His bike broke down on the way back home. It wasn't the first time, and that's why he kept asking his father to buy him a new one. This one was old and overused, although for some reason he still cared about 'her'. He called it a 'her' because in his opinion, every bike was a 'her'. Like the Enterprise in Star Trek. 'Steady as she goes,' he whispered as he was tagging along the broken bike, trying to keep 'her' steady. The bike didn't help at all, 'her' handlebar being stuck in the wrong direction.

He stopped near the noisiest yard on the street, just in time to hear the very familiar voice calling up to him.

"Hey, Johnny-boy, your bike fucked up again?"

Mr. Parsons was fixing his car in front of the garage, for the third time this week. He used to talk dirty every time kids were passing around his yard. He was harmless, despite being vulgar sometimes, and he always said he believed kids should get to know the world they live in, so they needn't be 'protected' from words that some adults find inappropriate. Mr. Parsons was the center of attention for all the kids in the neighborhood, although not that much loved by some of their parents.

"You saw my wrecked bike, and you raised me a wrecked car, Mr. Parsons? It seems your old lady is also in trouble". Old Man Parsons used to call his car 'lady', which held some influence for Johnny, who went all starship-like on his bike because of it. They had an unwritten agreement to respect each other's vehicles, so Johnny called the car Lady and Mr. Parsons called the bike using feminine pronouns.

"Saw her, Johnny!" said Parsons, "And I raised you a most rebellious Lady. I refuse to say she's wrecked since I feel it's too tough a term to describe a Lady, whatever state she finds herself in."

Johnny disagreed.

"I think you should have seen Susie Colt at the disco last night."

"I think YOU shouldn't have." The old man said, smiling. "Why were you at the disco? You're just fourteen years old."

"Um... Hidden camera on Jenna Kent? I was conducting some research on social behavior and what effect drinking has on it, and she helped me with the field work."

"Wow! Nice save, kid! We can add stalking to the resume as well."

Johnny smiled, detecting the sarcasm. He stopped his bike momentarily to chat with the old man. He wasn't in a hurry to get home, and he kind of liked to talk to Mr. Parsons, so he was enjoying this.

"So, what's wrong with the Lady?"

The '68 Camaro was in Mr. Parson's yard since Moses and The Great Flood. The car's problems reached an unprecedented level this week. Apparently, it was "The Week of The Faulty Vehicles". The car, the bike, and even the school bus got a flat tire the day before yesterday. Johnny felt something was "cookin'" as Bugs Bunny used to say.

"I mean... what's cookin'?"

"What's cookin'", said Mr. Parsons, "is that the damn steering wheel just stopped steering all of a sudden!"

"Did you try, you know, steering it - with your hands?" replied Johnny in a sarcastic tone.

"No, I was driving with my nose," said Mr. Parsons, keeping it the same. "Course I did, doofus! How do you think I found out she had a problem?"

"I take it that's a bad one," Johnny said.

"Well, technically, it can always get worse, you know? Like, for example, this kid can show up with his bike, asking stupid questions while I try to work here." Mr. Parsons smiled. "Now let's see what's wrong with the bike. Maybe I can help you with her."

"Her handlebar is out of place. I fell on the side at high speed and, well, the rest is history."

Mr. Parsons took a couple of wrenches from his toolbox, checked to see which one would work on the handlebar, and began adjusting it. Johnny always wondered how the old man could find the two most suitable wrenches in the whole toolbox every time he needed something tightened - probably through experience and eye-measuring the problem. Mr. Parsons had a lot of the first and did a lot of the second.

In almost no-time, the bike was as good as... well... next to new.

"Thank you, sir!"

"You're welcome, kid! Just stay out of trouble and take care of it next time. Also, don't do drugs, and never do things that involve girls and hidden cameras. You can get sued in an instant."

Johnny shook his head, a bit perplexed.

"And, kid...?"

"Yes, sir?"

"You shouldn't listen to music while riding your bike." Mr. Parsons pointed to the MP3 Player Johnny had at his belt. "You could get into an accident."

"I wasn't listening to music. I was reading an audio-book. And I only did it while pushing the bike on the sidewalk, never while riding, so it doesn't count," said the kid.

"What audio-book were you reading?" asked the old man

"The Pale Blue Dot, by Carl Sagan."

The old man felt surprised.

"You read Sagan?" Parsons felt proud. "Do you understand what he talks about?"

"Some of it. But mostly I like his voice. It's soothing..."

"Back in my day, books used to be paper," Parsons said. "Now it's audio, it's digital, it's a freaking download directly to your brain and voilà, you already read it without actually reading it. You don't even know you read it."

Johnny smiled.

"We're not there yet, Mr. Parsons. Although... I could write a book about that. I think."

Even though Mr. Parsons disagreed with audiobooks, he had a knack for Carl Sagan, and he liked the fact that Johnny was into it as well.

Johnny waved and turned around to leave, but suddenly stopped for yet unknown reasons.

"Hey, Mr. Parsons? Do you have any clue why your neighbor's mailbox is missing? It was there when I passed through this morning."

Mr. Parsons rose an eyebrow and spoke, in a lower voice: "I'll tell you if you promise it will stay between us."

Johnny nodded in confirmation.

"The damn steering wheel just stopped steering all of a sudden."

***

Johnny arrived home only to find his mother waiting for him in the kitchen.

"You're late, mister!"

"I know, mom! I dropped at Mr. Parsons' and he helped me fix my bike. It broke down again."

"Again? It's getting old, isn't it?"

Johnny's mother was very understanding of her son. She realized he needed a replacement for his bike; otherwise, he might be in danger, because accidents could happen if he continued to ride a faulty bike. Unfortunately, she also knew that funds weren't quite high right now, and with the financial recession and stuff, her husband changing jobs, and all the reformative shitstorm in his line of work, they weren't quite what you'd call a rich family.

"You know we'd love to get you a new one, but the money's tight," she said. "Fortunately, there's Mr. Parsons to help whenever needed. You should get him a beer or something."

"I think I'd stick with tea," replied Johnny.

"Tea?"

"Beer is unhealthy. And if I want him to stick around and keep fixing my bike, I should take care of his health, right?"

Jeannie knew her son was right. Mr. Parsons wasn't young anymore, and judging by his old car, he might be even older than he looked. Although they lived in the same neighborhood for over eleven years, she was unaware of his age. The old man was quite secretive.

Besides, she felt quite impressed with her son, knowing he cared about the people around him. That was a behavior improvement, something to cultivate in him further.

"Well, you got that right! Hope Mr. Parsons will say the same."

"I'll drink to that!" joked Johnny.

His mom smiled.

"Okay, NOT the reaction I was waiting for, but it's better than no reaction at all... Here, dinner's ready."

Johnny reached for the plate, but she stopped him before he could touch it.

"Wash your hands, mister!"

"Whoops!"

The boy did as told and served dinner in peace.

Later that night, when he went to bed, he started reading the paperback version of "Pale Blue Dot", which he couldn't carry around because he was afraid not to damage it. He took great care of his books, assuring they were always flawless. You can judge a man by how he cares for his books, dogs, and other people's money. That was his line. He always said that. Because books are knowledge, dogs are loyal, and other people's money can get you books. Because, you know, your money can't do that much when you're fourteen.

He used audiobooks as a portable reading resource when traveling. His MP3 player was quite a thing, and he was proud of it. He dreamed of getting a smartphone or a good e-book reader when he grew up. That way, he could properly read words instead of hearing them spoken by someone else. He couldn't listen to fiction. It had to be a documentary audiobook of some sort, otherwise, it wouldn't work out in audio. Listening to documentaries was good, but only when the narrator was magnificent. Like John Rhys-Davies, James Earl Jones, or Bruce Campbell. Or when he was the author because it's fascinating to hear those words from the mouth linked to the mind that came up with them.

The Carl Sagan book, "The Pale Blue Dot", was in the second category. Sagan himself was narrating, which inspired in Johnny a cathartic feeling whenever he was listening to it.

Fascinated by the greater picture, Johnny marveled at the insignificance of human civilization compared to the entire universe. He hoped one day he could reach some faraway path through the stars. Although realistically he knew the chances were slim to none, since it would take a very long time for the technology required to do that to become available. And that was only if earthlings wouldn't kill each other for believing in different gods before that happened.

After two hours of reading, he went to sleep. He turned off the lights and slowly closed his eyes, hugging the pillow, anticipating the pleasant dreams. Dreams of stars and space and strange phenomena. Nothing was better than a good night's sleep full of wonderful dreams, maybe except for frozen yogurt. Frozen yogurt was cool!

***

The next morning, he got up early to get ready for school. He went to the kitchen for breakfast and found his parents already there. Now, this was a strange phenomenon! How were they always there, no matter how early he came down the stairs? Grown-up stuff, he thought, not so strange if you consider their age. They needed less sleep than him, who was in his growth process. It all made sense.

His mother was pouring tea into cups, while his father was reading some Twitter feeds on his smartphone.

"Morning, Johnny. How did you sleep?"

"Morning, Mom. All right, I guess."

"Dreamed of electric shit again?" asked his father with a smile, looking down over his glasses.

"It's 'sheep', Dad! Electric sheep, for crying out loud."

Johnny read Philip K. Dick's book a while ago, and his father always made fun of the title. The boy knew his dad was only teasing since he had a twisted sense of humor, and frankly, it wasn't such a big deal.

Dad laughed.

"Well, if you say so... I usually dream of Jeannie."

"Aren't you a funny guy, Victor?" asked Jeannie while handing Johnny his plate. "There you have it, omelet and cheese. If you want milk, holler. Or even better, jump straight to the kettle and take some. Watch out, it might still be hot."

"Roger that, Mom!"

Victor put the phone back in his pocket and took his plate to the sink. He kissed Jeannie, following his daily morning routine before leaving for work.

"See you soon, honey! Take care!"

"You too. Buy some weed on your way back."

Weed was a codename for dill, parsley, celery, and other stuff like that. All that was green and had leaves. Not that Victor would mind the other stuff. That's still green, right?

One time, while at a parent meeting at Johnny's school, the class master told the parents they should educate their children regarding drugs. They caught a boy smoking marijuana a couple of weeks back, and the school had been in full hysteria since then. Mandatory meetings with parents were the first measure they took to prevent future incidents.

As such, Victor told Johnny in a heavy voice, while exiting the classroom, making sure everybody hears him:

"Johnny-boy, don't you ever buy weed, you hear me?"

The class master gave him a look of approval and a free smile on top of that. Victor then whispered in Johnny's ear.

"I know this dude that can give us for free. He owes me."

They laughed like crazy. Of course, the kid wouldn't do any drugs; he wasn't crazy. And he didn't like to smoke at all, so marijuana was out of the question as well. He tried tobacco once, in second grade. The first smoke he pulled out of that cigarette gave him a painful sensation in the chest, accompanied by instant dizziness and nausea. Conclusion: he hated smoking. And smoke. Not smoking jackets though–"smoking jackets are cool". The worst thing he could do was Coca-Cola.

"Is he shady?" Johnny asked.

"Is it mandatory? A job prerequisite or something?"

"They're supposed to be shady. That's how you can tell which of them are dealers and which are undercover cops. Cops are never shady, they're not afraid to hide. Because they're cops, so even if they get arrested, ultimately nothing will happen to them. Mentally, they are immune to the fear of getting caught in the act. Thus, they act differently."

There was this moment of silence.

"Okay, I give up. Who's your real father?" asked Victor.

And then they burst into laughter again.

But that was a while ago. Now Victor was leaving for work, and Johnny was working on his breakfast.

"Bye, Dad!"

"See you soon, kiddo. Stay out of trouble!"

"Yes, sir!"

After five minutes of omelet eating that seemed more like an hour, Johnny delivered his plate to the sink and then said goodbye to his mother.

He picked his bike up and got on his way to school. He thought he was only so lucky to be at a school that allowed children to get there by bike. Of course, there was an age regulation–you had to be fourteen or more to do that, for safety reasons. Small children could easily be involved in accidents, so only those of proper age could ride their bikes to school. They were to park them inside a warehouse behind the gym. That way, they could have assurance that the bikes won't go missing. Leaving them outside would be difficult and imply extra security measures, while in this case, the school repairman held the keys and only unlocked them when someone was to pick their bike up, most likely in the evenings.

Johnny had some time to burn on the way to the school, so he fired up his MP3 player, but this time, he picked music. He read plenty last night and was in the mood for some tunes.

His artist of choice was Eminem. He had plenty of wonderful music in his player, of various genres, from Frank Sinatra to Sting, but his favorite would always remain hip-hop music. Perhaps it had something to do with his age, but he preferred rap music to others. With rap music, everything was straight to the point, and it often described experiences accumulated while growing up. And since Johnny was growing up, it's easy to understand why rap was his first choice.

Right now, Eminem was telling him to Lose Himself. There was that brief intro to the song, about one shot and one opportunity that Johnny was fairly sure he would capture.

And then the song was supposed to start. Anticipating the moment, he was ready to sing along. He waited. And then he waited some more. And then he waited again.

The music started. Palms, knees, arms, vomit, mom, spaghetti, calm, ready, but he keeps on... zissskkapaaaa... dzzzzz... pininininanaaaaaa... rraaarararararaa"

And then it stopped. Suddenly, without warning, the music stopped.

"What the...?"

What was going on? Out of batteries? Impossible, they were rechargeable, and fully charged before he left home. He took the device out of his pocket and checked the battery status. The player was still on, but oddly enough, the screen didn't show songs playing or any options to choose from. It was blank, except for the battery counter, which was still there, and displayed as full.

Analyzing his options, he could find only one logical explanation. Hard freeze. Maybe.

He wanted to pull the battery out to reset the player, but by the time his brain sent the command to his hands, something weird happened.

Music started playing.

And that wasn't the weird part. The weird part was that he didn't recognize any of it. And the device would not tune into the radio. It looked like it was playing tracks from its memory.

He couldn't say who was singing. This was an instrumental track. Not dub-step, nor house. Sort of like the negative of a Nightwish or Within Temptation song. The screen was displaying: "Find Me–Where You'll Never Look". He hadn't heard of any band called "Find Me", much less download one of their songs or load it into his player.

Quickly he went through every track in the memory. All were unknown to him. And all his songs were nowhere to be found. Even the Sagan audiobook was missing. There was new stuff everywhere. And unknown, as in things he never heard about until now.

The watch! He was going to be late. He had stopped at the same time with the music, and he lost track of it. Because he stood in one place too much, now he needed to hurry to get to the school in time.

He started pedaling furiously, hastily, giving his best to reach his destination. He was going to worry about the missing songs later, although it still pressed him, keeping him tense. His mind couldn't stay in one place, and it kept running. It kept asking questions.

He got to school exactly 30 seconds before the bell would ring. Just in time to get the bike in the warehouse and run to class. Passed by some people in the hallway and went through the door as fast as he could. He sat down and didn't even have time to breathe before the math teacher entered the room.

"Good morning, people!"

That was the math teacher's catchphrase. He stubbornly called them people instead of kids, like every other teacher did.

"Good morning, sir!" they answered in unison.

"You ready? It's a brand-new day!"

The class went silent.

"What's with the silence? I want to hear your music!"

As do I, thought Johnny, his mind still converging on the weird event with the MP3 tracks. Something was out of place.

The teacher began his lesson about divisibility criteria. Johnny already knew some of the stuff, because he was taking extra classes, so now he had even more reasons to keep his thoughts fixed on the previous event.

He kept trying to get some explanation, but came up with nothing. He needed some brainstorming sessions, badly. But who should he talk to? They'll laugh at him, thinking he's crazy, or they'll ignore him, thinking he's trying to bullshit them. There was no point in sharing with that many people.

He could tell Sean, though. Sean never laughed at him. He would get his opinion at first, and then see what they would do. Yes, that was a viable option. All he had to do for now was wait for the bell to ring the break.

The rest of the math class went on normally, but Johnny noticed most of the kids were nervous. Very few seem to pay attention, but at least they were silent. The teacher did not seem to bother.

And then the ring came. Finally, the redeeming sound announced the break. At least some sounds are still there, thought Johnny. The teacher concluded the lesson and gave them their homework instructions. He said his goodbye for the day and wished them luck for the physics class, which would come next.

But never mind that. Eager to share his experience with the MP3 player, the boy jumped out of his seat and went straight to Sean, who was out of his as well by the time Johnny reached him.

"Man, I've got the weirdest thing happening to me, and I don't have one freaking clue about how it happened and why."

"Join the club. What seems to be the problem?"

"Well, where do I start? I was riding my bike on the way here, and..."

"Let me guess: you were listening to Mozart, who suddenly turned into Nicky Minaj."

Johnny's face got longer. Or at least that was how he felt like his face was getting longer at the surprise of hearing this from Sean.

"Um... not quite. It was Eminem, and he turned into Within Temptation without words..."

It was Sean's turn to be amazed.

"Now that's something! You were one of the lucky ones, though. I switched from The Who to wood chopping, and Billy D. got from John Legend to some monkeys having sex."

"Holy shit..."

"Yeah, trust me, it didn't sound holy. I listened to it."

Johnny was even more confused now and didn't know what to think.

