles into the back of the little lady’s head.

Lenore rolls her eyes, “Mature…”

“You, Loch, are made of liquid with a very thin outer layer of solids. Does that make sense?”

Loch nods confidently.

The Detective tilts their head fondly, “You and Rousseau are far more similar in composition than you and Lenore, so he will act as a reference for this exercise. Jean, if you would?”

The wind blows outward, making the feathers balloon into an oval that fans out at the bottom like a skirt. At the top half of the oval, where it’s roundest, two round holes break open. They blink in unison. The wind stabilizes into a gentle breeze as the thin pelt of feathers shiver and then settle into shape. Underneath the two holes is a crescent tear, like the moon turned onto its side. Shyly smiling a smile that isn’t his own, Jean-Luc turns around and meets Loch’s gaze. The boy gawks, his shock so overwhelming that he wordlessly sinks to the ground.

“There we are,” The Detective says, “What do you think, Mr. Laymon? Like looking into a mirror, hmm?”

They’re a perfect reflection. Identical twins. Hesitantly, Loch circles Jean-Luc, taking in every inch of his friends' mimicked body. Loch squints. Is he actually this tall? Is his smile usually this wide?

Is my head really this fat?

Lenore exhales sharply through her nose. She bits her lip to keep from smiling. It doesn’t work.

Odell looks down at her, “... What are you smirking at?”

The little lady quietly leans her head against the singer's shoulder, letting her eyes fall shut.

“Nothing,” She says, “Just trying not to cough.”

The Detective steps back to give them both room. They say, “Loch, Mr. Rousseau is going to warp his body into different sizes and shapes. Your job is to copy him to the best of your abilities. Are you ready?”

Loch nods.

“We’ll start off easy. Take your time, and don’t worry if you mess up,” The Detective turns to Jean-Luc, “Begin.”

Whether the lesson goes on for minutes or hours, Lenore can’t be certain. For all she knows, it could have taken forever. Through half-lidded eyes, the little lady watches. First, Jean-Luc stretches until he resembles an untwisted balloon animal. Like a snake, a worm, or an eel. Loch tries to copy him and quickly finds that it's far harder than Jean-Luc made it look. He tries to stretch his body upward but only succeeds in floating high above the ground, his body no longer than it was before. Next, Loch tries laying on the floor and dragging his top and bottom half apart. His two halves enter into a fierce tug of war that, to the amused onlookers, only makes the boy rock back and forth like an angry rocking horse. But, third time’s the charm; Loch flies from one end of the carpet to the other. The drag and momentum finally prolong his body until he and Jean-Luc are identical once more; two long, gangly serpents. And that was just the first exercise.

Swelling up like a bubble, shrinking down like a cotton sweater in the dryer. A big head with a tiny body and then a big body with a tiny head. Jean-Luc squishes and stains his mimicked form into all manner of shapes and sizes. Loch struggles through each exercise; Lenore can hear all his frustrated grumbling and groaning. But the struggle makes the success all the sweeter. For each of Loch’s grumbles, Lenore is also gifted with many giggles and cheers. It’s nice seeing the kid have some fun. If only she had the energy to join in on the celebrating. Luckily, Odell happily makes up for the little ladies' silence. When Loch, after several failed attempts, finally manages to replicate Jean-Luc’s latest distortion, he is met with a round of applause.

“Wo-ho!” Odell grins, clapping loudly like a parent at their child’s first soccer game. “Keep it up, buddy! You’re doing great!”

The Detective’s praise is calmer than the singers, but no less genuine.

“Well done, Mr. Laymon,” They say, “Very well done indeed.”

Jean-Luc, without the luxury of having hands in this form, does a little dance that the Detective translates to mean, “You’re a fast learner! And so much imagination!”

It’s a pleasant distraction. Too bad Lenore had to go and ruin everything. A sickly storm of coughs burst from the back of Lenore’s throat like a swarm of angry locusts. She buries her face into the crook of her elbow. Her hacks burn in her chest, making tears prickle the corner of her eyes.

Several concerned faces turn her way. Odell’s hands fly to the little lady’s back, rubbing her shoulders until, finally, the fit subsides. Lenore pulls her arm away from her mouth. Her teary eyes scan the fabric around her elbow. No blood. She swallows thickly, holding a hand to her chest, “Pardon me. You’re doing well, kid. Keep… keep going, I’m fine.”

A hand presses against her forehead. The Detective sighs. She’s less warm than she had been the last time they checked, but not by much.

The Detective removes their hand, “Your fever will never break if you don’t rest.”

“I am resting. I’m simply doing so in good company.”

“Being in bed would make resting easier.”

Lenore scoffs, “When have I ever done anything the easy way?”

Odell’s brow furrows, “Detective, your medical kit...?”

