It was a long night. Most of us slept very little; Brent maybe not at all. He paced the room like a living metronome. He’d been pretty bad at times following Brase’s disappearance, but he was at his absolute worst now, completely despondent. Even calling Laurel didn’t cheer him up, especially when she told us she still hadn’t hear from Brase.

It was a strange juxtaposition, honestly. Every time I awoke during the night, I‘d glance over and seethe jittery lower half of Brent’s body stalking back and forth. From the neck up, however,he was vacant, empty.

That’s not to discount the way the rest of us felt,but ours was an exhausted resignation. For Brent, I think his conscience had smacked him over the head too many times, causing the rest of his mind to shut down out of spite.

And yet, in the morning…

“Yes,exactly. It’s not far. No, it’ll be fine. Yep, I know, haha!”

“I’m still asleep,” I told myself, yawning. My eyes blinked several times in disagreement but I refused to believe their lies.

Who was standing in the center of the room, not just speaking, but whole-body-talking in the excited way that only an enthusiastic storyteller does?

“It’s real,” Cal groaned from the other bed, also recently roused. “I threw a sock at him already.” He pointed to the crumpled garment lying beside Brent’s leg. “Or it’s a really devious illusion.”

Brase! I sat up, overjoyed. There was no other explanation for Brent’s sudden change. He finally texted or called during the night – maybe even woke Laurel up at the apartment! Hell, Brent should have told me earlier. I’d have slept like a baby after hearing that. “Where is he?” I yelped.

Brent and Dean turned and looked down at me.

“A few blocks away,” Dean said, then frowned at Brent. “I’m telling you, we could probably PUSH it. You shouldn’t need to pay--”

“It’s fine,” Brent said warmly, “I’ll pay whatever they want, no problem. You’re doing me a big favor, man.” He reached out, laying his palm on Dean’s shoulder.

“Gets me out of more hiking,” Dean said, shrugging.

What?

Seeing my confusion, Brent tapped Dean once more, walked over, and stood in the middle of the two beds, addressing Cal and I.“It hit me,” he explained, rapping a finger against his temple, “they didn’t go back to some decomposing cabin. Who’d want to live in a dingy place like that?”

“The… squatters,” Cal offered cautiously.

Brent waved a playful hand at him, “Oh, you know what I mean. In times of trouble, we go to the place that feels most comfortable, that we’re most familiar with. Any time I’m sick, I want to go back to mom and dad’s and crawl into my old bed and watch monster movies until I feel better. It’s instinctual.”

“Monster movies are instinctual?” Dean asked.

Brent nodded without turning around. “He went back home. Don’t you see? Of course he did.”

Brooke emerged from the bathroom, hair wrapped up in a towel. She scowled as she passed Brent and sat on the bed beside me. “Please talk some sense into him,” she said quietly. Brent ignored her.

He was still staring at me, expecting a response. “Sure…” I said, “it’s possible.”

“Right,” he clapped once, as if applauding the word. “So that’s where they are. Our guy had a couple near run-ins at the carnival, some personal crisis, too, maybe. He’s not a monster. All these rumors and stories we hear about him – it’s ridiculous. He’s a guy who had an accident and now, well, now he’s a little unusual-looking, so everyone makes up stories about him. That’s kids-at-the-playground stuff. Brase – guy has a huge heart – he’s trying to help him with whatever he’s going through. Maybe wants to set things right with the carnival folk. Don’t know, doesn’t matter. But that’s why he’s been unresponsive. You know how he is; he gets started on something, becomes so focused he loses track of everything else.” He chuckled. “For days even – Brooke, you know, he’s like that, isn’t he?”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

She refused to answer. Instead, “Brent, we don’t even know if Brase is with this guy...”

“Of course he is!” Brent said. “That’s the one thing we DO know for sure. That girl saw him! You heard it yourself. You believed her enough to tell ME, right?”

“We don’t really even know that this Warlock and the Melted Man are the same person.”

“Sure we do!” Brent spread his arms, his voice raising. “Come on, am I the only one seeing the obvious here? Think about it. This guy is INFAMOUS, has all these horrible stories made up about him. That’s got to make him feel pretty damned lonely and isolated. Maybe he even HAS done some bad stuff, who knows? But my brother trusts him enough to leave with him, so we should trust him, too!”

“We should?” Dean asked, mouth slightly agape.