"Adults don't seem to say anything..." Sean said.

"How do you figure?"

"I called my father and asked him about Beethoven. He said it's the nicest dog on TV, but never heard about the composer."

"That's one hell of a plot twist. Do you think they didn't notice? Did it even happen to everybody or just us?"

"Billy D. spoke to some kid on the street, a guy called Stephen whom he is friends with. Same shit: got from Metallica to some instrumental. Anyway, very few details, but clearly whatever happened, it did so on a larger scale."

At that very moment Billy D., Sean's desk-mate, entered the classroom yelling.

"Hey, guys, I just spoke with others throughout the school. For those of you who have music problems, we're meeting when classes end in Central Park. Don't forget to bring your players."

He came towards Sean and Johnny.

"Well, that was easy. Now what?"

"Now, we wait," said Sean. "Until the end of the day."

"Do we have the patience?" asked Johnny.

"We'll have to have it." answered Sean.

And they did. Most of the time. Maybe it was out of precaution because they were seeing no reaction whatsoever from the adults. The teachers didn't seem affected. Maybe they don't listen to music that often. Johnny's opinion seemed rational. Of course, that's why they didn't know. They don't have portable music players, therefore they didn't notice yet. But he ultimately knew that wasn't true. Sean's father was proof. He didn't know about Beethoven. This went way beyond just malfunctioning MP3 Players.

The children were quiet, awfully quiet. Literally, every teacher congratulated them during the day, the last two even asked what the hell was going on, if this was by any chance some sort of ruse, or if today was Stay-put-and-shut-up-in-school-Day. Not that they had anything against it, it was just surprising.

Ah, well, we must surprise our teachers at some point. Better late than never. Johnny thought. That's the beauty of life, right? Surprises.

The bell rang for the last time that day. The English teacher wished them a good weekend and congratulated them for their wonderful behavior.

"Folks, you might have just made my weekend! I hope you'll have a good one too."

And he went out wearing a big smile on his face.

The sad thing was that he was the only one wearing it.

A rumble ran through the classroom as kids were gathering their things and trying to get out. Soon, the classroom emptied.

A forgotten pencil fell, but nobody was there to see it. Contrary to popular belief, it still made a noise on impact. Then it swiftly rolled under the teacher's desk. The opened window creaked, its curtain dancing in the air.

And, from under its edges, a black feather slowly descended towards the floor.

As soon as it touched the wooden boards, it turned to dust with a whimper.

But nobody was there to witness it...

***

Johnny, Sean, and Billy D. grabbed their bikes and rode off to Central Park. The road there was short and uneventful. They reached the designated spot as other children were coming through. It was like a gigantic mass of ants swarming to a single point. Or that's how Johnny imagined you would see it from a satellite. Where's your Google Earth now?

In ten minutes, there was a vast crowd gathered, and one ice cream vendor took his chances and started selling his ice cream to them. Evidently, it was going to be a wonderful day for business, at least for him.

It didn't take long until he sold everything he had in his truck, and by that point, there were no more people coming to the meeting. Everybody was here. Everybody that knew about it, of course.

The ice cream truck slowly pulled back from its place, and left under the careful driving of the merchant, who was having a blast, as he had sold out, taking the rest of the day off. Apparently, this weird turn of events was making everyone happy, except the children.

Billy D. climbed on top of a small mound to attract attention. He put his hands around his mouth and yelled.

"Hello! Everybody hears me?"

A huge "YES" emerged from the crowd.

"You see this guy?" he pulled Sean towards him. "His name is Sean, and he's the first guy to have noticed The Change. He's also my friend, and he's damn good at explaining things. He's going to coordinate this operation, and explain to us a few things, to help us understand it."

Sean came in front and looked towards the other children.

"He speaks like we're soldiers getting ready for a major military strike."

A few people laughed.

"This... Change, as my pal Billy D. called it..."

"Dude, friend."

"Sorry... My friend. Are we good now?"

"Perfect!"

".... This Change had a specific set of characteristics, and every occurrence had some things in common. What I could come up with until now, with the help of my other friend Johnny here, is that..."

Johnny smiled and waved.

"...it changed the music of our players, and it only happened to children. Adults don't seem to be bothered by this. Did anybody have any contact with an adult regarding this issue? Discussions?"

One girl raised her hand.

"I did. Hi, I'm Grace. I tried talking to my mom about this, but she seemed to think I'm crazy. She recognized every band or singer on my device, although I have no clue whatsoever who the hell they are. Although there was one she didn't get."

"And who was that?" asked Sean.

"The first track that came up in my player right after the Change. Find Me–Where You'll Never Look."

"Wait. That's what came up for me, too." Said someone else in the crowd."

"Me too." "Same here." People were confirming it all around.

Sean raised both hands, trying to calm everyone down.

"Okay, okay folks! Just wait a minute. Seems like we have found another thing in common. This track showed up for everyone, right?"

"And it's also the only one the adults don't recognize." Someone added.

Johnny came in front: "Hey, guys, so let's think this through, okay? Brainstorming, people!"

Silence fell suddenly. Johnny had a special talent for persuasion, and this was one of those moments his trait fulfilled its purpose.

"Okay, how did you do that?" Sean asked.

"Trick of the trade, pal."

Sean retreated, realizing there was no point in asking Johnny how he made them shut up. Because neither of them had any idea. It was something spontaneous, heat-of-the-moment kind of thing.

"Now," said Johnny, "we have one song that appears on every one of them. One song that plays differently but has the same name. Now, what if this song is the only one of interest? What if this one is the key to the mystery?"

Everybody was paying attention. This was getting interesting.

"I think we should create a private online forum to hold every bit of information regarding this issue," said Johnny. "It would help with communication better than sizeable crowds in the park, which might attract unwanted attention."

Chatter was going back and forth through the crowd, confirming the proposal. Everybody agreed. It seemed a sensitive thing to do, given the situation. It would avoid misinformation.

"To easily find and join this group, search online for me, John Banks, my friend Sean Watson, or this creature here by the name of Billy D. Hugebullshitter."

A wave of laughter passed through the park.

"His real last name is Williams, but he doesn't like to be mistaken for the actor."

Laughter rocked the crowd once again. They seemed to like the speakers since all three made the other kids laugh.

"What should we name the group?" someone asked.

"Let's go with... Unknown Songs. Since we... don't know any of the new songs in our players. Right?"

"I don't have a better proposal," Sean said.

"Even if I had one, I wouldn't care. We can stick with Unknown Songs." Billy D. confirmed.

The other kids agreed almost unanimously, although several came up with their names, like The The Army of the Unchanted, The Do-Re-Mi Conspiracy, or even The Mozart Movement. Despite those proposals, Unknown Songs seemed less complicated, so it won, seeing how it was easier to remember.

"Awww, man!" A sudden cry from someone in the crowd.

Everybody turned their heads. A kid with a huge cap on his head and loose clothes had his headset on listening to his MP3 player.

"What?" asked someone else in the crowd.

He removed the headset with one hand, visibly annoyed.

"For crying out loud, Justin Bieber is still here!"

It is said that if all the people in China would jump at once, the Earth would dislocate from its orbit around the Sun. However, it is unknown yet what happens if all the people in China sigh at once. Have you ever heard multiple people sigh at once? This happened in Central Park that day. It felt like everybody sighed at once, including Johnny and the guys.

"I don't want to live on this planet anymore!"

Some friend of rap-kid was a little fast-thinking:

"Hey, how come you have JB in your player?"

Several guys burst into laughter again, realizing what he was getting at. Rap kid defended himself:

"It's not mine, dude! It's Andrea's!"

"Well, that's convenient!"

Sean spoke again and told everybody they should go home and clear their heads, hopefully, and come up with some ideas at some point. Meanwhile, he and Johnny would set up the group and put Billy D. in charge of designing a logo, although that might be a mistake since he "designed" some awful stuff on the blackboard more than once. Not to mention the school walls.

People started dispersing, leaving for their homes. Soon, the park was empty, and the trees were all alone, casting their shadows over the wooden old benches. The sun was setting, the silence was falling over sleepy nature, and no one was there to witness its pause.

Except for the silent middle-aged man on the wooden bench, who witnessed every word of the children's discussion.

The silent man sat on the bench, wearing dark clothes, a coat made of feathers, his hair ragged, his eyes dark, and his mustache scrubby.

The same silent man suddenly vanished, leaving a wave of black dust in his trail.

And a feathery whisper that ended with a whimper.

***

Johnny went home and took a shower, hoping it will help him relax. He thought of options, explanations, and ways to understand what was happening. The first thing that came to mind was asking his mother about her favorite band. It was The Beatles, and Johnny knew that, but he wanted to see how the Change affected adults.

He went down to the living room, where she was writing her novel on her laptop, and interrupted her bluntly.

"Mum, remind me, what's your favorite band?"

"What do you mean, honey? It's Scottish Scarecrows, and you know that. Everybody knows that."

Bollocks, he thought in British. Apparently, everything changed in music at the most basic level, except for Justin Bieber.

"Thanks. I'd just forgotten what they were called. Wanted to search for some of their music on the Internet."

"You're welcome, honey!"

He went back up. He turned on his PC and went searching for Sean on the Internet. The "Unknown Songs" forum was already up, created by Sean. Johnny joined and started posting.

He composed his first text, speaking while writing:

"Apparently, adults don't remember our original music. Their preferences seem to have changed and they show familiarity towards the new ones. This tells us they will not be of much help, and that we need to keep this under wraps so as not to attract any unwanted attention and make people think we're crazy."

He liked the text, it was expressive.

"Also, who the fuck are the Scottish Scarecrows? That name gives me the creeps!"

The second post aimed to relieve a bit of the tension created by the discovery that they are pretty much alone in this, in the sense that adults will not believe them, much less try to understand them or help with the uncovering of the mystery.

He snooped through the other threads. Everybody was posting all kinds of stuff, mostly their experiences with adults and the new songs in their playlists, which were weird and different.

Also, there was a very sustained dispute regarding the first song. Some said it was a clue, but they could not decipher it.

Johnny stopped reading forward. Okay, this might be something. He wrote as a reply to another reply to the original post. It said, "Where would you never look?" Johnny wrote, "Where would who never look?" That was another interesting question. If it was a clue, who was it meant for? An individual? A group? A social category?

Wait! Children! This only happened to children!

And by the time he turned his head back to the screen, there were already several replies pointing to the same answer. At least they had a lead now.

But the next natural question was: "Where would children never look?"

He wrote it in the thread. The first answer belonged to a guy Johnny recognized as the kid that found out Justin Bieber was still there. He said:

"Guess we won't find it in Uwe Boll's movies. Whatever it is."

"Stephen King's IT?" Johnny asked.

"Hopefully not." Rap Kid answered, remembering a certain passage he wished he hadn't read.

While everybody was posting different versions of irrational things that made no sense, Johnny tried to clear his head by checking out other threads. Apparently, the phenomena were widespread. Kids from Brazil, China, India, Russia, South Korea, The United Kingdom, and even Romania were reporting the same issues. There was a growth in the number of people that joined the online movement "Unknown Songs". It wasn't just in the United States. 357 thousand subscribers already and counting. It looked like a countdown that goes the opposite way if you kept F5 pressed for a longer time. People were joining continuously. How the hell did their forum reach international levels?

An idea popped up in his head. Something that might give them even more clues. He started creating several threads, each for every country that was present in the group. And in every one of them, he asked the same question.

"What time was it when you noticed The Change?"

In Baltimore, it would have been sometime around 9 AM. 8:55, since he was recollecting the watch display while he tried to fix his music device, and on top of that he was supposed to reach the school at 9, so clearly it happened before that. As such, the East Coast reported something close to this, in every reply he got from people in the near areas.

In Sao Paolo and Buenos Aires, they were reporting 10:15. That meant 9:15, Baltimore time. Chicago was reporting 8:00. That meant 9:00 in Baltimore time. Denver was reporting 7:15 and Los Angeles said they woke up like that, but possibly around 6:30 since one poster remembered going to the bathroom at 6:15 and hearing a Frank Sinatra tune somewhere outside, in the distance. Which translated into Baltimore time as 9:15 for Denver and 9:30 for L.A.

Honolulu, Hawaii, was reporting 5:45 AM. As some guys said, they noticed this because they were playing video games all night long while their parents were not home, attending a wedding, and they were listening to Tupac at the same time. This meant 9:45 in Baltimore.

"Weird..." Johnny thought. "Is this meant to be a pattern?"

Meanwhile, in the East: London was reporting approximately 15:15, meaning 10:15 in Baltimore time, Paris and München were saying 16:30, Bucharest, Helsinki, and Athens 17:45, Moscow and Dubai 19:00 (Indian time zone, UTC +5:30, hence the discrepancy), Bangalore and Mumbai 20:45, Beijing and Shenzhen 23:30, Tokyo and Seoul 00:45 (the next day), Sidney 2:00, and Wellington 3:15.

The Eastern List (how Johnny called it on short notice) was this: 10:15, 10:30, 10:45, 11:00, 11:15, 11:30, 11:45, 12:00, 12:15. By The Change affected the entire globe by 12:30 Baltimore time.

He posted his statistics in a new thread, titled Origin of The Change. He gave full details, and links, so, therefore, enough evidence to sustain his theory: something generated The Change. Something individual, something that existed at one specific point on the surface of the planet. And that something was somewhere where he'd never look. Or so it was supposed to be.

"Do you mean it was something in Baltimore?"

Sean posted the question in the last thread. Johnny answered as fast as he could.

"Perhaps. But it could be anywhere in the Time Zone, like New York or Montreal. Apparently, it took some time to cover the globe. As far as I can see, it took something like a quarter of an hour to cover a single time zone, because the results increment with approximately fifteen minutes each, so that pattern gave it away."

"Can we do this vertically? On the Time Zone, I mean?" asked Sean.

"Theoretically, yes," Johnny answered, "But we have to find someone from Montreal and someone from DC, New York, and maybe even Florida in order to establish a timeline."

"I'm from Jacksonville, Florida," someone added to the discussion. "This shit happened at exactly 8:59."

"Okay, so later than Baltimore, where it happened at around 8:55, so it means that whatever it is under Baltimore, geographically speaking, did not contain the point of origin."

"False, dude," Billy D. said. "It could have if it is closer to Baltimore than Jacksonville."

Johnny scratched his head and replied: "Yeah, I think you're right."

They started doing some research. After two full hours and plenty of discussions with people from all around the neighboring states, they drew a conclusion: it really was, in fact, Baltimore.

Somehow, their city was the key.

Johnny yawned. It was half past 23:00, which was very late for him. He wrote a last post to tell everybody they should take some time off, to resume the next day, when their heads would be clearer.

After that, he shut down his PC, went and brushed his teeth thoroughly, and then came back to his room. He couldn't wait to just jump in bed, anticipating he would fall asleep instantly.

But just as he was getting ready to lie down, he felt that weird tension, as if something was watching him. The lights were off, but his eyes had already adapted to the darkness, and he could tell there wasn't anyone around him.

He slowly turned his head towards the window and briefly glimpsed his stalker before it flew away. It was a crow, with shiny eyes sparkling in the dark. The biggest crow he ever saw, roughly the size of a hawk.

He went to the window to see more of the bird, but all he could distinguish was the trail it left, a line of feathers floating in the air and slowly descending. It resembled the smoke trail that planes leave behind over the sky. Although he couldn't see the crow anymore at this point. It was like it disappeared into the full moon, where the trail ended. Like it suddenly vanished, his feathers being the only proof it ever existed.

Johnny had no other option but to go back to bed, a thousand thoughts crossing his mind. He couldn't sleep at all and spent over three hours trying to make heads or tails of this situation. What did the crow mean? What was its purpose?

His eyelids closed after three hours when he became too tired to work more toward a conclusion.

He dreamed of blackbirds, crows, and hawks... And a man in black that looked familiar. And his dream disappeared with a whimper.

***

"It is a great, sunny morning in Baltimore. Welcome to WCBM radio, bringing you the hottest news in this corner of the State."

"They know Baltimore is kind of in the middle of Maryland, right?" Sean asked Johnny.

"I wouldn't exactly bet my life savings on it, but I presume they might. It's just that some things sound nice on the radio, and attract listeners, I guess."

The two boys were rolling on bikes outside on a Saturday morning. The weekend weather did indeed look wonderful, and they were hoping they could get a good time out of it.

Behind this eagerness to be outdoorsy, there was another one, even greater: the thirst for information, and the thrill of mystery. They wanted to find out more about the music, and maybe even a way to fix it, to bring back their own. Johnny had an idea, and it somehow implied their presence in the park. Billy D. was supposed to meet them there at exactly 10 o'clock.

Sean was also eager to find out more details, but Johnny refused to share until Billy D. was with them, too. He said it would be easier if they would both be there when he told the story.

They passed through Mr. Parsons' yard on their way to the park and waved to him while he was pretending there was an intrusion, making people around think that the boys were unwelcome and then try to stop them. They quickly sped up while he waved back, laughing as hard as he could at other people's naivety.

"Now that's a funny old man," said Sean.

"Those who don't have old people shall buy some."

"What do you mean?"

"It's an old East European saying. Old people are funny. And often wise. Not all of them, of course."