“Of course. One moment, please.”

Loch flies over in a hurry, settling down beside the little lady. Lenore slumps back against the singer’s chest, running a hand through her messy bedridden hair. She narrows her eyes, glaring stubbornly at nothing in particular. As the Detective backs away, Lenore grumbles. “I am not going back to bed. We’ve wasted enough time as it is. I have things to do.”

Odell removes her dress coat, draping it over Lenore’s shoulders. She huffs, “You’re so fucking stubborn...”

… Swear.

Lenore smiles, despite herself. These two are going to get along fine, she can tell.

The Detective clears their throat. They say, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to make a few adjustments. Close your eyes, everyone, and hold your breath. Do not peek.”

Lenore and Odell close their eyes without question. Loch, on the other hand, lets his eyes linger open slightly, hoping the Detective doesn't notice. They don’t, but Lenore does.

“Close your eyes, Loch. I know you're still looking.”

But why? Loch shrinks into himself, which Lenore finds rather worrying, What are they doing? What are they going to do to me if I don’t?

“Nothing,” Lenore says, “The Detective would never…” The little lady trails off mid-sentence. She feels her heart speed up, her breath almost catching in her throat. Fear, all her own this time, builds up in her chest. Loch feels just as strongly.

“Something happened while I was unconscious. Tell me what happened, Loch.”

I… Loch closes his eyes, hoping it will be enough to pacify the little lady. It isn’t.

Lenore grits her teeth, “Tell me. Now”

Suddenly, a gust of musk envelopes them. Damn it, she forgot to hold her breath. The vapour tastes like nothing and smells like nothing, the flurry too harsh for her tongue and nose to make any sense of it. At least her eyes are closed. She’s far too busy to go blind. As quickly as the gust blew down on them, it also blew past. The little lady gasps for breath as air returns to her poor, sick lungs.

“Hey, take it easy, Lenore! Easy!” Odell’s voice is loud in her ringing ears, “Fuck, please don’t pass out…”

Lenore feels a pair of arms lift her up, bridal style. She doesn’t try opening her eyes, too tired to even bother. Instead, she uses what little energy she has left to breathe and listen.

“Lay her down here, Ms. Averill. Try not to jolt her.”

Woah… Where did all this stuff come from?

“She’s so pale. I thought you said it was just the flu?”

“And a few days ago, it was probably just a cold. But since she continues to push herself…”

Are you dying…? Please, don’t die.

“I’m not dying,” Lenore coughs, “You’re all too dramatic…”

Lenore wasn’t the easiest patient. Though she didn’t squirm when the Detective took her temperature, forced bitter medicine down her throat, and pressed a cooling towel against her temples, she still didn’t enjoy the attention. She stubbornly asserted at every possible moment that no, she didn’t need to lie down and yes, she was sure this was just a cold and, of course, she would be fine. For goodness sake, Lenore hated being fused over almost as much as she hated being sick.

Loch spends this time torn between fluttering over Lenore’s prone body and curiously exploring the laboratory, made new once again. Gone is the kindergarten classroom with its bright colours and lively atmosphere. Now, the walls are white and barren. There is no furniture except a giant bed that, to Loch’s confusion, has bars along the side of the mattress. It’s like a cage. It even has arm and leg restraints attached to the bars. Loch tries to ignore that. It makes him nervous for some reason. The emptiness of the room, devoid of life. The way the other’s voices echo off the walls; everyone’s voice echoes except his own. Well, his voice and Jean-Luc’s. He’s abandoned his imitation of Loch’s body, reverting back to wind and loose feathers. At the Detective’s back and call, Jean-Luc disappears into the unknown, bringing back medicine and blankets. After ten or so trips, Jean-Luc leaves but doesn’t come back.

Is up the only way out? How are Lenore and her pretty friend supposed to get out here? Are they trapped? Can the Detective leave or are they stuck here with Loch too? Is Loch stuck here with them?

“Mr. Laymon,” Loch jumps when the Detective calls out their name, “A word, if you please?”

Say no, say no, say no, say no--

Okay.

The Detective retreats to the opposite side of the white room. Loch cautiously flies over while the Detective stands with the back against the corner of the room. With Loch floating in front of them, they are effectively pinned in place.

The Detective sighs, “Are you all right?”

Loch hesitates, but eventually, he nods his head.

“I see. You’re probably lying to me, but that’s okay. I can’t blame you.”

The boy's eyes widen with panic, No, I’m fine! Honest!

The Detective holds their hand up and Loch stops talking. They say, “You need space. Away from me, I mean. I’ll leave you and the ladies to your lonesome. Please don’t hesitate to fetch me if you need anything.”