Brent paused, reconsidering his assertion, “Well, I don’t know. Maybe. But it doesn’t change anything either way – we KNOW where he is, where THEY ARE. So we need to go to them!”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Cal looked at me, shrugging. “Getting the car fixed and driving out--”

“No!” Brent insisted with such intensity that Cal raised his hands defensively. But Brent was still smiling. “Too long,” he said. “Just in case it is something else…” his exuberance wrinkled a moment, allowing the concern beneath to peek out. Brent quickly smoothed his confidence back down, and,“we’ll want to head out right away! Dean can pick us up after the car is fixed.”

“Dean?” I asked, looking to the man in question.

He smiled wanly, “Somebody’s gotta stay with the car.” He tapped the side of his leg, “and these are just about all worn out anyway.”

Brent smiled appreciatively at him. “Thank you so much.”

Brent shrugged, “No problem. Can’t just leave the car behind, expecting it to get worked on promptly. The guys will drag it out for weeks.. That car will be done TODAY, even if I need to crawl in there and get fiddling myself.” He pointed at Brent, “Just find your brother and be ready, ‘cause I’ll be hightailing it out of this hole just as soon as the hood’s shut.”

Brent beamed, “Works for me!”

“Brent,” Brooke began, “please, we need to talk about this.”

He ignored her, spreading his arms again, “All right, everyone, let’s pack up, and get clean.” His eyes settled on me, his grin a mockery of unnatural ebullience. “See,” it told me, “we get to hike with you some more after all!Isn’t it great?”

I glanced at Brooke. Her face hung heavily with concern – maybe even fear – as she watched her brother strut about, a caffeinated caricature replacing the sullen, self-loathing person he’d been only hours earlier.. I wondered which extreme worried her more.

“Yeah, I said,” erecting an empty grin.“Great.”

~~~

“This isn’t hope. It isn’t optimism. It’s mania, and I don’t understand where the hell it’s coming from,” Brooke told me while Brent was in the shower. His off-key crooning was loud enough for us to hear.

I sighed, frowning at the bathroom door. “I agree with you,” I said. “But isn’t it, I don’t know, kind of nice to see a little of his old self come back?”

“It’s fake,” Brooke insisted, “or forced. He isn’t back to normal, he’s lying to himself.”

I didn’t want to argue, not the least of which because I didn’t exactly disagree. Still… “It’s a reprieve, at least,” I said, “and it’s possible that we COULD find them out there – or more information at least.”

“That’s all we’ve been doing,” Brooke said. “I feel like I could write a book about the Warlock at this point, but it hasn’t brought us any closer to Brase.”

“We don’t know that. And what else are we going to do?” Cal asked from the other side of the room. He shouldered his pack, plopped onto the opposing bed, and tied his shoes. “Better some false – or forced – hope than sitting here, watching your brother beat himself up. That won’t get us any closer to Brase, either.”

“Exactly,” I said.

“And it’s certainly better than waiting on some slack-jawed mechanics to duct tape the car back together.” Dean said. “Come to think of it, I’ve changed my mind. Switch?”

Cal flashed him a grin and shook his head.

“Didn’t think so,” Dean grumbled. “Enjoy Reverend Brent’s newest crusade.”

I took Brooke’s hand. “We can try,” I told her. “You’re right, we don’t have any idea what’s gotten into Brent, but if this helps him – I don’t know – feel better by actively doing something to find Brase, is that really so bad?”

Brooke sighed, her shoulders sagging wearily. “I suppose not. But you know he’s just going to get that same way again, maybe worse, after we go out there and only find more ghost stories. Like the cabin.”

“Yeah,” I admitted. I put my arm around her, pulling her close. “But, come on, when is the last time he was this excited about anything? Maybe he just has a good feeling about this place.”

“Maybe,” she allowed, “but he also had a good feeling about going to the fair and look where that’s gotten us.”

Sensation left my hand and it drooped down her arm. She giggled, lifted it back to her shoulder, and held it there. “Sorry,” she said, “morbid humor.” She “apologized” for a further few moments after that.

Cal suddenly became very interested in rechecking his pack.

Dean barked a contorted “Gonnagetsomeairorsomething,” and fled the room.

We were both smiling when our lips separated. “Well,” she considered, staring at me, “even if we don’t find anything, I suppose there are still upsides.”

“I’m going to go – uh, Dean might need help with – damn socks need tightening.”

I was peripherally aware of Cal muttering as he, too, exited the room.

Brent takes unusually longs showers, and God bless him for it.