"Yeah. There's Bill O'Reilly, right?"

"Something like that," replied Johnny.

The park was close. They made a left and rushed to the nearest entrance. There were some people blocking the gate, but they quickly stepped aside when they saw the bikes closing in. Sean and Johnny pulled it through at full speed but then braked as fast as they could.

"Where do we meet Billy?"

"Close to Johns Hopkins. Northwest corner of the park. Follow me."

They reached the location after one minute. Billy D. was already there, on his own bike, waiting for them.

"Okay, dudes, I'm all ears. What's up?"

"Top of the morning to you too, sunshine!" said Johnny. "Are we ready to rumble?"

"Is it rhetorical?" asked Sean.

"I doubt it. Although it sounds that way," replied Johnny.

"Yes, we are!" said Billy D., smashing his right fist into the air.

"See?" said Johnny. "If it was rhetorical, it would have answered itself. Luckily, Billy D. here saved the day."

Billy D. ignored the sarcasm. He knew it wasn't out of malice, but a friendly tease. Sean asked Johnny directly.

"So, will you finally share with us whatever plan it is you're hiding?"

Billy D. did an uncanny Baldrick impression:

"I have a cunning plan, m'lord...!"

"I see your plan, and I raise you with a Plan B." replied Johnny.

"Does B. stand for Billy D.?" asked Sean.

Billy D. raised his hand and high-fived Sean. Johnny replied:

"Good God, everybody's a comedian!"

"Nah, it's just me!" said Billy D. and raised his hand again.

Sean looked bored.

"I won't high-five that, dude."

Billy D. slowly lowered his hand.

"Point proven. Questions?" asked Johnny.

He smiled. Sean couldn't hold it in either and tried showing a grimace that ended up being a big smile.

"Okay, guys, here is it. You remember when we talked here in the park with the crowd, right?"

"Yes", said Sean.

"I think I do, but I couldn't hear them over the sound of how awesome I was."

Apparently, Billy D. was always a comedian.

"Okay, now, last night I received a visit from a bird that suddenly popped up at my window."

"Please tell me that's a euphemism for hot chick or something because otherwise, I don't see how this relates to our issue."

Sean and Johnny ignored him.

"It was a crow, a big one, and as soon as it knew I saw it, flew away."

"Natural response, I guess," replied Sean.

"I thought so too, at first. But then something weird happened. It flew towards the full moon, and it..."

He paused for a moment.

"Eh? What?" asked Billy D.

"What did it do, Johnny?"

"... It disappeared. Simple as that."

Silence for a moment.

"Did you, like, see it disappear?"

"Not exactly. What I saw was a trail of feathers that led up to the moon. I couldn't get to the window in time to see it disappear, but I drew this conclusion from the fact that the feathers ended abruptly, and I didn't hear any shot, so it didn't get shot."

"So, the only option remains sudden disappearance. Vanishment. Evanescence."

"Nice choice of words, Sean. I was just going to point that out," Johnny said.

"What do you mean? The synonyms?"

"Elementary, my dear Watson!"

"I don't think Vanishment is even a word." Sean said.

Billy D. was doing another rather uncanny impression, this time of Sherlock Holmes. He loved doing that.

"Listen, you puny mundane! Does the name Evanescence tell you anything?"

"You mean it's a reference to the band?"

"Watson, you surprise me!"

"Indeed," said Johnny. "At least I think it is. I have a feeling there are clues in plain sight. The crow was one. The other one is the name of a band my mother likes, called Scottish Scarecrows."

"I hope they're something like The Proclaimers because I miss The Proclaimers," said Billy D.

"I don't know how they are, but I thought of them instantly after my encounter with the crow."

"Crow & Scarecrows?" said Sean.

"Yes."

"This entire business somehow involves crows."

"My guess would be something similar."

"And feathers, my dear Watson. Feathers!"

"Yeah, that's the second part..." said Johnny

"Meaning?"

"There were plenty of feathers floating in the air. I think there were all of them."

"All its feathers?"

"Yes."

"What about his flesh?"

"I did not see any flesh, Sean."

"You sssound sssnaky, my lord."

Baldrick was back again. Sherlock was on-hold.

"Why would you leave your feathers, but take your flesh with you?"

"Skinny-dipping?" asked Billy D.

"I highly doubt it," said Sean. "But what if he didn't take his flesh with him?"

"You mean it dissolved?"

"I mean, wherever he went, maybe he didn't need to be material. That would explain the loss of his feathers."

"But if he didn't need to have a physical form anymore, why did he split the feathers from his body? Why didn't he leave both behind?"

"Where's Billy D. and what did you do with him?" asked Johnny.

"So, he kept his physical form?"

"Either that or he decomposed," replied Billy D.

"We know for a fact he couldn't keep his physical form because he lost his feathers. He wouldn't have survived without them, much less continue flying."

"Johnny's right, man..."

"It seems so," said Billy D. slightly depressed.

Sean scratched his head. This thing was complex, much more complicated than he thought.

"WAIT! I GOT IT!" Billy D. suddenly shouted.

"What? What?" They were both eager to hear his astonishing discovery.

".... crap, that doesn't work, no."

Johnny scolded him:

"Good God, man, stop scaring us! You just..."

"YES! I GOT IT! THIS IS IT!"

"Please tell me you're not kidding," said Sean.

"No, I'm not. Check this out: the crow is dead."

"It's a viable explanation," said Johnny, "but how come he didn't leave his physical body behind? And why couldn't he take his feathers with him?"

"Because he's not dead, at least not in a sense we understand. He's on some sort of standby. And I think you didn't tell us everything, Johnny."

Johnny's eyes opened wide, surprised by Billy D.'s statements. How come he knew? How did he find out that Johnny didn't tell them everything? Billy D. was certainly smarter than he seemed.

"Johnny? What does he mean?"

"How did you know?"

Billy D. explained:

"Simple. You started the story by asking if we remember the meeting in the park, but then suddenly changed to the bird–and never came back to the park again."

"How come I missed that?" wondered Sean.

"So, what happened that day in the park? What did you see?"

Johnny paused one moment, took a deep breath, and then answered.

"I saw that bird. The crow. But I didn't think it was a big deal. He was on this branch in the tree behind the crowd. He was watching us."

"How did you know it was the same crow?" asked Sean.

"He was the same. Trust me, he was the same."

"It makes little sense for it to be another one. Too much of a coincidence. I find it more than likely for it to be the same bird. And we came here looking for it." Billy D. said.

"Actually," Johnny said, "we came here looking for clues."

"We'll find the bird," Billy said.

"Do you think he can somehow pass between standby-dead and alive?"

"If Johnny here is right about what he saw, yes."

"Oh, I'm right. Of that I'm certain."

"Now here's the thing: The bird can't take his feathers with him when he goes on standby."

"Why is that?"

"That, my dear friend, is because you can't technically kill something that's not animated. Like feathers, hair, and fingernails. Dead cells. I bet he left his claws behind too, but because those were heavier than air, they could not float. Gravity did its job, and POOF!... everything fell. With claws going down faster, of course."

"So only the living tissue vanished, the dead one stayed." concluded Sean.

"Precisely. I would say transform instead of vanish, though."

"Well, I'm fairly sure his body disappeared. There was nothing on the ground. But I don't have a clue about its claws."

"Doesn't matter. The bird comes back at various points. That's clear now, since Johnny saw it that day."

"How are we going to find it?" asked Sean.

"Trial and error," answered Johnny. "It's our best bet."

Billy D. rang his bike horn and jumped on it.

"Okay, guys! We shall embark on this quest! Whoever can't find the bird is a loser!"

".... and whoever finds it before Billy D. can punch him in the nose afterward."

Johnny was a little more organized since his priority was finding the bird instead of punching Billy D.'s nose.

"I'll take this way. You go through there and Billy D. goes through here. We shall rendezvous back at the Greenmount School. Unless we find it. Whoever finds it stays on its tail and the other too will come searching for him. Capisci?"

Billy D. chuckled.

"What's wrong?" asked Johnny.

"You said "stays on its tail". Funny!"

Johnny smiled, but didn't linger too much doing it.

"Here goes nothing!"

"Here goes!" answered both Sean and Billy D. at once.

Three bikes left in three different directions, all at once. Seen from above, it seemed like a flower opening its petals to the point of tearing apart–and shortly beyond it.

Johnny took his own "old lady" close to the Lacrosse Museum, then next to the Science Institute, came down towards Decker Gardens and passed through Bowman Drive, having to take a detour. It was the main reason for which he chose this specific way, because he didn't want to miss anything, and he knew there's no job better done than the one you do by yourself. He reached Greenmount via 29th, no trace of the crow whatsoever in all the green areas he went.

Billy D. was already there, waiting for him since he and Sean had two shorter paths to take. However, Sean was nowhere to be found, although he was supposed to arrive before Johnny.

"He's not back yet?"

"Been waiting here for three minutes. Do you think he found it?"

"I'm hoping he did, don't want to think about the alternatives."

Billy thought of some:

"What, do you think The Crow found him and actually turned out to be Bruce Brandon Lee living in secret?"

"Would be a fun one, but no. Give him two more minutes and we're off searching."

"Okay. Waiting..."

Time started passing. And time passes awfully hard when you're not doing anything.

"I feel like a Windows installation," said Billy D. "Waiting..."

"Wouldn't it be "Loading" instead of "Waiting"?" asked Johnny.

"Might be. It's somehow loading on my nerves."

"Good thing it's not un-loading on your nerves, then. Would have been... heavy!" Johnny grimaced at his own terrible pun.

Billy D. raised his hand, looking at the watch.

"5... 4... 3... 2... 1... Aaaaand we're a go, Houston!"

"Right. Come on, then!"

"Vegas, baby!"

"Allons-y!"

They rode right through the middle of the park, among trees and bushes, trying to follow the way Sean was supposed to take as best as they could.

The weather was fine, sunny, and optimistic, which inspired Johnny to believe Sean's absence was positive. It probably meant he found the crow, which will help them with the Ad hoc investigation they were conducting.

They reached Sean in five minutes. And he was in no position to move. He was hanging in the branches of a tree, his legs and arms dangling loosely toward the ground. His bike was down, out of his reach, and apparently a bit damaged.

His shirt was stuck and didn't seem to have any intention of getting unstuck, rendering Sean immovable. And the boy was too light to rip the shirt off only with his mass.

Johnny's heart skipped a bit, but then reality hit, and he could tell Sean was pretty much unharmed.

His head rose, face up towards Johnny and Billy. He was aware of his surroundings, which made the situation a lot easier to deal with.

"Um... Guys? I found the crow."

His finger pointed up, and they looked that way to see what he meant. On the branch that kept him captive was the biggest crow Billy D. had ever seen.

And it just stood there.

Close to him, close to them, just sitting and staring, tilting its head from time to time as if it was analyzing their presence, considering its next move.

It certainly didn't seem scared. Therefore, it induced a sense of caution in the kids' instinctive behavior. Johnny was thinking of a way of releasing Sean without bothering the crow, but somehow that seemed highly unmanageable.

"Do you think it's safe to get closer?"

"Let's see: claws, check, sharp beak, check, threatening looks, check. Nah, bro, I'm good at where I am."

Johnny disregarded Billy D.'s unorthodox advice:

"I'm going to do it, anyway."

"See, that's why I can't keep friends. They always commit suicide!"

Johnny ignored his snarky comment, but also realized he didn't have the time to reach Sean. He made the first step when suddenly the crow started hitting the branch with his beak.

"Heeeelp! What's it doing?"

Sean genuinely feared. He had the not-so-vague sensation the bird intended to peck his head. He wasn't entirely wrong–the bird intended to do that, but not to his head.

"It's trying to get you... free?"

Johnny couldn't believe his eyes. The crow was freeing Sean.

"Why didn't it do this earlier?" said Sean. "I've been hanging here for minutes!"

Billy D. provided a conclusion in a very grave and just as funny voice.

"It wants you for itself... It's afraid... That we came here to take its DINNER!"

"Funny, but illogical."

Johnny wasn't ready to accept the fact that the crow posed any danger to them. Because it didn't seem so. The whole charade with the songs, the bird spying on him and then waiting for them on top of Sean. Those were all clues, or maybe some sort of calls. Somehow, the crow was reaching out for them. It got them to this point together, and Johnny wouldn't give up now. Not when he was so far on the way, not when he seemed so close to learning what everything was about.

The branch finally broke down.

A loud cracking noise followed by an even louder thump concluded with Sean squirming on the ground.

"God, damn it!"

It was literally the first time they heard Sean swearing.

"Does it hurt?" asked Johnny.

"I fell on a freaking wood chunk!"

He stood up, his pain diminishing a little.

"Oh God, that was some adventure!"

"I think the adventure's just beginning.", said Billy D.

The crow croaked. They all looked up as it left the branch and moved away from them. It stopped at a reasonable distance and started circling the area and croaking again, insistently.

"I think it wants us to follow it." Billy D. said.

"Quick, grab your bike!" Johnny said. "Let's go after it!"

They went as fast as they could. Johnny was leading the way, watching closely so he wouldn't lose the bird from his sight. Then came both Billy D. and Sean, panting, trying to keep up with him. Johnny's enthusiasm got ahead of him and he was ignoring whatever pain he felt. He was so anxious and full of anticipation that he didn't care at all about the pressure in the muscles that intensified with every spin of the pedals.

Many scenarios were going through his head. Some of them were ridiculous, he knew that, but some of them seemed realistic. At least, compared to a stalking crow that was now guiding them toward an unknown destination, despite their brains' safety mechanisms that were constantly inoculating fear, avoiding contact with the unexpected. Johnny feared, although he didn't perceive it as regular fear, but an intense emotion, the fruit of anticipation.

And he needed closure. They all did. They needed an explanation about what the hell happened with their music. And since the events of the last couple of days were anything but regular, Johnny was prepared to expect anything. Even Batman, if it would have been the case.

After approximately five minutes, the crow began its descent. He was going towards a bench Johnny could easily distinguish. More than that, he recognized the place. This was where their speech occurred back after The Change.

Johnny hit the brakes, and the bike turned laterally during the slowdown process. Just in time to see Billy D. with his phone out, trying to get a picture of both Johnny and the descending crow.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"What do you think?" asked Billy D. "I'm updating the forum–someone has to know what we're up to. Also, live-tweeting the picture, I have a great fanbase."

Sean caught up with them as well, and he got off his bike, visibly tired, talking and panting at the same time.

"Well, in his defense, we put him in charge of the graphical part..."

"Another proof that us kids are bad at decision-making," concluded Johnny.

He turned toward the crow, which was stationary at this point. But he wasn't alone.

He was staying on the shoulder of a man, a man standing in front of the bench, who looked very familiar, but Johnny couldn't place him anywhere. He wasn't Batman, that's for sure, although he wore some sort of black cape, just like The Caped Crusader.

"Who is that guy?" asked Sean.

"He looks like that writer, Oscar Wilde. Dressed like him, too," said Billy D.

Indeed, his clothes were archaic, old, and grim. Upon a closer look, Johnny could see that what he believed to be a cape was, in fact, a coat. The weirdest coat he'd ever seen, made of feathers as black as coal. The man also wore some sort of turtleneck, but it was like nothing you would find in a modern store, nothing at all like regular people's clothes. His hair was longer than men usually wear it. It looked like Johnny Depp's hair in Sweeney Todd, but without the white part.

"So, did someone escape from the hospice?" asked the same Billy D., obviously amused by the man's presence.

"Shut up. Let's go closer." Whispered Johnny.

The boy felt amazed, glancing as the crow sat on the man's shoulder while the man stood still. He just stood there, watching them.

They were pushing their bikes, going towards him, reluctantly, because this man was the most interesting presence one could encounter. And whenever one encounters something new, one is likely cautious.

"WAIT!" Johnny yelled.

"... What?"

"What the hell, man? You almost gave me a heart attack! God, you and your moments!" said Billy D.

"His hair is not moving." explained Johnny.

"So what? He's staying still, that's why," answered Sean.

"It's windy..."

Johnny was right. The wind was beating. His long hair was supposed to at least tremble. Yet there was no movement whatsoever. He was trying to find an explanation for this, but none came to mind.

They got closer, regardless. Their hearts were racing, and they were now almost two meters away from him.

"H-Hello!" Johnny spluttered.

"Reynolds."

His voice was deep, like a smoker's. He was still as stone, but his lips moved again, after a short but significant pause.

"Reynolds," he said again.

Billy. D spoke first, much to everybody's surprise, since he seemed the most scared out of all of them:

"Sorry, we don't know any Reynolds. Can you try using other words? Usually, expanding your vocabulary can work wonders."

Silence.

"Dude, just shut up. Don't talk to him."

Silence.

The man moved his head. He turned his face towards Billy D. and blinked twice.

No more silence.

"You're funny. I like that."

What was even funnier was that the man didn't show any type of feeling whatsoever. He didn't laugh, although there was no reason not to believe he found Billy D.'s words funny. Didn't even smile. He was genuine, but he was plain. His voice was clear and pure of any fluctuations that could have given away any sort of emotion.

"How do you do that?"

The man moved his head towards Johnny.

"Do what?"

