Chapter 07 — A Tale of Four Boxes

  Jonathan stumbled into the pitch-black apartment. It was incredibly dark outside, since the street lamp above the block was broken. The faint glowing numbers on his wrist said it was past two in the morning on Friday, January 4th. On a normal night—hell, even on one of Jonathan's show nights when he stayed up late—he'd be in bed long before now. He wasn't exactly a late-night guy.

  Tonight, Jonathan was wide awake.

  Seeing the time was a sobering reminder to try and stay quiet, despite his excitement. The apartment he was entering might have been a tomb, it was so utterly silent. Jonathan tried to close the door as softly as he could, but even so, the click audibly echoed through the entryway.

  A light flickered as it turned on down the hall.

  "Jonathan?"

  "...Hi," he called back, embarrassed.

  Annabelle shuffled into the hallway, clad in a soft white dressing gown. She rubbed at her eyes, obviously having just woken up. "Everything okay?"

  "Yeah." Jonathan glanced around. "Is it all right if I sleep here tonight?"

  "Does Abby know?" said Annabelle, frowning. "It's not my weekend. I wouldn't want—"

  "I was nearby," he said, shifting on his feet a little, "and… I was thinking about you. A friend of mine was talking about his… err, his dad, and I missed you."

  It wasn't exactly untrue, though the conversation had happened two days ago now. Jonathan really did miss her. He hated not having both his parents around. At least they hadn't actually gotten divorced, and were just handling things themselves for now… it felt like there was still a chance.

  Annabelle's eyes softened. She walked forward and wrapped him in a hug. "Missed you too," she murmured.

  To his relief, it felt all right. Jonathan hugged her back, and it helped him wind down, little by little. He'd needed something to take him down a few notches, before he started shouting at the world. Jonathan wasn't sure he could hold it in too much longer. He needed to talk to somebody, but… Annabelle didn't know.

  Maybe I should tell her… She'd probably get it more than anybody, that I'm awakened now. But then I'd be telling her and not Mom… I don't want them to feel like I'm taking sides. I don't want there to be sides… I hate this.

  "Can I make you anything?" she asked, finally breaking away. "Midnight snack?"

  "Actually, I'm really tired," said Jonathan uncomfortably. "Not to, you know, just drop in and go right to sleep—"

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  "You've got a room here, always," said Annabelle firmly. "We can talk in the morning. Or not, whatever you need."

  "Thanks," said Jonathan, smiling slightly. "...Mom," he added, after a thought.

  Annabelle's eyes widened just a little. Her whole face lit up as if somebody had just shone a light on it—eyes, smile, her entire demeanor had improved by just one single word. Jonathan hadn't expected anything like that, but seeing her reaction…

  She coughed slightly. "I love you, Jonathan." After a moment herself, she continued, in a low voice that sounded much more like how she used to. "You don't need to call me Mom if you're uncomfortable. It's okay."

  Well, it's all sorts of confusing, but after that kind of reaction… Jonathan shook his head. "It's not me who's uncomfortable."

  Instantly, he regretted it. He'd come too close to mentioning that which they'd silently agreed never to mention. Annabelle winced, but she nodded. "See you tomorrow."

  "Night."

  Of course, once Jonathan was in his little room—which he'd only lightly decorated so far, since he wasn't sure if Annabelle was going to keep this apartment or not—he was wide awake once more. The trembles of sheer anticipation and excitement were building back up again.

  It was the real paradox of his life: despite the many layers of secrets, between magic and being awakened and his family, Jonathan simply couldn't wait to tell people things. He always wanted to share secrets, stories, tell tales, anything. He was a showman. It was all about the story, and the way it was told. Luckily for him, he had an outlet.

  Jonathan pulled his laptop out of his bag and plugged it in. After only a few minutes, it kicked on. To his relief, despite the hour, she was online.

  Jonathan: hey

  Nell: Yeah?

  Jonathan: can I call you?

  Nell: About to go to sleep…

  Nell: School's coming up, I gotta get back to a regular sleep schedule sometime soon

  Jonathan: really need to talk. big things just happened

  Nell: meh.

  Nell: Fuck it, I wasn't really tired yet anyway

  Nell: Gimme a sec, I'm not wearing anything

  Jonathan: perfect

  Nell: Hah! You wish

  Jonathan: lol

    A few seconds later, he got a video call, and Nell popped up. She was clearly not about to go to sleep, despite the nightshirt and pajama pants, with her headset and controller still ready in hand and a pile of snacks around her. Jonathan once again thanked fate for Nell living in the same timezone as him. He didn't know how he'd survive if they couldn't talk regularly.

  "So it's two in the morning," said Nell, idly pressing buttons on her controller without looking at the screen. "What's the big thing?"

  Jonathan glanced at the door involuntarily. He doubted Annabelle would ever listen in on his conversations—both before and after the transition, she'd always been the less intrusive of his parents—but still, given what he'd just been doing…

  Blocking out sound was easier than he'd first expected. Once he grasped enough physics to understand sound waves, it was just a matter of catching them and essentially stilling them. Sound was vibration, and Jonathan had learned to stop it from vibrating in a whole sphere. At first, this had the chilling effect of muting everything, which was terribly uncomfortable. Eventually, he figured out how to keep the sound within the sphere, only muting it once it reached the edges. This eliminated both any chance of being overheard and the painful echo from it bouncing around inside the sphere.

  Nell caught the telltale sign of him casting a spell—and the change in sound on his laptop mic as he completed it.

  "Okay," she said, setting down her controller. She looked straight into the camera, all jovialities aside. "What happened?"

  "A lot," said Jonathan, shaking his head. "I had a crazy week."

  "I did notice you texting me a lot less," said Nell.

  "...Sorry."

  "It's cool. I figure you're gonna break my phone's vibration motor at some point with how much you usually text," she added, smirking. "You okay?"

  "I don't know."

  Nell raised an eyebrow. "Enough of the runaround, Jonathan. It's me and you. What's up?"