CONNOR – 15 years ago

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We botched our first attempt at confronting him. As soon as the Northern Lights made their appearance, Anthony King bolted. Should’ve really seen that shit coming. The rainbow parade makes our job infinitely harder. Element of surprise? Yeah, no. Why would something like that be helpful to a Scout? Cue sarcasm. They need to put someone in charge of Technology in that place. With all the supposedly bright minds up in Sheelin, someone could surely come up with some type of shielding to sort this shit out. There’d be a whole lot less clusterfucks, I’ll tell you that.

Anyway, we’re stuck waiting in Helena for two months for him to return. Stuck probably isn’t the right word. Honestly, it’s been kind of a nice vacation, with the exception of Phelan. He’s the epitome of joy killer. First of all, he has no good ideas of his own. Second of all, he pisses on anyone else’s ideas. Why? Because they weren’t his. Obviously. We ended up, by majority, deciding to wait it out here. Guess who wasn’t part of the majority. If you didn’t guess Phelan, you’re an idiot.

Molly and I believe our buddy Tony will reappear, eventually, at the one place he knows best. It tracks, being that’s where we got our first glimpse of him. He leaves the city often, but he always comes back. The whole journey for him is about the return. Wherever he lands when he blinks himself away is the starting point to where he wants to end up—home. It’s where the heart is, right? Makes sense to everyone except Phelan. Predictable. Fuck, we’d better be right too. Otherwise, we’re never hearing the end of this.

“We have to find a way to get him to stay long enough to listen to us,” I state.

“We can chop off his eyelids,” Molly suggests.

“We can’t chop of his eyelids,” Phelan argues. “They aren’t real.”

“Flighty fucker doesn’t know that,” she persists.

“We don’t know he doesn’t know that,” Phelan counters.

“This is new for him. He transitioned six months ago,” she clarifies. “He’s testing his boundaries, which are limitless, but he hasn’t figured that out yet.”

“I think the idea has merit,” I press. “Not the eyelids shit. Generally. We need to get him to talk to us.”

“It’s worth a shot, or do you have a better idea, Sir?” Her tone is purposely disrespectful.

“If it doesn’t, this is on you,” he warns her.

“If it does?” she volleys.

“Then it’s on me.” His toothy smile worries me she’ll make use of the increased visibility to knock those fuckers down his throat.

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She rolls her eyes. “Of course it is.”

I’m relieved albeit curious how he’s getting by with so much shit. What’s he holding over her head to garner compliance? I mean, she still toes the fuck right out of every line, but she’s never far from the line. Not like she was in the beginning. Is this a calm before the storm situation?

“How do we get him to listen?” Phelan prods.

“We could write him a note,” I offer.

He grunts. “What makes you think he’ll read the note?”

“Curiosity,” Molly explains. “If it has his name on it, he’ll want to read it.”

“What do we do in the meantime?” Phelan pushes.

She stares blanks. “Wait, like we’ve been doing all along.”

He scoffs. “You think he’s just sitting down with us for a nice cup of tea and a chat, after we write a note threatening him?”

“We’re not writing a threatening note,” I inform him. “We’re inviting him to a pleasant conversation.”

“You realize the Sentry isn’t known for pleasant conversation, right?”

“That’ll make him curious too,” Molly remarks.

“You two will be the death of me,” Phelan growls.

There’s a twinkle in Molly’s eyes he seems incapable of registering. Wonder if he’d be less of a dick if he realized how close she is to stepping over his side of the line. Nah, he’d just push her harder. Oil and water, those two.

The note works. All it said was we’re a better conversation option than Tyler. Short, to the point, and completely effective. When Anthony sits down at the table next to me roughly a week later, I’m having a nice bowl of chicken noodle soup. Phelan put Molly beside him. Throttling range. Smart.

“What do you want?” Anthony grumbles miserably.

Oh good. He’s getting right to it.

Phelan sniffs hard. “We were sent here because you’re leaving a messy trail in your wake.”

“Not entirely my fault,” he deflects.

“You make the mess,” Phelan clips, “you clean it up.”

“Look, not blinking is hard. It’s an instinct. I didn’t mean to leave any messes,” he insists.

“You don’t have human instincts anymore,” Phelan reminds him.

“Do you even know what an instinct is?” Anthony challenges him.

“Sure,” he shoots back. “It’s like the one I’m containing now to reach across the table and squeeze the joy juice out of you.”

Anthony scowls.

“Since he knows we know what’s happening, he’ll likely try harder,” I interject hopefully.

“I’ll try,” Anthony assures him.

“Trying won’t cut it,” Phelan declares.

“I know,” Anthony confirms.

Molly’s holding her steak knife in front of her. “Maybe he needs a helping hand to fully understand.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Phelan refutes her. “Stand down.”

I lean forward in my seat, anxious. Anthony looks worried too.

“I know what’ll happen if I screw up again,” Anthony admits. “I won’t.”

“See that you don’t,” Phelan cautions him.

Fuck, she can’t help myself. I see it the instant her decision is made. She really wants to cut the suckers eyelids off. She earned it, waiting for him for two months with Phelan as secondary company. She reaches over and does just that. Before he has a chance to react, she’s removed his eyelids with the steak knife, dropping them into my soup. My. Fucking. Soup. There was no resistance. It was like slicing through air. Shit on a stick, she looks smug too. Satisfied with herself.

Anthony holds his hands over his eyes. “Why the hell did you do that?” Small mercy, when he removes his hands the lids are reformed.

“To test a theory.” She shrugs. “Phelan, you were right.”

Continued conversation is overly awkward after that, especially after she proceeds to finish eating my soup. We pay our bill and leave. As we’re leaving, I bump her with my shoulder. “Why did you really do that?”

“For fun.”

I blow out a heavy breath as she skips ahead. Phelan’s glaring daggers into her back. Is that Strike One or Strike Two for her? Fuck my life.