"How do you feel something without expressing it?" Johnny rephrased.

"I cannot express," said the man in the black coat. "I am only to feel without getting proper closure, but continuously growing anticipation. Painful anticipation."

Silence.

"I have to admit," Sean said, "he's friendlier than I expected at first."

"Why wouldn't I be friendly? You are my friends, after all."

The three kids exchanged looks. They were unsettled about this. They were, without question, unfamiliar with him, and they had no clue on what grounds he made that statement. How can you be friends with someone you didn't meet yet?

"But we don't know you. You're a complete stranger to every one of us," Johnny said.

"Yeah, and my mom said I shouldn't talk to creepy people." Sean added. "Come to think of it, that's how I met Billy D."

Billy D. laughed.

"You cannot comprehend this, but I can feel friendships the same way you would feel sadness or happiness. I can feel relationships, links, I can feel connections between living beings, even before they are made. I can feel everything. That is my blessing. I can express nothing, that is my curse. I also cannot remember certain memories while being aware of forgetting them."

That was interesting. It meant the man was in some kind of suspended existence. Does that happen to everybody when they die? It was senseless. It would be full of dead guys everywhere. This means the man probably couldn't fully transcend between life and the afterlife.

Wait! Afterlife... Johnny had an idea. But never gave it voice. It was too absurd. Decided to just keep quiet.

"Tell us about the bird." Sean said.

"His name is Neemo. He's been with me all the time. In the beginning, I couldn't see him, but after I became like this, he turned visible. I sent him for you as a precaution in case the clues in the songs were too elusive."

Silence.

"Should have thought that was the case, I guess."

Johnny didn't know about Sean or Billy D., but right now, he had a crowd of questions swarming through his head. Billy D. asked the first one.

"What's your name?"

Silence.

"You can call me Richspear."

That was a weird name. Johnny didn't know anybody with that name.

"Interesting. I won't ask who came up with that idea." Billy D. added.

"You will not get an answer either," Richspear answered.

"But how come you didn't come yourself?" Johnny asked. "Why send him? Why not come personally?"

Richspear widened arms.

"Touch me, young man."

That surprised Billy D. He dropped a laugh and a sarcastic joke.

"Now I understand why Sean's mom doesn't want him talking to creepy strangers. Can you rephrase that?"

"I meant to touch my body."

Billy D. laughed while holding his belly with both hands.

Sean smiled:

"Seriously, you're not making this any easier for yourself."

"My physical form. Is that better?" Richspear said, beginning to feel annoyed, though obviously incapable of expressing it.

Johnny reached and touched him. But then something really weird happened.

His hand went through the man's body.

He was almost on the verge of falling through him and to the ground, but recovered quickly.

"Oh my God, you're immaterial!"

That took it to another level:

"Are you dead?" Sean asked, obviously building up to the same idea Johnny had. "We had this crazy theory about the bird, switching from alive to dead. Does it sound familiar?"

"We are dead. Yet we still live."

"That sounds oxymoronic," Billy D. said

"My life is an oxymoron," Richspear said.

"And also, your death," Billy D. added.

"But they can't be both oxymoronic," Johnny said. "Cause... that would be an oxymoron."

"That might be the biggest oxymoron there is if I'd ever encountered one," Sean concluded.

"Oxymora everywhere!" Johnny said.

He scratched his head and then continued.

"So I'm guessing you can't pick things up. Or open doors."

"Yes. I can only go through them. And you wouldn't have reacted well to a man going through your door. So I had to arrange our meeting in steps. I sent him knowing it will help you figure out some things for yourself, thus making our meeting less... what's the word? Traumatizing."

"That makes sense," Sean said.

"You said something about clues in the songs. Was it that song that was the same everywhere?" Johnny asked.

"Yes, that one."

"I don't suppose you'll tell us what it meant?" Billy D. asked.

"I won't, for precisely three reasons. The first is that you must find it out for yourself. The second is that it's not mandatory anymore. It would have helped you find me. The third is that I can't give a direct reply to any inquiry that involves Reynolds."

"Ironically, this must be the most direct answer I've ever heard in my entire life." Billy D. said.

"I have this feeling that everything Richspear says is a 'most something Billy D.'s ever encountered in his entire life.'" Sean said.

"Well, this should be fun," Johnny said. "Finding it by ourselves and all."

Richspear continued:

"Find Reynolds. Take him back. Only then we'll all get closure." He tilted his head a little to the right. "And only then you'll get back your songs."

"So, we settled the fact that you're the reason our songs have changed." Sean said.

"It needed your attention. This was the decision."

"Well, there you have it," Johnny said. "Our attention. Can you please give us our songs back now?"

"I can't at this moment. Because it's not me, it's Reynolds."

"Let me get this straight," Billy D. said. "You made a mistake once, therefore you can't properly die. And neither can the one called Reynolds. Only he's what we would call evil, right? And he supposedly does things known as bad. So, we must find the one called Reynolds and stop him. Am I right?"

"You sound like the Kraang, dude!" Johnny said.

"You are close. He's not evil. Evil is... somewhat subjective. He's just misunderstood."

"And we are supposed to stop him?" Sean asked.

"I don't suppose this is the part where you tell one of us he's the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, or the Queen of England?"

As witty as his comment was, Sean couldn't approve of Billy D. this time.

"Here's something I didn't want to know about Billy D: He dreams of being the Queen of England. Now I'll always picture him as a nonagenarian lady."

"The queen of England is nonagenarian?" Richspear asked. "Interesting. I must have lost much time."

He sat down on the bench, his eyes gazing at the ground, and for the first time, Johnny thought he saw sadness in Richspear. The man didn't show it, of course, but the reaction itself and the words seemed fit for a person in that situation, someone that was experiencing such feelings. He knew it. This man needed closure, and Johnny thought he had nothing to lose if he tried to help.

"Judging by your clothes, it might not be the same Queen of England you remember." Billy D. said.

Silence.

"I expected that as well, by your clothes and that thing you keep pointing at me," Richspear answered, referring to Billy D.'s phone. "Mine was Victoria."

"The one ruling now is Elisabeth the Second."

Richspear said nothing, and Johnny felt it would be appropriate to change the subject, to focus on something else.

"Okay, this is what we're going to do: we're going to help you. But we need directions. Where do we find Reynolds?"

Richspear looked up at Johnny and gave him the only answer the boy didn't want to hear:

"I do not know. I cannot remember anything related to him. That's the problem. I just know you must stop him by all means. And brought home."

This was a delicate situation, and they badly needed a starting point, some sort of opening to exploit.

"Can you tell us how this works? How come both of you are immune to proper death?"

Richspear answered:

"It works with powerful feelings. I became what I am because of Reynolds' anger. He was angry at me, extremely so!"

"Why was that?" Sean asked before Johnny had any time to react.

"Because I stole a text from him."

"A text? This was all over a text?"

"Something like that." He frowned. "I feel this will help to find him, but can't say why."

"How long?"

"Seven hundred words. Almost an entire chapter."

"Oh, you were a writer?" Johnny asked, now even more interested in the matter.

"Well, I dabbled... but I never succeeded. And it wasn't even because of the text I stole. It was just because people weren't that interested. Or maybe my work wasn't good enough. I guess I'll never know..."

Johnny realized they now had their starting point.

"All we have to do now is search for writers called Reynolds. That shouldn't be hard. We have databases."

"Also, Wikipedia." Billy D. said.

"I hate you when you're right." Sean said.

"And here I was, thinking we were friends." Billy D. replied.

Johnny turned away from them to face Richspear.

"Sir, I would shake your hand if I could, but it seems it's impossible. Instead, I will make you the promise of trying our best."

The man looked at him again, and Johnny thought he was going to smile. It certainly felt like that. But he didn't do it, reminding Johnny once again what he was supposedly going to fight for. Closure.

He signaled the boys to take their bikes, and they left Richspear, hoping they'll solve this somehow. Billy D. apparently loved what was happening, and there was no reason they shouldn't do the same.

"Guys, my place!" he said.

"Copy that!" answered Sean

"Yippy-Kay-Yay!" added Billy D.

The way back was the perfect occasion for a thousand thoughts to flood Johnny's mind. Where would they find Reynolds? Would they be in danger? Would he be some sort of crazy guy? Will they have any chance of reasoning with him or they'll have to fight him? And if fighting him was the only option, how would they do it? What if he was deadly? They were just children. No, in no case should they take such a risk. He really hoped this would be as simple as he wanted, but a certain feeling in his gut told him things will become just as complicated as everything was until this point.

And what kind of name was Richspear?

Regardless, Johnny felt good. The things going on right now they were all different, something else besides the mundane daily routine they usually had. More than that, it seemed something extraordinary. In just twenty-four hours, they witnessed a strange phenomenon they have yet to understand, found a crow that randomly resurrects, and met a dead guy that still lives. AND THEY DID NOT FEAR. Intrigued, yes, but scared, not anymore. Maybe at the beginning, maybe a little, since they couldn't understand what was going on, so the adrenaline was naturally rushing through their bodies. Johnny remembered reading somewhere that "we naturally fear that which we do not comprehend". To defeat your fear, you'd have to understand whatever it is you're in fear of.

"So, after we find him, what?" asked Billy D.

"Naturally, we'd get a location. Try to see how we can reach this Reynolds guy. And then... maybe ask him not to be so angry."

"Ask, Sean?"

"I'm a Jedi Consular kind of guy. It's not my fault, I think like that." He replied.

Johnny liked Sean's version of doing things.

"We'll ask him. For starters, at least."

They reached Johnny's place soon and parked their bikes in his front yard. Entered through the front door after the boy unlocked it with his spare key. He closed it behind him, locking the door and leaving the key in the keyhole so that nobody else could unlock it from outside, even if they had the key.

His parents were already home, so there was no point in leaving an option for external unlocks. Johnny was cautious, above all.

They went upstairs and powered up Johnny's PC. Billy D. took some darts from the table and started playing with the target on the bedroom wall.

"Open the window first. You might break the glass otherwise." Said Johnny, fearing he would have to sleep with his window broken if Billy D. would have missed the target.

Sean was browsing the Internet:

"Okay, so we have a Reynolds that matches Queen Victoria's time. He wrote Mocha Dick."

"Wasn't it called Moby Dick?" Billy D. yelled while throwing another dart.

"I thought Melville wrote it." Johnny said.

"That's the funny thing. Melville wrote Moby Dick. Reynolds wrote Mocha Dick." Sean said, astonished at his findings.

"Waaaaait..." said Billy D., suddenly losing his interest in the dart game. "Who wrote it first? I bet it was Reynolds!"

Sean confirmed.

"Reynolds wrote Mocha Dick. After that, Melville wrote Moby Dick."

"Too many Dicks for my liking, man!" Billy D. said.

"But...!" Sean urged. "Mocha Dick wasn't a book, it was an article."

Johnny leaned on the table.

"That changes things."

"Mocha Dick was real. It was a real, big, white whale, off into the Mocha Islands."

"Do they make coffee there?" Billy D. asked.

"They make big white whales, apparently." Sean answered, distracted by the webpage he was reading.

Johnny scratched his head. That was usually the sign that meant he had an idea.

"An article is surely enough for a chapter in a book..."

"And Moby's inspiration was clearly Mocha, so Melville could have stolen Reynolds' text," said Sean.

"Dude, Melville doesn't look like Richspear." Billy D. said "He has a beard. Richspear has a mustache."

"The hair is similar, though." said Johnny. "And the description fits. What if Melville's pictures are wrong somehow? What if this guy isn't really Melville?"

"You mean the guy in the Melville photo isn't Melville? I don't know, man, it feels weird. Although mess-ups like that happened throughout history, so I wouldn't exclude it."

"I think we're focusing on the wrong issue here," said Sean. "Who cares who's who? We're only interested in Reynolds now."

Billy D. was reluctant:

"You lost me at the third who, but whatever."

"All I'm saying is we have to find someone who knows a bit of history around here. A guy who reads a lot," Sean said.

"I think I might have an idea. What if we go talk to Mr. Parsons?" Johnny asked.

"The old guy? You think he'll believe us?"

"I agree with Johnny. Mr. Parsons knows things. He could help us plenty." Sean said.

"Wouldn't he make fun of us because of the Richspear thingies and the stuff with the music disappearing?"

"Billy D. has a point," Sean said. "That might be a problem."

"Trust me, it's Parsons. He's as fun as it gets and will believe whatever he likes. And he has a weird lifestyle, so it won't be a problem. This situation is the definition of weird. And weird equals Old Man Parsons."

"Old Man Parsons it is, then." Sean concluded.

They shut down the PC and went downstairs, not before Billy D. threw one last dart toward the target. It missed by almost an inch and got stuck into the wall portion above. He cursed and left, yelling.

"Hey! Wait for me!"

Johnny told his mother he was going to leave again, and then he did his door ritual, locking it again from the outside. "Never Unlocked", that was his motto.

They picked up their bikes and rode towards Mr. Parsons' house, ringing their custom-made horns, and laughing down the street, cheering up the people that were outside. Girls were waving while they were passing on, and Johnny loved that.

Soon, the group reached its destination, and Johnny was the first to gate to Mr. Parsons' place, followed by Billy D. and then Sean. He rang his horn even more insistently than before, and shouted Mr. Parsons' name, hoping he would get heard.

The entrance door opened with a screech. Mr. Parson's head came out, with a towel on top of it, looking bewildered, not knowing what exactly was going on.

"Everything okay, children? Nobody died or something, right?"

"We're okay, sir!" Johnny said. "But we kind of need your help."

"What can an old man like me help you with?"

"Knowledge, sir." Johnny said.

"Ah! Knowledge! That I can do! Come on in, let's talk."

The boys went in. Mr. Parsons' house was not exactly like a regular old man's place you'd expect to see. Certainly not like the kind you see in movies or hear about in books.

There was nothing dull about the interior. Everything was in order, which was surprising to see in the house of a man who lives by himself. Also, he had many colorful decorations, not too flashy, but just enough to give a friendly atmosphere to the house. A whistle came out of the kitchen, startling the kids. Mr. Parsons excused himself:

"First, pardon me for welcoming you with the towel wrapped around my head. I just took a shower. Second, tea is ready. I'll bring it around, in case you'd like some. I sure as hell need a drink."

"We'll wait here, sir..."

Johnny doubted Mr. Parsons had heard him as he rushed toward the kitchen.

Billy D. pointed to a painting on the wall.

"Man, I love this house! What's that, a Van Gogh?"

Sean went closer to inspect the painting.

"It is a Van Gogh, but I think it's a replica. It's nice anyway."

"Check this out. He has a PlayStation!"

Billy D. already forgot about the painting. He was looking into the PlayStation, amazed that a man Mr. Parsons' age enjoyed using something like that.

"Don't touch that, young man!

Billy D. quickly removed his hand. What was Mr. Parsons' problem? He seemed irritated suddenly.

The old man reached for the PlayStation and opened it peculiarly, pressing a button on the side that none of the kids had seen in another PlayStation unit. Inside the console, visible to them now, there was a tube of pepper spray somehow rigged with an interesting mechanism.

"Useful for burglars," Mr. Parsons said. "See, this is one of the most expensive things lying around here–certainly in a mindless burglar's mind. Once he sees it, he'll naturally come and check it out."

Johnny realized what he meant.

"Because he won't risk carrying it unless he knows for sure it is functional."

"Exactly," Mr. Parsons replied. "And when he comes and opens it up the regular way, using the front-side slider..."

Billy D. made a hiss like sound, trying to replicate a spray release. Mr. Parsons concluded:

"It certainly gives the bastard a handicap until the Police arrive."

"Are you sure he can't get up and leave, even though his face is all messed up from the pepper spray?" Sean asked.

"Only if he's strong enough. Which is highly unlikely with the quality of robbers I've seen in this town since 1995. They don't make 'em like they used to..."

Mr. Parsons closed the lid on the PlayStation and put it back on the shelf. With a deep breath, he went to the couch and took a seat. He grabbed a teacup and poured tea from the kettle.

"Ah! Nothing better than a cup of tea in the afternoon!"

Johnny remembered the real reason they were there.

"Speaking of what you've seen since you're here, sir, have you ever heard of or met a man named Reynolds?"

The old man stretched his collar a bit and then spoke.

"Reynolds, you say... Any first names? I've known quite a few Reynolds in my time."

"We don't have a first name." Johnny answered.

"Well then," Mr. Parsons replied, "I don't know if there's too much I can offer you. We could..."

"There might be something." Billy D said. "We know he was a writer."

"And that he lived during the time Victoria was Queen of England," Sean added.

"Oh, my! Kinda hard to meet him, don't you think?" Mr. Parsons said.

"And there was this guy that stole some text from him," Johnny concluded. "Like a chapter for a book, an article, or something..."

Mr. Parsons wondered in amazement.

"Ah... THAT Reynolds! Yeah, I would never forget that guy."

This came as a surprise. It had escalated quickly. Mr. Parsons sounded like Reynolds was an old friend from high school. He was conspicuously personal towards Reynolds, and Johnny wondered why.

"Can you tell us what you heard about him before?" Sean asked.

"Yes... and no."

