Bath salts got me through med school. At least, I think it was med school. – Doctor Marie From Missed Conversations, Vol. 1

Alex spent his lunchbreak in the courtyard with Jesse, lying on his back on a grassy mound and watching the clouds make their slow crawl across the sky.

“I wandered lonely as a cloud, that floats on high o'er vales and hills.” Alex muttered.

“Huh?” Jesse said.

“Just something I read once.”

In the distance, Alex could hear some of the other boys playing a game of all gifts - all the time basketball.

“You every play basketball, Alex?” Jesse asked.

“No.” He said, glumly. “Netball mostly.” In his mind, all Alex could remember was being picked last, if he was lucky enough to be picked at all.

“I thought Netball was for girls?” Jesse asked. Alex sat up and gave him his best withering gaze. It didn’t seem to work. Jesse just shrugged and nodded at the asphalt. “Well, Tabatha’s playing.”

Alex had to squint to see her. She was moving down the far wing and calling for the ball. When Simon threw it to her, however, the ball went right through her waiting form and out the other side. With a mocking salute, Tabatha’s illusion blinked out of existence.

“Hey guys.” Tabatha said, taking a seat next to them on the grass.

“You’ve got to stop doing that.” Jesse said, watching Simon kick the ball away in anger.

“That boy is just way too easy.” Tabatha said, stretching out next to Alex.

“You guys…” Alex began after a companiable silence had elapsed. His eyes were lost in the endless sweep of blue up above and he felt, for a moment, as if he were somehow infinite.

“Yes?” Tabatha encouraged.

“…you ever wonder that maybe there’s things in your life you’re not meant to think about?”

“Like what?” She asked.

“It’s just… my dad went to this place. And I never even wondered… My whole life, I don’t remember even once thinking about him. It’s like there’s a hole in my head, and when I try to find him in there among the years, it’s just static. Just noise.”

“Have you talked to the shrink about it?” Jesse asked.

“Doctor Fitz is a psychologist, not a psychiatrist.” Tabatha said, prodding Jesse with a finger.

“Alright, Jesus. Ouch. Maybe you should see the shrink.”

“I don’t need a shrink.” Tabatha muttered.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Tell that to your waist.”

Alex felt as much as heard the slap.

“I’m serious guys.” He said, sitting up fully so as to look at them. “It’s creeping me out.”

“Well, okay.” Jesse said, massaging his face. “What was his name?”

“No idea.” Alex said. “I could have asked in the headmaster’s office. I could have asked anytime yesterday. But I didn’t. Something in my head just made me forget, or…” Alex cut himself off. He was doing it again. With a hiss of annoyance, he pushed himself to his feet and strode off across the courtyard.

“Where are you going?” Tabatha called after him.

“To ask Doctor Fitz.” Alex replied.

***

“Malcolm.” Doctor Fitz said, an odd expression on his face. “Your dad’s name was Malcolm.”

Alex sat in Doctor Fitz’ office. It was a messy and cramped room that had once served the school janitor. There was even a boiler in the corner. The walls were covered in newspaper clippings with red string connecting different zones of interest. It was like staring at the product of a sleuth’s wet dream.

“Are you planning a bank robbery, or something?” Alex asked, turning in his seat to get a better look the clippings.

“Am I what?”

Alex turned back to Doctor Fitz. “Sorry. I guess Jesse must be getting to me.”

Doctor Fitz nodded in understanding. “Well, I’m glad to see you’ve made friends so quickly.” He said.

“I think…” Alex fought to say. “I think they might be my first friends, actually.” He felt a combination of absurd pride and embarrassment wash over him at his own words and expected to, at the very least, be laughed at. Doctor Fitz simply nodded contemplatively. “I had a rough time growing up.” Alex continued.

This made Doctor Fitz frown. “You’re sixteen, aren’t you?”

“Only in age.” Alex replied, in a knowing tone. Wanting to change the subject, he nodded over at the wall. “So, what’s it about?”

Doctor Fitz followed his gaze and squinted as if only now realising that his entire office was one big tabloid. “Ah, yes. I’ve been meaning to share this with you.” Fitz ducked beneath his desk and began rummaging around, tossing up papers and pens in a mad dash. His voice came through hurried and muffled. “Most people around here think I’m mad. They’re wrong. I’m not mad. I’m stupid. Which is why I need another pair of eyes. Eyes I can trust.” Fitz emerged victorious, wielding a black, leather-bound handbook.

He slid it across the desk towards Alex and waggled his eyebrows.

“What is it?” Alex asked.

“That.” Fitz began, excitedly. “Is your father’s diary.”

Alex was less enthused.

“You mean you’ve had my father’s inner-most thoughts for the past how many years and you’re still…” He didn’t finish his sentence. There was a glint in old doctor Fitz’s eye that told of a bigger, more complicated picture. Alex shook his head, preparing himself to read the words of his father for the very first time. His first real experience with the man.

He opened the book and began to read. The two of them sat there for a long time, as Alex turned over page after page, giving each one his undivided attention, before finally putting the book back on the desk.

“It’s nonsense.” Alex declared in a dry lament. “Where’d you find it?”

“I can’t remember.” Doctor Fitz said, with a laugh. “But I’ll tell you one thing, Alex. It isn’t nonsense. The words are there, just in an odd order. And do you know which one is said more often than any other?”

Alex shrugged.

“Tomos.” Doctor Fitz said, then he gestured at the walls. “Tomos, Alex. All his heroic achievements, everything that was ever made public. I don’t know why, and I don’t know how, but your father had a connection with the king of gifts.”

“Don’t we all?” Alex asked, dryly.

“Do you believe your father was mad, Alex?”

“I don’t know. And, more to the point, neither do you.”

“Oh, I know he wasn’t mad.”

“Really?” Alex crossed his arms. “How?”

“Because I remember him. Always lucid always in control. No, no, no.” Fitz stared at the diary, as if convincing himself of its promise. “This isn’t the work of a madman. More importantly, it isn’t my work either – mine to keep, that is.” Fitz handed the book to Alex. “Here.”

The boy stared at it for a long moment. He was disappointed. And angry at himself for only now making the effort to be curious.

“Why do you care so much, Fitz? He’s dead.” Alex said.

“You just answered your own question.” He replied.

Alex took the book, said a barely-audible thank you to the doctor, and left.