Loch nods again. A strange sense of guilt is growing within him, although he isn’t sure why. The Detective likewise has an air of remorse around them. Loch tries to give the Detective a thankful smile. To help them both feel better.

The Detective glances away, “What happened before was all my fault. I’m sorry. It’s okay if you don’t trust me. I’ll do my best to regain your trust at whatever pace you’re most comfortable with.”

Loch’s smile relaxes. The guilt doesn’t go away, but it lightens, at least. In its place, fragile courage sparks to life. Loch floats a little closer. He bumps his head against the Detectives chest, nuzzling like a kitten. The Detective stares, and Loch can imagine if they had a face, their expression would be pretty funny. Then, they laugh quietly under their breath. They pat Loch’s head, but when they speak their voice is melancholy. Loch has such wide eyes. He must be young. So painfully young. And for a young one such as him, it must be frustrating when things are made vague, not for their sake but for the adult's comfort. It’s easier to skirt around an issue rather than tackle it head on, and that’s what makes it so tempting.

“Be patient,” They sigh, “With yourself and others. There are questions that you’re going to be asking yourself very soon. I need you to know, it's okay to have doubts. You should have doubts, in fact. You need to be willing to ask the hard questions. Even if you don’t like the answers you get.”

The wall behind the Detective dissolves. Vapours swathe over the Detective, wrapping around their arms and between their legs. It pulls the Detective in, their silk and misty body vaporizing into nothingness.

“Take care of yourself…” Is the last thing Loch hears them say.

~*~

An hour later, on the edge between sleep and consciousness, Lenore is awakened by a voice.

Lenore? Are you asleep?

“Not anymore.” She answers without opening her eyes. Odell is sitting on the chair beside Loch, watching. Lenore doesn’t want her to know she’s still awake. The singer needed a break from fussing over her. It had been a long day for everybody.

Okay… Can I ask a question? About the Detective?

“... Please do.”

What’s wrong with them?

Lenore frowns. What could she say? The truth? Could Loch even handle the truth right now?

“They’re sick. They’ve been sick for a very long time.”

Oh.

Loch is quiet. Worryingly so. Luckily, Lenore isn’t the only one who notices the boy's unease. Odell wraps her arm around Loch. When the boy turns to look at her, she gives him a grin.

“I meant what I said, you know,” Odell whispers so as not to wake Lenore, “You were doing great back there.”

Loch smiles shyly. There was something about the way the singer grins that makes him feel safe. Her grin isn’t soft or comforting. Not at all. Odell’s grins are the kind of quirk of the lips that say, ‘Don’t worry, if anybody fucks with you, I’ll kick their head in.’ It’s kind of scary but in a good way.

Odell leans back in her chair, “Magic is weird, isn’t it? Don’t tell Lenore I called it that, though, she’d pitch a fit.” She chuckles, “It’s just so confusing! Every time Lenore tries to teach me something about it, I end up feeling like I know less than I did before. Maybe I’m just a lousy learner. But do you want to see something cool?”

When Loch nods eagerly, Odell pulls the sleeve of her dress up to her elbow. The skin of her forearm, like the rest of her, is dark caramel with splotches of cream. With her other arm, Odell presses her finger against one of her cream dots and begins rubbing tiny circles into her skin. At first, nothing happens. Until, the singer's skin starts to shiver. Goosebumps prickle up and down her arm. Then Odell trails her finger up her forearm and, to Loch's surprise, the cream dot moves with her.

Loch's jaw drops. The singer gives the boy a playful wink and continues.

Up and down her arm, the dot travels. Then, the singer lifts her finger and presses it against a larger cream dot and like before, the dot moves with her. With every press, lift, and trial of her finger, her two-toned skin changes pattern.

After a few seconds, Odell stops, “And, that’s all I got.” She shrugs, pulling her sleeve back down, “It’s nothing compared to what you and my little shapeshifter can do, but that’s probably because I’m too lazy to learn more.”

I think it’s cool! Loch smiles widely, I wish I could do something like that!

“But you, little buddy,” Odell pulls Loch into a gentle headlock, “You aren't the type to give up too easily. You’ve got a lot to learn and you’ve got a ton of people willing to help you out. Any friend of Lenore is a friend of mine, so you’ve definitely got me on your side, bud.”

Lenore peeks up at them through her eyelashes. She’d been watching, and listening, the entire time. The little lady watches as Odell grins a grin that melts the tension away like the spring sun does to the winter cold. The smile Loch gives the singer has a similar effect.

It’s too much. Too sweet. Lenore closes her eyes and buries her face into her pillow. Those two will be thick as thieves, there's no doubt about that. She wants to be happy about that. She wants to be happy…

As Lenore falls back into slumber, the final thought she can remember having is, “What a day, it’s been. What a long, long day.”