Johnny exchanged looks with Sean and Billy D. He then turned back to "Old Man" Parsons.

"Did we do something wrong? Or is there something you can't remember anymore?"

Johnny was standing, and with the old man sitting down, the last question sounded like a threat, although the boy didn't intend that. Luckily, the old man could tell just as well.

He smiled and answered back.

"Kids, kids, kids... This is a trade. I'll give you the information, but you are the ones that must give me yours first. You came here for a reason. Something triggered that reason, and I want to hear about it."

"What makes you think something triggered it?" Sean asked.

"You know how it goes, right? Show me yours and I'll show you mine... Besides, there must be a reason for your sudden interest in him, and I want to know for sure I am going to give you the proper information, that's all."

He certainly didn't make it easy for them, but there was little to argue here. Given no other choice, the kids told him the entire story: the music, the big crow, Richspear, Reynolds, everything. They knew from the beginning that they might have to tell him about this. The only hope they clung to was him having a positive reaction to it and not making fun of them, and even more important, not divulging anything to other adults–their little "operation" might be in danger otherwise. They had to trust him. It was a risk they needed to take.

Old Man Parsons listened carefully, without interrupting even once. When the story reached full stop–meaning when Billy D. said "Th-Th-Th-Th-Th-That's all, folks!"–Parsons changed his position on the sofa to a more relaxed one and tried to process everything. The kids watched him closely, still somewhat afraid of the outcome of their little confession.

He spoke after a brief silence that seemed more like an eternity, in the same way, the eight days of Jack Bauer's adventures seemed more like eight years.

Now Billy D. certainly feels he's a nonagenarian, thought Sean.

"Okay, kids." Mr. Parsons finally said. "I take it you need help with finding Reynolds?"

"Exactly!" Johnny said. "We need to stop his anger or something."

"Well, tough luck! He's dead!"

"Dead as in..."

"As in the kind that gets closure. I am absotively and posilutely sure of that. He died in New York in 1858. Nine years after Richspear presumably found his own fate."

Johnny needed more.

"You know this how? I mean..."

"Irrelevant." Said Mr. Parsons. "You said you want knowledge. Information on how I got it wasn't part of our agreement."

"True, I guess." Johnny couldn't risk blowing it and losing any bit of info that could have helped them. As such, he had to back off for the moment, even though he wanted to know more about Parsons.

The old man started gesticulating.

"What you should know first is there's more to it than Reynolds vs. Richspear. It's all a giant misunderstanding. A story that went wrong."

"We're all ears, sir," Sean said.

"And eyes." Johnny added.

"I'm also brains from time to time," Billy D. said

"Only when his extra chromosome activates, and he becomes The Credible Hulk," Sean responded

"Backing up my rage with facts and documented sources since 1994." Billy D. concluded.

Old Man Parsons smiled.

"First, Reynolds bought a house. Here in Baltimore. When he bought it, the house was already full of furniture. An old man used to live in it, much like me, and he died at some point, leaving the house for his children. They wanted to sell because they were supposed to move to Colorado. A fresh start."

"So, they agreed to let Reynolds have the furniture?" Johnny asked.

"Pretty much everything in the house. The fact is, they didn't want to bother with taking all kinds of old and heavy stuff, and since Reynolds was a writer, and genuinely interested in old stuff, they asked him if he would be okay with taking the house contents as well, for free, included in the house price."

"I bet he was ecstatic." Billy D said.

"He was. Imagine what's like for a writer to receive, for free, a full library filled with old books. That alone was worth a fortune for him! He couldn't care less about the rest of the house. He just wanted the books."

"Okay," Johnny said. "What has this got to do with Richspear?"

"I'm getting there." Parsons replied. "You see, in this library, there was a book. A very special book. A book whose properties were unknown to Reynolds at the beginning. It was a sacred book that used to belong to the native tribes of Maryland."

"I'm guessing the place wasn't called Maryland back then." Sean said.

"That is true. I don't exactly know how they were calling it at that point, because I never spoke their language, nor did I encounter any of it. But the ones I'm talking about were called the Susquehannocks."

"Susfuckme-what-now?" Billy D. asked.

"Susquehannocks, young man. You should pick up a book once in a while. You know, when your extra chromosome allows it."

Parsons indulged in his fair share of sarcasm.

"They're a Native American tribe. They were some sort of sub-tribe of the Iroquois, and the reason for which the language is unknown to me is the fact that it's extinct, at least officially. The Iroquois met their demise back in 1763. Twenty people left in the entire tribe, and they were slaughtered for crimes they didn't commit. A few of them survived, though, but little is known about them."

"But Reynolds' book, didn't it contain Sasquatch-tribe-language words?" Billy D. asked.

Old Man Parsons ignored Billy D.'s malformation of the name.

"That's the thing. It did. But since Reynolds didn't have any means of translating it, he just took the old book and started filling the empty pages with his own writings."

"That's... kinda stupid." Billy D. said. "He messed up an original book."

"Agreed," Parsons replied, "but it probably seemed like a good idea at that moment. Paper was harder to find and more expensive. You wouldn't let empty pages stay empty. And, as such, he wrote something in it."

"I'm betting that included the Mocha Dick draft." Johnny said.

"I wouldn't know about that, but I know Reynolds was then studying The Pacific and the South Seas, so it is likely. Anyway, that's beside the point. He took the book with him one day and sold it to a public library. He desperately needed money, passing through a rough patch."

"And...?" Johnny asked.

"Before he sold it, he made a copy in a notebook. He showed that notebook to someone one day. And unbeknownst to him, that someone was the descendant of a survivor of the Susquehannocks. Turns out he knew the language. The last one who could decipher it, imagine that! And guess what?"

"It was the script for Star Wars?" Billy D. gambled a guess.

Parsons nodded in disagreement.

"Nope. Definitely not. It was a cursed holy book. Sort of."

"What do you mean, sort of?" Johnny asked. "And how can something be holy while being cursed?"

"It was more like a covenant. That's what I call it, in fact. The Covenant. I mean, besides some teachings and all the regular religious elements you would get, the tribe chieftain, the witch doctor, and this third guy who seemed like the first in line after the chieftain made a promise to keep the book inside their tribe's lands. Anyone who would move the book would get punished, forever cursed, never to accomplish anything important to him."

Johnny enjoyed a thought loudly.

"Okay... that sounds like what Richspear is experiencing. If you can count death as an accomplishment."

"It probably is. We just don't realize it yet. Anyway, when finding out this, Reynolds understood it explained perfectly his situation. From the moment he sold the book, everything seemed to work out badly for him."

"But why would selling the book work out badly? Was the library outside old Susquehannock territory? Outside Baltimore, outside Maryland?" Sean asked.

"You see, the territory in which the book was supposed to stay was small, just the central area of the main tribe camp. Exactly the place they lived at that point. I think this was basically an occult anti-theft system."

A flash sparked before Sean's eyes.

"And guess where the house was!"

"Precisely," answered Parsons. "Reynolds' house was on the old tribe spot. The book had to come back."

"He went after it, but the book was already in possession of Richspear, wasn't it?" asked Johnny.

"Yes, it was. See, funny thing, this curse was strange. Now that Reynolds realized how things worked and he was trying to get the book back, the book lifted the curse from him and aimed it towards Richspear instead, who was its new owner, and kept the book further and further from its home. Of course, Richspear didn't know that, and he regarded Reynolds as a madman. So that's how the whole conflict started."

"You're telling me," Johnny asked, "That when Richspear says 'Reynolds', he actually means 'The Book' aka 'The Covenant'"?

"Yes, but I think he does not realize it." Parsons answered.

"Okay, so where is the book now?" asked Sean.

"That's the problem. The fact is unknown until today. In his last days, Richspear might have hidden it. Or destroyed it somehow. It is uncertain. What's certain is that his death was a kind of mystery, and seeing how it wasn't an actual death, but a unique form of transformation, it is clear the book still worked somehow. My theory is it's hidden, not destroyed, and Richspear was trying to get it back from where it was when he died. He probably felt something was wrong."

"It's just that he didn't properly die, and now that he was immaterial, it was impossible for him to recover it. Right?"

Sean was going somewhere with this theory, and Johnny was not the least bit surprised to see Old Man Parsons confirm it with a nod.

"But why didn't Richspear re-surface earlier?"

Parsons exhaled heavily.

"Well... he did. That's how I know about him."

Johnny had to give a moment to his brain so that he could understand the statement's implications. And then he did and concluded. THAT was surprising. But it explained the fact that Parsons seemed to know pretty much everything there was to know about Reynolds and Richspear. So, the next natural question was...

"Did you meet him previously? Did you try to help him?"

"Yes," Parsons said. "In fact, that's how I found out everything there was to know about Reynolds. Through some extensive research that led to all this information."

"But why couldn't you find the book? Why couldn't you help him?"

"You see, he resurfaces once every 40 years, on the night of his death, and stays like that for 40 days. I couldn't find the book in my 40 days... He disappeared again..."

"But if he leaves, or disappears, or whatever, doesn't that mean the effects of whatever he did will wear off?" asked Johnny. "I mean, the music will come back, right?"

Old Man Parsons rose his left eyebrow and said:

"How to put this to you? Do you know what I was doing the last time he appeared?"

"I have no way of knowing it, but I would be open to finding out..." Johnny answered.

"It was a rainy fall evening. October 7th, 1969, to be more precise. I was twenty-five. And I was watching the fourth season of Star Trek..."

The children were silent. They didn't understand at first and didn't seem to get the catch right from the start. But that didn't last long.

"But wait," Sean said, "Star Trek only had three seasons..."

And then they all saw it.

"Whoa!" Sean exclaimed.

Billy D. spoke up rapidly.

"OH MY GOD, DID HE REALLY MESS UP STAR TREK??? Are there more episodes?" He started pulling Parsons by his collar. "What were they about? God, I hate that guy! He's practically the George Lucas of Star Trek! I HATE HIM!!!"

He started shaking Parsons violently, as violently as a fourteen-year-old could.

"Come on, Mr. P., tell us more!"

"If y-you c-co-could s-stop s-shak-king m-me..."

Billy D. suddenly released his clinch.

"Oh, sorry, didn't realize it for a moment."

Parsons pulled his collar and tried to relax.

"That's better..."

He stood up.

"God, I need some more tea. This was exhausting."

He went for the kettle again, leaving the three kids in a thought-processing state, having to deal with the vast quantities of new and unbelievable information they got from him.

"Did you have to shake him like that?" Sean asked

"Sorry, man, my enthusiasm got ahead of me."

Parsons got back and sat down on the sofa.

"Aaaahh... Sweet tea! That's better!"

"So, you were saying..."

"I was saying... what was I saying?"

"Something about Star Trek." Billy D. Said, visibly calmer than before.

"Oh, yes. The fourth season. You see, there was going to be a five-year mission, wasn't it? They fixed it a bit, with the animated series, but that was years after. And it just didn't feel the same as the live-action version. Man, those scripts, those sets, those scenes! You should have seen it then. Magnificent! I loved the 60s!"

"The two thousand aren't that bad either." Sean said.

".... If you take out the fast food, the terrible music, and Han not shooting first..." Billy D. said.

".... and Tupac being dead." Johnny added.

"That one is part of the bad music section." Sean concluded.

"For the sake of conversation," Old Man Parsons added, "Han wouldn't shoot for at least 8 years and Tupac was nowhere to be seen in '69 as well."

He pauses, visibly thinking of something.

"Oh, God, I think I just made your point while trying to make mine. How ironic!"

"Also, absurd.... ish." Billy D. replied.

"Maybe. Probably. Anyway, I messed up because I didn't have so many options, and I lost track of time. Richspear went back off the grid, and I resumed my regular life. Except I would never get to see the fourth season of Star Trek. Damn it! I wish he would have done that with Days of Our Lives or General Hospital!"

"At least you know the fourth season existed..." Sean said.

"Yes. Fortunately, back then, it was just me. Lower scale event. This... this is bigger. Way bigger."

"You know what this means, right?" Billy D. asked Johnny.

"That he'll go bigger the next time." Parsons replied.

"We've got to find that book, whatever it takes!"

"Agreed!" Sean said.

"Agreed!" Parsons added. "I can't stand that boy, Bieber."

The boys exchanged looks. Neither one of them said anything. They didn't want to spoil it for him. At least let him be happy for now, Johnny thought.

"Here," Parsons said, and stood up, rising from his sofa like an old Goliath, or a young Godzilla. "You'll need this."

He went to a bookshelf and pulled out a book. Handed it to Sean.

"To be more precise, you will need this," he added, looking at the boy.

Sean whispered a shy "Thank you". Glanced at the book, only to find out it was an Old English dictionary. He didn't know any words in Old English, and he wondered what use he could find for the dictionary.

Billy D. wondered the same thing.

Johnny thought Parsons knew something they didn't.

"Okay, now I'm going to tell you where I was going to look. Do you have maps of the city on that smartassphones of yours?"

It seemed like smartphones were Old Man Parsons' own version of Billy D.'s Susquehannocks.

"It's smartphones, and yes, we do." Billy D. said.

Billy D. pulled up his phone and put it on the table. Several gestures with his fingers and the map was on the screen.

"Where do you want to look?"

"I want to look at the park. Here."

"Why the park?" Johnny asked.

"That's where Richspear was before he died."

"How did you come upon this information? Your investigations?" Sean enquired.

"Exactly. My... investigations. Now, Richspear left his office that day, which is here..."

Johnny noticed that Old Man Parsons hesitated when he answered Sean's question. Which means he lied. The question was, how did he come by this information?

Parsons pointed at the map.

"But he went opposite his home, which is here..."

He pointed to another spot on the same side as the office.

"The park is in a completely different direction." observed Billy D.

"Precisely," said Mr. Parsons. "What was he doing in the park? Or was he simply going through the park?"

He pointed toward a spot opposite the office and home.

"My bet is the library. But unfortunately, I haven't got the time to investigate it, since Richspear left before I could do it. And obviously I wasn't interested anymore afterward. I was kind of angry. Because of the whole Star Trek thing."

"But why would he put the book into such an insecure place as the library? Couldn't anybody take it from there?" Johnny asked.

"Actually," the old man said, "If you want to hide a sheep, you hide it in a flock."

"Good point." Sean replied.

"And nobody would even borrow that book since it was in an obsolete language of a small tribe. What use could you put it to? Makes sense." Billy D. said.

"Okay." Johnny concluded. "So that's where we start."

"All you kids have to do is find the book and bring it back to old Reynolds' house."

There was one tiny detail to settle, though.

"Does it still exist?" Sean asked. "The house I mean. Do you know where it is?"

Parsons exhaled heavily.

"Well... let's just say in my eagerness to find the book and bring the fourth season of Star Trek back to its existence, I might have done something rash..."

"Which is...?" Billy D. asked

Johnny had an epiphany.

"He bought it."

Sean frowned.

"How do you know?"

"He looked at the ceiling, then at the walls, then at the floor. Practically he glanced at the entire house while saying he did something rash."

Parsons nodded.

"Yes, indeed. Johnny's right, this is the house. This is the house that used to host the book. It's exactly at the center of the old tribe settlement."

"Guys, this seems almost too easy." Sean said.

"I don't think it's supposed to be hard," Parsons said. "The book has intelligence of its own. It wants to be found. Therefore, it should be easy. Especially since now, there are three of you looking for it. Three minds, three idea generators. Works great, doesn't it?"

"Actually," said Johnny, "We're just two idea generators. Billy D. doesn't count. Unless, you know, his extra chromosome kicks in."

"That only happens on a Solar Eclipse," Sean added.

They all laughed. It was nice to break the routine from time to time and get all the tension out. Of course, Billy D. wasn't an idiot, but the boys were teasing him because he was always the comedian. He used to say that if you had a good sense of humor, you were bound to make sacrifices. Therefore, he accepted jokes that were directed at him. Johnny told him once that if sacrificing for humor would have been a thing, then Billy D. would have been the next Jesus Christ. Billy D. in a nutshell, he used to say.

"But why didn't the book do this earlier? Helped someone find it?" Sean asked.

"My guess is it did," Parsons said, "but it wasn't as effective because it was doing it the wrong way."

"Meaning it was using only one person like you said?" Johnny asked.

"That and more. I think the intelligence within–because that's what this is about–like every other intelligence, can evolve."

"Except Billy D., of course." Sean added casually.

Parsons smiled, and the two other boys chuckled.

"...so, it learned to extrapolate solutions based on its previous experience. That's how we got together. The book sent you here to ask me about it. I refuse to believe your coming here was just a coincidence. This is all in its plan. All you have to do is stick to it–and the funny thing is it's not even hard, it's all you'll want to do."

"For the sake of the argument, it was hard for Frodo not to succumb to The Ring's will. What if this book is evil?" asked Billy D.

"Son, if this book would have been evil instead of changing your music, it would have made you into a dog and I'd get to call you Scooby. Trust me, it's not evil."

They had to admit he was right. It made no sense for the book to be evil.

Johnny stood up.

"Okay, then. I guess we'll go check the library tomorrow."

"Thanks for everything, sir. We'll keep you posted on our progress." Sean said.

"I certainly hope so. Because you must bring the book here. That means you'll keep me posted whatever the circumstance."

Parsons smiled.

"Just take care and don't get in trouble while you... acquire the book."

The old man lead them to the door. He opened it with a creak.

"You know, it's been nice talking to someone who knows for a change. Painful to just... hold it in that long."

"I can't even imagine how it is to be the only one knowing about this," Johnny said while stepping through the open door that Parsons was leaning to.

"Hopefully it feels better now!" Sean added, following Johnny outside.

"You know, I felt the same once," Billy D. said, tapping the old man on the shoulder. "But I simply couldn't hold it in." he paused briefly. "It was too hard, you know? Ultimately, I had to tell everybody..." he added, panting "... that Dumbledore died, when the sixth book came out."

He went out, leaving the old man in tears. Laughing in tears.

"God, you're one crazy kid!"

Parsons moved like he was going to exit as well, but stopped midway. Looked at the boys, they looked back at him.

"Good luck, kids! Have fun!"

Sean and Billy D. started walking, but stopped when Johnny turned around.

"Hey, Mr. Parsons? Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, what?"

"If you told us the secret of the PlayStation, doesn't that expose you to thieves now?"

Old Man Parsons smiled. A big, wonderful smile.

"Oh, my dear boy... Did you really think I'd ever fall for a fake Van Gogh?"

He winked and closed the door.

***

The boys went back to their homes that evening, but Johnny couldn't sleep. He kept thinking about the Old English Dictionary and its meaning. He asked Sean his opinion, but the boy said he hadn't had time to get a clue.

Johnny had a feeling Sean wasn't saying everything he knew. After the discussion with Old Man Parsons, Sean became silent. More silent than usual, because Sean was a very silent person. But he usually spoke to the two of them. Now things changed, and Johnny would have loved to find out what was happening in Sean's mind because he was sure that it might help them somehow.

Three minds think better than one, he remembered. But one mind keeps a secret better than three.

He made that one up. But it was clearly true. Maybe that was why Sean didn't want to say anything. He didn't want it leaked.

Who could it leak to? Me and Billy already know about everything, and everybody else wouldn't believe it, anyway.

And then suddenly he got it. He didn't know how and never bothered with the thought process works in these situations, but he just got it.

Sean also keeps secrets when he's not sure of something. Just as I do.

That was the perfect explanation. It was the one that fit the context very well. He most likely didn't want them chasing wild horses, so he kept his thoughts at bay until he had proof that could confirm his theories. That's Sean, all right.

Sean in a nutshell.

Thinking of it, Johnny calmed down. The situation seemed way better. Now that he knew Sean didn't keep a secret just to hide something from them, his brain could rest a little. Relax. Start feeling better.

Maybe even fall asleep... With a whimper...

***

A weird noise woke Johnny up. Something like a woodpecker hitting a tree trunk. Only it wasn't a woodpecker.

When Johnny opened his eyes, he saw the crow. The big, giant crow he saw the other day. Richspear's crow.

"Yeah, yeah! All right! I'll rise and shine and help your friend."

And then he turned on the other side and fell asleep again.

It didn't take long to wake up the second time. The crow kept hitting the window frame, and Johnny threw a pillow in his direction.

"Just go bother Billy D.! Why am I always the one that's in the middle of the action?"

He couldn't sleep anymore. There was no chance to do it while the crow kept making noise.

"Okay, okay, I'm up! Go wake the others!"

Surprisingly, the bird flew out. Johnny wondered if it understood him. There was no proof it didn't, yet very little that it did, as far as he could tell.

After his usual morning routine, he went for breakfast. It was Saturday, so Dad wouldn't leave for work today, and he'd get to go outside earlier than on school days. If by any chance he didn't get in trouble and get punished, which rarely happened.

"What are you up to today, Johnny?"

"I'm gonna go outside with Sean and Billy D., Dad. Hope that's okay with you."

Victor swallowed the piece of bread and butter he was chewing on and then nodded.

"Fine by me. Just be careful. And stay out of the streets, drive your bike on the sidewalk."

"Got it."

At least he'd get half of it done. Meaning, driving on the sidewalk. About the other one, he wasn't so sure. Especially since he had a plan that involved doing something stupid.

He finished his meal, kissed his mother goodbye, hugged his father, and then said he'll be back by lunch.

"Be sure you come back in time. We got ice cream for desert." said his father.

I'd love to go back in time, Johnny thought. That way I might revert Star Trek back to five seasons, knowing what I know now. Or help old man Parsons revert it...

He jumped on his bike and went straight out the gate. He turned his head, looking if someone would wave at him from the doorway, only to see the door closed. But he wasn't upset or anything. This way, they didn't have to see his fear.

He was afraid, no matter how much he tried to look like he was not, and with every inch he drove toward his destination, he was getting more and more nervous. They were about to commit a theft, which is a crime, which would get them in trouble if caught.

He was wondering how the others were feeling. He was confident Sean was afraid as well, seeing how he was the least likely of the trio to get into trouble at any moment. Billy D. used to joke, saying that if Sean would have attended a fight, a hockey game would break out. He was that prone to tranquility.

In contrast, Billy D. himself was the troublemaker-in-chief. He would definitely enjoy stealing a book from a library, although he wasn't into books in the technical sense. It was the adrenaline and the theft itself as an act that was fueling his hunger for action. It was a vicious circle, Johnny thought. Billy D. liked risky situations because they would give him a certain feeling, but they were giving him that feeling because he liked them. Simple as that.

Also, if Billy D. would attend a chess game, Mike Tyson could probably learn some new moves by watching the tape afterward.

They agreed to meet in front of the library. Nothing would draw less attention than kids in front of the library. Kids behind it would be a problem, kids in front are always ok. So, Johnny hit his brakes upon his arrival in the heavily circulated area. He gazed around, looking for Sean or Billy D. They were nowhere to be found for the moment.

He pulled over and waited as people were passing through, minding their weekend stuff, ignoring him totally. All was going according to plan.

There was one question, though.

Why the hell am I always the one arriving first? Can't these guys set their alarm clocks straight or something?

Besides, the crow was supposed to wake everybody up, wasn't it?

He leaned onto the bike's handle to get some rest while waiting, when suddenly he heard an awful noise behind him. At first, he thought some sort of car crash happened, but he had heard no horns or engine roars. He turned his head around, just like everybody else in the vicinity. And then he had a shock, unlike everybody else in the vicinity. Because they didn't know the guy who caused all the fuss. He did.

It was Billy D., and his bike had just crashed into three dumpsters on the sidewalk. There was no sign of him at the beginning, but one of the fallen dumpsters moved and Johnny could now hear proper words from within the mess. Although 'proper' might be a misleading term in this case.

"God, damn it! FUCK! FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!"

"Billy, what the hell?"

This was one of those rare moments when Johnny called him Billy instead of Billy D. That only happened whenever Billy D. got harmed, mainly because Johnny feared for Billy D.'s safety, and that had an Aunt-Polly effect on Johnny.

He invented that term after reading Tom Sawyer. Whenever Aunt Polly was mad at Tom, she was calling him Thomas. It was something similar with Johnny and Billy D., except that in Johnny's case, the emotion involved wasn't anger, but compassion. Yes, Billy D. was an asshole from time to time. And yes, he was annoying. But he was Billy D., the comedian, the guy that could make a funeral procession laugh to tears. He was a natural born, walking and talking motivational poster. In a worst-case scenario, he would set a poor example, but he would always set an example, therefore have a practical purpose. And he was Johnny's friend. He couldn't let anything happen to him. Whenever Billy D. was in harm's way, Johnny felt like his heart skipped a beat.

He stretched and reached for his friend.

"Here, let me help. What the hell happened?"

"Funny story, J. I was in a hurry." Billy D. said, trying to get up.

"No shit." Johnny said, looking around. "I can see that..."

"Speaking of. I found the weirdest shit you'll imagine."

That didn't surprise Johnny at all. Billy D. always had this ability to find the weirdest shit someone could imagine.

"And... that couldn't wait until you'd reach the meeting point carefully, abiding by road laws and being a good kid?"

Billy D. was huffing.

"Nope. I wanted to be here before Sean so that I can tell you everything."

"Okay, but how could you know I'd get here first? What if Sean would have gotten here before me?"

"You kidding me, dude? You always arrive first. That's how The Universe works!"

Johnny rolled his eyes, having a 'story-of-my-life' moment, and felt a sudden urge to facepalm. He didn't.

"Okay. Fine. Let's assume I accept that answer. Why can't Sean hear this?"

Billy D. breathed out heavily like he was going to say something important, and it was hard for him to do so.

"Because I think he knows already and doesn't want to tell us. Because he's not sure. You know how he is when he's not sure of something."

Johnny expected Sean to hide something. That didn't surprise him. Then again, Billy D. finding out about it was out of this world.

"How so?"

Billy D. started gesticulating.

"Remember the Old English dictionary? The one Old Man Parsons gave to Sean?'

"I do..."

"Well, I got one myself at home. It's dad's."

"Yeah, like I'd think it was yours..."

"Stop joking! Anyway, I searched for two words."

"Which ones?"

"The one with the R and the one with the S."

And then Billy D. whispered something in Johnny's ear. The traffic noise helped cover it, so nobody besides the two of them had any clue what Billy D. said.

It was just in time, too, because Sean was coming towards them, riding his bike at a slow pace.

He noticed they were talking. Wondered what they were talking about, but didn't ask a single question about that when he reached them. Unlike Billy D., Sean could perfectly control his curiosity. But controlled or not, the curiosity was always there.

"Hey, guys! Whoa... What's with the dumpsters?"

Johnny turned around and looked at him. He put his hand on his forehead to protect himself from the sun's rays.

"Yeah... Billy D. forgot to hit the brakes. I'm thinking we should just run before the cops come."

"You crazy, dude?" Billy D. asked, "We'll run after we steal the book, not before. That's not how stealing works."

"Ah, well... You would know!" Johnny said. "You've evaded the cops more times than I've had breakfast!"

Sean turned to him.

" Vice City doesn't count. You know that, right?" he asked.

"Billy D. likes to think it does. It makes him feel gangsta."

Billy D. did some funny gestures that meant to make him seem badass. Instead, he looked like an idiot.

"'Sup, son?"

"Yeah... don't do the rapper voice again. It feels weird on you." Sean said. "Son."

Johnny clapped once.

"So! You are familiar with the plan?"

"Pretty much." Sean said.

"We enter, we take the book, hid it in Sean's backpack, then we leave." Billy D. said. "One thing I don't get though..."

"What's that?" Johnny asked.

"Why Sean? I'm much more qualified to carry the book myself."

"Maybe, but you're a troublemaker and have the face of a troublemaker. One would expect you to hide something. They wouldn't expect Sean."

"Besides," Sean added, "I brought some undercover equipment."

"How can equipment be undercover?" asked Billy D.

"My bad, I'll rephrase that. It's equipment that'll help me go undercover. How does that sound, Mr. Literal Guy?"

"Aha! The culprit admits his poorly elaborated phrase! Didn't I tell you, Watson?"

"Me? No. I think you got a Watson right there..." Johnny said, pointing towards Sean.

"I admit no such thing, kind sir! Your accusations are preposterous, and I will not stand and tolerate such affirmations."

Johnny waved with both hands like he didn't fancy the situation.

"Don't do the British, man! Don't do the British!"

He was talking to Sean, who liked to mess up with Billy D.'s impersonation moments. It used to end badly almost all the time.

"So he can do the Sherlock, who evidently is British, but I can't do the Regular British, who is just as British as Sherlock?"

"Regular British creeps me out." Johnny said. "And Sean Watson's British creeps me out even more. What equipment do you have?"

Sean put on a pair of nerdy glasses that he took from his backpack. He then slowly tilted his head to the left while raising one eyebrow.

"Watson... Sean Watson..."

"Shaken, not stirred, Moneypenny." Billy D. added.

Johnny rolled his eyes.

"Oh, God, kill me now..."

***

They left their bikes outside and went through the front door. The place seemed deserted; the halls giving them a Hogwarts feel. They received some badge IDs with the word "Visitor" clearly visible to them in capital letters.

And then they were on their own.

"Okay... where do we start?"

Billy D. looked to the right.

Sean looked to the left.

Johnny looked in front.

"I say we go back and rethink this," Billy D. said

"That's not an option." Johnny said. "We do the job we came here for. Besides, you're running point on this one. You have plenty of experience, remember?"

"Well... how do I put this? GTA is nothing like real life."

Johnny ignored him.

"Sean, let's assume you're a librarian. And you get a very old book written in a very old language. You don't understand it. What do you do with it?"

"I put it in the dead languages section?'

"Precisely!"

***

The dead languages sector was on the second floor, in a corner that seemed rank altogether, with a smell of dampness and mold floating through the air.

"Damn, these languages sure smell like they're dead!" Billy D. said

Big shelves filled with books were all around them. This will prove to be one tough search.

"Sean, you take that one. I'll try my luck here and Billy can try the shelves there..." Johnny pointed out, "... when he finishes puking on the floor."

Apparently, Billy D. had some kind of allergy to mold.

"God, I hate this!"

"It's probably mutual. If only these books could speak..." Sean added.

They started looking through the books.

At the beginning, it was quiet, but Johnny felt it was all getting boring, so he added a little incentive to spice things up a bit.

"Hey, guys? Contest? Whoever finds the book first buys ice creams for everybody."

"I'm in!" Sean answered in a stuffy voice, caused by him being literally on the shelf, hiding involuntarily behind books like he was part of a military operation and he had to use camouflage to make himself invisible to others.

"Here, here." Billy D. said, looking through some dusty books he had previously spread on the floor.

Now the real fun begins! Johnny thought.

"Hey, guys?"

"What is it, Sean?" Billy D. asked.

Don't tell me he found it already... Johnny had hoped the fun would last more than a couple of seconds.

Sean's stuffy voice was back.

"One of these librarians certainly has a good sense of humor. I found a crime book here, called Body Language. It's about this guy that reads dead bodies and solves cases rapidly."

Johnny and Billy D. exchanged looks and laughed silently.

"Get it?" asked Sean. "Dead body... language?"

"I guess being a librarian can prove boring. Probably that's one of the few ways to have fun when arranging books."

A book from Sean's shelf suddenly fell off, hitting a distracted Billy D. in his head.

"My God, do you even pay attention, bro?"

"Who, me? Sorry, man!"

Sean was genuine. He didn't mean to hit Billy D. with the book.

"Billy, I swear to God you have some bad luck today. First the bike crash, then the puke, then this..."

"It was actually the crow event first, but I'm not proud of it."

"The crow? The black crow? What happened to it?"

Billy D. was massaging his head.

"As if there would be pink crows all around us. Yes, the black crow. And I was the unlucky one. He was very fine, thank you."

"So... you won't tell?" Johnny asked while browsing through the biggest book he'd ever seen.

"Don't want to talk about it."

He did not say more. He knew that no matter how much he insisted, Billy D. just wouldn't tell something he didn't want to. It was like fighting windmills, trying to get something out of Billy D. when he didn't want to. But it also meant it was no big deal, most likely just embarrassing to Billy D. himself, because it's the only thing in the world he would keep secret. The rest didn't matter to Billy D.

***

Sean reached for a black-covered book with no title on it whatsoever. He looked around, trying to see if the other two boys had a clear view of him. Neither did. They were too busy searching.

His attention moved back to the book. He felt its texture in his hands, the hard-leathery skin, the large amount of dust on the cover, and the particularly interesting smell that he regarded as familiar but couldn't exactly place anywhere.

But there was also something else, something that felt imaginary at the beginning. Sean first thought it was because of his slight spasmophilia, but he soon realized that it wasn't his hand that was trembling. It was the book.

He put his ear close to it, trying to understand what was happening. He heard a soft buzz, like a faraway wind blow, but he still couldn't explain it any more than he did before. So, he did the unthinkable.

He did something he would regret later. The only thing nobody should do when dealing with a magic book.

He opened The Covenant.

***

Johnny woke up for the second time that day. The first thing he saw was Billy D. unconscious under a pile of books. What the hell happened? His head was aching badly, like two dinosaurs were playing tennis inside it. He was wondering if Billy D. would feel the same once he woke up.

He crawled towards Billy D., amongst the piles of books around them, and pulled his hand.

"Billy! Billy, wake up!"

"Ugh... What?"

Billy's eyes opened, disorientated, his pupils running around like two black ping-pong balls during an earthquake.

"What the... what happened?"

"I don't know," Johnny said. "I remember books falling everywhere. Just after you asked Sean about the flashlight."

"That was no flashlight. He had no flashlight. He... He was furious."

Johnny put his hand on his forehead. He felt something wet.

"What? What's wrong, J?"

Blood. Blood was wrong. He had an open wound on his forehead. It didn't seem to hurt, though.

"A book must have done this during the fall. It's like they were all coming down on us. Niagara Books."

"Did you see any light? Before the book rain started?"

Johnny didn't remember.

"Um... I don't think so."

"That was the flashlight I was asking about. Only it wasn't a flashlight. He had a book in his hand. And he was angry. I remember looking straight into his eyes. They were yellow!"

"Yellow as in Pikachu?"

"Yellow, as in Anakin Skywalker, when evil took over. J, we have to find him!"

"Okay. I say we go check Parson's house. That's the book's destination, right? That's where it will go by itself."

Billy D. repeatedly tapped his clothes to lose all the dust that covered him, and then he replied.

"Only it has Sean as a vessel now. Let's hope it won't harm him."

"Or Old Man Parsons either, for that matter."

Just when they were about to leave, a voice shouted from downstairs:

"What in the name of everything holy happened here?"

And then another one answered.

"It was those kids upstairs, sir!"

"Darn kids, I'm calling the cops."

"Oooookay..." Billy D. whispered. "Let's get out through the backdoor..."

"There's no backdoor, Billy."

Billy D. smiled.

"There are always windows, you know?"

***

They escaped through a bathroom window on the first floor. Luckily, there was a big oak tree right next to it, so they just jumped in it and slid down to the ground. The sliding-down part had been rough, but they were both in one piece, and that's what mattered the most.

Johnny double-backed for the bikes while Billy D. stood guard, eyes all around to signal to his friend in case of trouble. There had been none.

Johnny came back with the two bikes after a couple of minutes.

"Sean took his."

"He followed the book's orders while still remembering to take his bike. Meaning it accessed whatever he has stored in that brain of his," Billy D. said while scratching his elbow.

"Now I wish you'd have been the one to find it." Johnny replied.

Billy D. didn't quite agree.

"Ha-ha. Hilarious."

They drove as fast as they could. This time, no laws, no rules, no being a good kid. Johnny knew time was against them on this one. Who knows what Sean could do if he bumps into Parsons?

And to think that Sean wasn't himself, therefore, he would be directly responsible for everything he would do, even though he would not have any control whatsoever. That was why they were running. That was what they needed to save their friend from.

Himself.

"It's the book, dude. He's not himself."

"What?" asked Johnny

"You said 'himself'. I assume you were referring to Sean. He's not himself, you know. That's the book acting for him."

He realized he had accidentally spoken instead of just thinking. Regardless, Billy D. was right. There was no point in thinking otherwise. It was just Johnny's mind, racing around in circles, probably because of his stress.

When they reached Parson's house, they found the door broken into two pieces, as if The Hulk kicked through it with anger. It wasn't hard to realize it had been Sean, but his newfound strength was a bit of a mystery to them.

"Do you think the book gave him the strength as well?" asked Billy D.

"It doesn't quite matter what I think," said Johnny while heavy breathing from the bike run. "We've got to go check on Parsons."

They rushed inside, a gesture Johnny would regard as reckless afterward, but luckily it turned out they weren't in real danger.

"You kids want some tea?" asked Parsons.

They didn't get it at first. Johnny couldn't speak, and Billy D. wouldn't. He usually waited for Johnny to speak first in this kind of situation, out of fear of not saying anything wrong, which was usually an involuntary habit, though well-founded.

"He just sits there, with that book in his lap, mumbling something." Said Parsons, pointing toward the middle of the living room. "My guess? It's a ritual. The book going back to its tribe."

Johnny still couldn't find any words. He turned around, pointing at the door, then looked inquiringly at Parsons, while trying to articulate some words. Billy shrugged.

"Oh, yeah... I'll have to get someone to fix the door. No big deal, it wasn't high quality, anyway."

Billy opened his mouth.

"Yeah, I don't want tea, but some scotch would work wonders right now."

Parsons laughed.

"Ha-ha! Scotch is not an option, young man. I got tea. Earl Grey. Hot. Knock yourself out."

Old Man Parsons put the tray on the table and then sat down on the sofa.

"Son, what's wrong with your head?"

Johnny remembered the wound. He forgot about it since leaving the library, probably because it didn't hurt at all.

"It's nothing, really. Doesn't hurt. Just bled a lot."

"Wait here. I'll bring something to clean it up."

He went back and returned after about one minute with a pot of warm water from the sink, a big handkerchief, and a bottle of scotch.

Billy D. raised his hand with the index finger pointing toward the ceiling, then slowly descended as he was trying to say something.

"Not a chance, young man. Unfortunately, I lack the medicinal alcohol needed to clean properly your friend's wound and have no disinfectant whatsoever around the house besides several bottles of this thing. Unfortunately, it might make him dizzy, since alcohol applied on a head wound can get you drunk. But no, you still don't get to drink any."

Johnny was hesitant.

"Do I have to?"

"No other way son, we have to clean up the wound. Some antibiotics would be nice, but sadly, I can't find the cream."

"And the dizziness always happens? Can't we dilute the alcohol in water or something?"

"Nope. I mean, we could, but it's useless if we do."

Johnny stopped moving and let Parsons do his job. After several moments that seemed more like infinity, the boy had a bandage on his head and felt a little dizzy.

"Don't worry, it'll be better soon."

Meanwhile, Billy D. found Sean fascinating.

"Does anybody know why he's facing the TV?"

"I think he's facing east, actually." Parsons said. "The TV just happened to be there."

"He actually looks peaceful." Billy D. added. "The most peaceful I've seen Sean in front of the TV."

"Oh God," Johnny reminisced, "I still remember that Super Bowl a couple of years ago."

"That was worse than when he found out about the My Own Worst Enemy cancelation."

Parsons was curious. He didn't see Sean as the violent type at all.

"What did he do? At the Super Bowl?"

"He growled and actually clenched his left fist," Johnny said, while tilting his head in confirmation.

"He was a beast, I tell ya!" Billy D. added dramatically.

Parsons smiled and tried to extrapolate:

"So, when the show got canceled..."

"He just growled..." Johnny said. "He's a growler, this one."

"I don't think that word is even legal." Billy D. said. "And if it is, it shouldn't be. It definitely shouldn't."

Johnny scratched his head while exhibiting a meditative expression.

"Better than Vanishment."

He sipped from his cup. The tea was hot and tasty. He felt refreshed, energetic, and happy. He felt safe. His senses were telling him this was okay, even though a black book possessed Sean, which in theory seemed everything but okay. But then again, in theory, this kind of thing never happens. And for them, it did.

Sean suddenly opened the book, a strong shining light emerging from its pages. The book made a sound, not a noise, but a soft tune, something Johnny would call later 'Whispered music', because it wasn't loud at all and it was in such a low tone you could have fallen asleep by listening to it. His definition was evidently a figure of speech, because it was just a tune, and you can't usually whisper tunes. Words, maybe, but not tunes.

Suddenly, the book caught fire. Sean was still keeping it in his hands, and it didn't look like he was going to put it down.

"Should we do something? How come he's not hurt?" Billy D. asked.

"Wait!" Parsons said before Johnny had time to open his mouth. "Wait. I think we must wait."

They waited. They just waited and looked at it, and soon the book vanished under the flames. And the flames themselves perished in Sean's hands, without burning his skin at all.

He opened his eyes.

"I found it! Guys, I found the b..." He halted and looked around. "Wait... where am I?"

Billy D. didn't give him an answer. Instead, he brought up another question:

"Are you okay?"

"What do you remember?" Johnny asked.

"Aaa...", he had a headache. "The cheat codes from Duke Nukem 3D come to mind."

"No, dude. I meant before you blacked out."

Sean was still trying to get out of it and probably felt dizzier than Johnny even though he had no alcohol inside his system.

"I... I was searching through the books... And I found this black book. Johnny, I think this was it! The covers were... all leather. And it seemed awfully old. And then..."

He hesitated.

"And then what?" Billy D. asked.

He could hardly find his words.

"And then what?" Johnny asked almost at the same time.

Sean was still hesitating.

"God damn it, son, I have a heart condition. And then WHAT?" Parsons asked.

Sean finally said it.

"It... was vibrating. So... I opened it, but there was this light coming towards me. It blinded me for a second, a-and that's the last thing I remember..."

"The light..." Billy D. said to himself.

"So... what happened? Where's the book?"

"How should I put this?" Johnny asked. "Sean, you Hulked out, beat the crap out of us, destroyed half the Library, came here to Mr. Parsons' riding your bike, and then prayed in front of the TV. All of this while holding a book. Which committed self-destruction. Like seppuku, but for books."

"It also sounds way cooler than how it happened," replied Billy D.

"Technically, it ascended to a higher plane of existence," Parsons added. "But your version is just as well, from a physical point of view."

Sean didn't believe him at first.

"Yeah, right! Now tell me what really happened."

"I'll go on a limb here," said Old Man Parsons while grimacing because of his painful back, "and say the book was scanning for its people."

Billy D. made an impression in a sharp voice.

"Let me sing you the song of my people!"

It was unclear what or who he was imitating. But since it was Billy D., nobody bothered to ask questions.

"So why did it self-destruct?" Johnny asked.

"Wait. Whaaat? You guys are being serious? He was for real? It could self-destruct? How?"

"Spontaneous combustion." Billy D. said.

Sean inspected his hands but could find no burn marks and felt no pain.

"And why would scanning for people make it self-destruct, ascend, whatever?" he asked.

"Because it couldn't find any. The last of them is long dead. Back in Reynolds' days, there was only one left, and he didn't have any children." Parsons answered.

The pieces were all coming together like a complicated, extremely convoluted puzzle that suddenly makes sense. But there were still a few things to clear up.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Johnny said. "The book had a defense mechanism? Based on what?"

"Something I learned about your friend Richspear back in the day. He read this while he was alive. That was the moment he realized the book's true potential and the dangers it would pose if fallen into the wrong hands. You see, if there's one last person who understands the language, it's him."

If light bulbs would pop up above people's heads whenever anybody got an idea, this would have been an amusing moment since it seemed like they all realized at once that there was another factor in this equation.

There was still Richspear.

"Should we..." Johnny enquired

"Yeah, I think so." Billy said

"Do you think he's still around?" Sean asked.

"He's definitely still around." Parsons answered. "The funny thing about closure is that after being unable for so much time to express anything, which some people would regard only as possible in theory, you might need some help in realizing you can do it now."

Sure! It made perfect sense for Johnny. If you don't brake, you'd never know you can. And since Richspear's went around with broken brakes until now, he won't try to brake by himself, he'll have to be told to. They had to refresh his memory by telling him everything. Also, this was a cool parallel to Billy D.'s mishap at the Library.

"Thanks, Mr. Parsons," Johnny said. "We'll go check up with Richspear. I'm hoping he'll have nice things to say."

Parsons yawned.

"Remember our deal, kids: Whatever you know, I know."

"Won't forget." Sean said.

Billy D. put his cap on and went outside, with the other two boys following.

Old Man Parsons went to close the door, but inevitably remembered he had no door anymore. He, therefore, leaned to the doorjamb, gazing in the boys' direction, who were by now too far to be seen.

***

By the time they reached the park, the Sun was well on its way to the Eastern Hemisphere, which meant sunset was almost past for Baltimore.

Johnny knew it was late, but it was Saturday, and he texted his parents from Billy D.'s phone just in case, so they don't get alarmed. He told them they were all at Billy's place. Sean did the same with his parents, so now they had covered all their bases.

Of course, Billy D. didn't matter. His parents were out of town, and even if they were in, they were used to Billy staying out late. He was often staying at Sean's, burning time with video games.

But this wasn't a video game. It sounded like one, but it wasn't. Reading the clues, the search for the book, all the steps they went through until finally finding a solution to the problem, albeit accidental, this was all real. And a bit of fun, to be honest.

But Johnny felt it had been all too easy. Meaning, right, they found the book, and it ultimately destroyed it, although indirectly, through a self-destructive act on its behalf. Right? But why so fast? Why so... easy? Three kids could do this in less than a day and that book kept trying by itself for almost 200 years. It didn't exactly make sense, because the book was supposed to be powerful, much more powerful than a fifth grader.

And there was also the other clue, the first clue. The title of the song that Johnny couldn't make any sense of. "Find me where you'll never look."

Where do I never look? That was a question he hadn't been able to answer so far, at least not in a way relevant to the context. Even more, it evolved quickly into "Where do we never look?", which made it even harder to understand. It broadened everything, from the target group to the explanations. And it was no way he could be sure which of the explanations was the correct one. If he would even find the correct one among all the existent.

The park was empty. It was a Saturday night, people usually preferred to stay home and watch TV. Especially since it was game night, so if they weren't home, they were in the stadium.

They found Richspear on the same bench where they left him. Silent. Gazing into infinity. With a black crow on his right shoulder.

It was at this moment that it occurred to Johnny they might be the only ones that could see him. He was immaterial, so technically people could sit through him on the bench and not even realize. He wondered how Richspear would feel if someone were to sit in exactly his spot while he was there.

All three bikes braked at once, stopping three feet away from the bench. Johnny climbed down first and then unfolded the bike leg. The other two kids followed him, with Billy D. laying his bike down because his bike leg broke during the Library Mishap.

"Richspear", Johnny said.

"Reynolds", Richspear said.

"Johnny," Sean said, surprised, trying to correct Richspear.

"Bond. James Bond." Billy D. said, apparently for no reason, while cracking a sunflower seed and spitting the peel away.

"Give me some, please." Sean said and held out his hand. Billy D. gave him a fistful of seeds.

"How do you feel?" Johnny asked Richspear, assuming 'Reynolds' became some sort of verbal tic Richspear had and there was nothing he should be concerned about.

Surprisingly, he was right.

"I have feeling issues. I thought I already cleared that up with you."

"Correction: You used to have," Sean said.

"Can you feel it?" Johnny asked. "The change?"

Richspear seemed surprised. That's a good thing, Johnny thought.

"What change? Did you... Did you do it?"

"Certainly did, sir!" Billy D. said, in a southern accent. "And it was all Billy The Kid and his gang, The Regulators!"

"I'm pretty sure Billy The Kid would have stolen the book and sold it for money." Sean said.

"Or for plenty of money," Johnny added.

"Your opinion is irrelevant." Billy D. concluded, in the same southern accent.

"Did you do it?" Richspear asked. "How did you find Reynolds?"

"It was all about a book." Johnny said. "You remember it?"

"You bought it from Reynolds. It was in a strange language. One that only you would understand." Sean added.

"The book!" Richspear opened his eyes wide in realization. "Yes, it was about the book! That was it!"

"Old Man Parsons helped us," Johnny said.

"Remember him?" Sean asked. "He tried to help you forty years ago, but couldn't do it in time."

"You mean Stewie? Yes, I remember him. He was sorry for that thing he was looking at. He said it was like a radio, but with images."

"How do you know what a radio is?" Johnny asked. "Queen Victoria didn't have any, did she?"

"The boy before Stewie. Buddy was his name, Buddy Burbage. He used to love the radio. And he used to play Base Ball. He was nice to me as well. I miss him..."

"It's fascinating how much you can actually say now. The effect of the curse is going away!" Johnny said. "Speaking of that, will we have the music back?"

"Now that it's lifted, the curse will reverse whatever it did," Richspear replied. "Sadly, that only works for the latest. It will never repair the past, it will only repair the present."

"Because the present is building on the past," Sean said, "and changing the past would mean altering the present, therefore messing up the whole time-space continuum."

Richspear looked at him conspicuously.

"I am afraid I do not fully comprehend what you mean by that, young man, but I have a feeling that you might be right."

"He means the past cannot change because of the wibbly-wobbly and timey-wimey nature of time." Billy D. said.

"It is the weirdest of things this one. I do not know those words, yet I fully understood what you were saying. You can't change something that was a long time ago because it would have damaging repercussions on everything that is now."

"That's one way of putting it..." Billy D. said.

"By the way, I know what the clue meant." Johnny said.

"You know?" Sean asked.

Richspear smiled.

"I was certain you'd read between the lines at some point."

"The target were kids, so where do kids never look?" Johnny asked.

"Indeed," said Richspear. "Where?"

Sean and Billy D. were curious about Johnny's theory.

"Kids are young. We only think about playing, having fun, singing, basically enjoying life unlike no adult ever does."

"Yes, you do." Richspear said.

"We never look towards death. We never think of it."

Richspear nodded.

"And he's dead," Sean said. "We should have looked at the dead..."

"Yes..." Johnny replied. "But it was very ambiguous. I only realized it by pure chance."

"I know," Richspear said. "That's why I sent the bird in the end."

"So..." Johnny said, "What's next?"

"Next?" Richspear asked. "You mean what follows?".

"Yes." Johnny said. "The book is no more. You should be free now."

"There's only one question," Billy D. said. "Why don't you die?"

"Perhaps there's something more... But I can't understand what."

"Hey, can I touch you?" Johnny asked.

"You can certainly try."

"Wanna see if he's still spectral?" Sean asked.

"It's worth a try..." Johnny answered.

He reached out to Richspear. He was expecting to feel the texture of the man's coat with his fingertips, mainly because that's how his brain regularly processed these kinds of events since it was used to surface contact. But not today. Johnny's hand went through him. The boy felt a chilly breeze and pulled his hand back.

"Okay... That didn't work."

"What now?" Billy D. wondered.

"Check the music. Does the music work okay?" Sean asked.

Instinctively, Johnny went for his pocket but realized he had left home his player.

"Don't bother anymore, dude." Billy D. said, "I just checked the group. Everything's back as it was. No more findings where you'll never look for them anymore."

He waved his phone at Sean.

"You sure?" Sean asked.

"As sure as can be, they're listening to Tech N9ne out there."

"That's a relief," Johnny said. "But what's with him, then?"

He pointed towards Richspear, who shrugged.

"Do you think it has something to do with what you told me earlier?" Johnny asked.

"Possibly." Billy D. said.

"What did he tell you?" asked Richspear.

"You know, I would LOVE to hear that as well!" Sean said, "And since when do you two lovebirds talk to each other about things that involve all three of us?"

"Approximately since you stopped talking to us after you got that dictionary," Billy D. said.

"Guys, guys...! Stop fighting!"

Johnny could feel the tension in the air. It was not healthy for their relationship as a group to argue about this kind of thing.

"Sean, we simply wanted to understand it, just like you did. It's your style to keep it covered until you know exactly what it is, but it's our style to dissect it until... well... we know exactly what it is."

"If you dissect it," Sean said, "it's safe to assume you will tear it to pieces, which might get you into trouble later."

"Look, man, we understand the analogy," Billy D. said, "but this is not the case. How could an Old English Dictionary turn against us?"

"Not the Dictionary. What it translated. I needed to know it was safe before I'd put you on a wrong or dangerous lead. That's why Old Man Parsons gave it to me. I'm the most balanced around here." Sean said.

"Dude, it was a book that changed some music and a spectral guy that helped it. Or got helped by it. Whatever. Anyway, it didn't look like we were in danger at any..."

"Shut up, Billy," Johnny said. "Sean, it's okay. I agree you're the most balanced with calculations and best evaluating a situation, but each of us knows ourselves best, so we have a right to decide about ourselves. I know how they say that sometimes if you don't know about something, it can't harm you, but truth be told, that's never entirely accurate. If you don't know when the rain comes, you won't know when to get an umbrella."

"Luckily, you can look at the sky for yourself and check it out."

"Smartest thing Billy said in the last few hours." Johnny concluded.

"Bottom line?" Billy asked.

"Bottom line," Sean said, "is that I know why he can't pass..."

He couldn't finish his words, because something like an explosion just happened close to them. Johnny couldn't describe it in some other way at first, because it was so sudden, and that was the impression it created, like someone threw a grenade very near. But it evolved differently.

A blinding light emerged from nothingness, like a flash of lightning, even though there was no storm. It slowly transformed into a rectangular shape, like a tall doorway made entirely of light, while making a hell of a noise. Somehow it was pushing things away from it, generating a powerful wind - effectively making the boys lose their balance - at the same time humming a roar. Or rather roaring a hum, because the noise was as high as a roar, but it had the construction of a hum that was artificially pushed very high. And although what was happening could hardly be called natural, neither Johnny nor Billy D. or Sean could call it artificial. Artificial means made by humans, and this occurrence was anything but manmade.

They had to yell at each other to hear themselves over the deafening noise.

"What in the name of Boris Kuester von Jurgens-Ratenicz is this?" Billy D. asked.

"Something definitely less complex than his name." Sean said.

"I think this is it!" Johnny said.

"It most definitely is, my friend." Richspear added, and it was at this point that the boys noticed he was the only one who could stand without having balance problems. Somehow, the strong air currents didn't affect him. "I think I have to go inside."

"Wha... Into the light?" Billy D. asked.

"I realize the irony," Richspear answered just as loudly, "but it seems like the Universe is, in some parts, the way we'd expect. Either that or it adapts so that we follow its directions willfully."

"If that's the case, when I go out, I want a Stargate!" Billy D. said.

Richspear smiled.

"I have no clue what that is, my friend, but I hope you'll get your wish. You know, I like your puns, even though some of them use words beyond my comprehension. Of puns, it's been said that those who most dislike them are those who are least able to utter them. I always trusted people who made puns."

Richspear moved one step closer to the light. He was approximately four feet away from it. Billy and Sean got closer to him, while Johnny preferred to stay back and see this from a distance. He had a weird survival instinct that told him he shouldn't get that close to "the light" until he reaches the proper age. What if that thing had a suction area around it from where it instantly pulled everything? Like an individual gravitational field or something.

Of course, he could have told that to the guys, but he was pretty sure Sean wasn't gonna pull back from it. This, and the fact he thought the two of them were better suited together, since it could provide a way for them to reconcile after their previous argument. Being together in an extreme situation could and almost always would lead to collaboration between parties.

Richspear got even closer. Three feet away. Billy D. and Sean followed, with the second one signaling Johnny to come closer.

Johnny came closer.

Richspear was now two feet away from the light, but something was wrong. He started turning red. His skin began smoking, and he suddenly pulled back, hitting Billy D. and Sean by accident and howling in pain.

Wait! Did he hit them? Pain?

"Richspear, you're palpable!" Johnny said.

Richspear just bluntly fell over the two boys, mostly because he was so shocked he was material again that he lost his balance.

"No shit, Sherlock!" Billy D. yelled from under him. "Help me get him out of here."

Johnny and Billy D., who were physically stronger than Sean, pulled the man back away from the light. He regained control of his body and now it seemed like his skin complexion stopped getting worse.

Sean crouched near him. He yelled so that Richspear could clearly hear him over the noise from the portal.

"I have good news: you're going to die!"

Many people wouldn't consider that to be good news, but for Richspear it certainly was.

"I have bad news: I'm going to haunt you for my entire death if I die with him!" Billy D. said.

Billy D. was obviously one of the many people that didn't consider it to be good news.

"Do you ever wonder what happens at the end of one's death?" Johnny asked, being in part ironic towards Billy D., but wondering if it wasn't, by any chance, a legit question.

"You're feeling pain and you're physical again." Sean said. "This is part of the closure you're supposed to get."

"Part of it?"

"The book got closure, completely. You got pulled with it, but you'll go on your way as soon as you get yours, too."

"What do you mean?" Richspear asked. "What is there to get now? I'm free of The Covenant's influence."

"Yes, but the portal doesn't let you through. That's because there's one last thing to figure out."

"And what's that?"

"Tell me, Richspear," Johnny said. "Neemo isn't exactly a big crow, is it?"

Sean turned to Johnny in an instant.

"You knew?"

"Found out via Billy D." Johnny replied.

"It's obvious it's not a crow." Richspear said.

"It's a Raven." Johnny said.

"Yes, it is a raven." Sean concluded. "You see, we had this wrong the whole time."

"We thought you were Hermann Melville." Billy D. said. "Thought you copied Moby Dick from Reynolds' Mocha Dick."

"Why would you think that?" Richspear asked. "Who's Melville? Do I know him?"

"He's a writer, lived roughly in the same period you did. I find it hard to believe you haven't bumped into at least his name during your lifetime, but not impossible at all." Johnny said.

"How do you know when I lived?"

"Queen Victoria. And we've also investigated you." Sean said. "And I know who you are."

"So it has been told about me? My death? In the newspaper?"

"Tell me," Sean said, "have you ever studied Old English?"

Richspear stared down for a moment, like trying to recap a chain of events or to find a specific memory lost through his thoughts.

"Not in particular." He said. "But I was studying it when I bumped into the book. What does it have to do with anything?"

"What's the word for rich in Old English?" Sean asked.

"Rich." Richspear said.

Johnny and Billy D. exchanged looks and smiled.

"See, that's exactly it!" said Sean. "It's 'ead'"

"Yes, that's what I said." Richspear said. "Rich. So, what's the problem?"

Sean turned back and looked at the other two boys again. He then smiled and reversed back to Richspear and continued.

"You're using the exact word for both English and Old English."

"What?"

"That's how we're hearing it." Johnny said. "And that's why we realized so late who you actually are."

"The raven should have been a dead giveaway, but I was stupid." Sean said.

"Dead giveaway for what, my friend?" asked Richspear.

"Take the words 'rich' and 'spear' and put them together. Close to each other." Sean said to Richspear. "That's what we've been hearing every time when you say your first name. That's how we heard it from the beginning."

"So... whenever I say it, you're actually hearing Richspear instead of Richspear?"

Billy D. chuckled.

"Yes, we do. It sounds funny when you try to use both translations in the same sentence. We hear the same thing twice."

Richspear opened his mouth to say something, his right index finger pointed upwards. Then he suddenly changed his mind and said something else.

"Yes, that would make sense," he admitted. "Sorry, but why does it happen? Why with Old English?"

"Maybe those are leftovers from your last memories, or maybe it represents the first form the names ever had," Sean said. "Also, I think you can understand every language now that you're dead. It's the reason you also answer to Richspear, thinking it's your actual name."

"Or maybe The Covenant has a weird sense of humor and wanted to play with us," Billy D. added. "It would be in its modus operandi to do just that."

"You both have valid points." Johnny said. "But it wasn't necessarily punishment. Au contraire. Think of it. Richspear somehow carried this burden with him since he touched that book. The two of them conjoined all the time. Maybe this is actually a way for the book to thank him for paying his debt."

"Thank me? In what way?" Richspear added.

"It's pretty clear." Sean said. "It gives you the closure you need."

"How so?" Richspear asked.

"Richspear, you're a brilliant writer. You are not only my favorite writer, but you inspired the greatest writer of our time to become what he is right now."

"M-Me?" Richspear stuttered.

"I said Richspear, didn't I?"

Richspear couldn't believe what he was hearing. He obviously didn't know what they knew, so he wasn't sure he should trust them or not. Maybe they were just saying this to make him feel better before he finally died.

"I don't know what to say... Why do you think this? I mean, I wasn't that much of a success. Nobody really cared what I did. I had some trouble and most of the people considered me a drunk loser, so this... this is unexpected. How could I have inspired the greatest writer of your time? And how could I be one of the greatest writers of all time, when I was definitely subpar during my lifetime?"

"You see," Billy D. said, "in the modern world we call this the Michael Jackson Effect. Or the Tupac Shakur Revival Syndrome."

"The Galileo Galilei Conspiracy." Johnny added.

"The Vincent Van Gogh Axiome." Sean said as well.

"And ultimately..." Johnny said.

"The you". Sean concluded.

"The... who?" Richspear asked.

Billy D. started humming a song:

"Whooooooo are you? Who-who? Who-who? Whooooooo are you? Who-who? Who-who? I really wanna knoooooow!!!"

Sean replied to Richspear.

"The you. You're the most famous person in human history who became well known and respected after he died. You're the classic example." He said.

"You're the man!" Billy D. exclaimed.

Johnny loved dramatic conclusions, and through all the noise from the portal, he told Richspear what he had to hear:

"You're Edgar Allan Poe..."

***

The shock of finding out he meant something to the world was both a pain and a relief at the same time. Ironically, Edgar thought it was the best closure one person in his position could receive. He had never felt so much pain for a long time. He had never felt so much pleasure for an equally long time. It was about God damn time he felt something! And it felt so great to be alive. It was like he was making up for all those years of feelingless existence. He was back! But he felt like he wouldn't be staying too much, and he had so many questions...

"I need to know something. Out of curiosity."

"What is that?" Sean asked.

"I know who Galileo was. I used to read a lot about him. He lived before me. I think I know vaguely the phenomena you describe, I mean, I really can think of people from before my time that have got the respect they deserve sadly way after their deaths, like, for instance, the Greek painter Domenikos Theotokopoulos, whom I admired my whole life. So there is more than one precedent. But who are the rest you mentioned?"

"Van Gogh was a Dutch painter, one of the greatest, just like Theotokopoulos was for the Greeks..." Johnny said.

"Who's this Theoto-mutant-ninja-turtles guy?" Billy D. asked, visibly confused.

"El Greco." Sean said.

"... The other two were musicians. Michael Jackson died recently. It was a pretty big deal on the entire globe." Johnny added.

"Everybody hated him while he was alive. Now everybody loves him." Billy D. added. "Including Sean."

"Hey! I used to like him before he was cool!" he countered.

"I can corroborate that." Billy replied. "I think he was still warm when you began downloading his albums, man!"

He winked and then took an elbow to his ribs from Sean. Twisted in pain, but half the face was still laughing at his friend.

Then he spoke, obviously with some effort.

"You can't take a joke, dude. You can't take a joke."

Johnny ignored them and continued.

"There's also one more clue: The Raven. You remember that poem you wrote...?"

Edgar looked at Johnny:

"The Raven!"

"Exactly!" Johnny said. "And this spectral one you have now, he's a representation of it somehow."

"How do you figure?" asked Billy D.

"His name. Edgar said Neemo. I misinterpreted. I thought it spelled N-e-e-m-o, when instead it spells N-e-m-o. It's a Latin name, it was the name of Captain Nemo of the submarine Nautilus in 'Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea' by Jules Verne, which could be in this case a reference to the Mocha Dick text Edgar stole, which is related to sea as well. Might be just a coincidence. But there's also another thing, way more relevant. If you think of it, Nemo is a short form of Nevermore!"

"That's why I said he's been with me since the beginning." Said Edgar. "This Raven is My Raven. It's a spectral representation of my inspiration. In ancient times, people used to say creativity comes from this daemon in your head, and that was why only certain people could create art. They had the daemon." He paused. "It didn't have a negative connotation, you see. This entity would give you inspiration, a positive thing. It was also an excuse for when you got writer's block or other similar creativity hiatus. The daemon needed to rest. Well, Nemo is my daemon... My entity... And I think we have to rest now."

Edgar looked towards the portal. It was still active. It still called him, whispered for him through all the falling leaves and the wind blasting his hair backward. But suddenly he was afraid. He feared the pain. The death. He feared it would hurt.

"You need to go, Edgar." Sean said. "You really need to go this time, you know? But don't worry. This is the best day to die, my friend!"

"True!" Billy D. added. He was now sitting on the bench, getting his legs stretched. "They announced yesterday they're going to cancel 24, so there's really no reason to live right now."

Edgar learned to ignore him. He failed to understand most of the words the child said, anyway. Children were simpler back in his days. This one was not.

"I can't take the pain. I just can't. That's too much!"

"Are you afraid of the pain," Sean said, "Or are you afraid of what's going to happen to you once you're past the threshold?"

Edgar looked at him and knew he was right.

"There will be no pain this time, Edgar," Johnny added.

They were both right. But he was still afraid.

"So... there's no way I can... you know... stay?"

"I doubt you could assimilate so easily in this society." Johnny said. "Besides, you fulfilled your mission, right? The greatest mission someone could ever have."

"Helping The Covenant?" Edgar asked.

"Screw the book." Sean said. "I am talking about you. About the fact that you wrote all that, you became the greatest ever at what you do! And besides, life is not that relevant."

"What did you once said?" Johnny asked. "All that we see..."

"... or seem..." Sean added.

"...is but a dream within a dream." Edgar concluded.

"Hey, how come you left me out of the quote?" Billy D. asked.

Edgar was facing the portal, its light pouring down on his face like a phosphorescent liquid. He took a deep breath... and then he realized it was what he must do. It was his ultimate test. A leap of faith. Faith not in any Gods, not in any Books, but in himself.

"Life Is a Dream. Life is an adventure. Maybe Death is another adventure as well..."

"And maybe it's no longer a dream..." Johnny said.

"... or maybe it's a better one." Sean said.

"It has to be better no matter what, right?" Edgar asked. "How can it be worse? I don't think there is anything worse than life."

"And still it has its beauty." Sean exhaled. "Although... I'm just fourteen. What do I know?"

"You are right regardless. It has its beauty. Most definitely." Edgar said.

He went closer to the portal.

Two feet. It was the same distance he was from the portal when it burned him. But now... there was no pain.

He got even closer. One foot. Still no pain.

It felt good. Fulfilling.

"See?" Sean said. "It's better now. It no longer hurts, does it?"

"Can I ask you something?" Edgar wondered, his back towards the boys.

"Of course." Sean replied.

"The man who I inspired, one of the greatest writers ever... What kind of books does he write? About what?"

"He writes horror books." Johnny said. "I'm pretty sure you would like most of them. You surely inspired some."

"That feels nice. Knowing that feels nice... I hope he is a good man. And that he will write further."

Edgar turned around as he reached the event horizon. He looked at Sean and smiled. He opened his arms as wide as he could.

Billy D. jumped from the bench and came near Johnny and Sean. He pointed to Edgar.

"Edgar, his arms wide!" Billy D. paraphrased a famous Star Trek line.

"Allan, his back to the portal." Johnny continued.

"Poe, his dream fulfilled!" Sean concluded.

The Raven landed on Edgar's shoulder. It seemed to know what was going on.

"Friends, I leave you now. Thank you! Thank you for giving me what I never had my entire life! Thank you... for everything!"

He smiled again. From within the bottom of his heart.

Johnny felt like saying something, and the first thing that came to mind was both surprising and surprisingly fitted for the moment:

"And The Raven, never flitting, / Still is sitting, still is sitting, / On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door..."

Sean took over.

"... And his eyes have all the seeming / Of a demon's that is dreaming, / And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor..."

Surprisingly, Billy D. was in on it, too.

"And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor..."

Edgar smiled the largest smile and remembered all the times he used to recite that poem during his lifetime, and then he said these words for one last time in his existence:

"Shall be lifted... Nevermore!"

And he fell on his back through the portal of light, dissolving into it like in lava.
And then the Portal closed.

There was no sound anymore for a brief five seconds, after which nature seemed to come back to life. Birds were chirping again in the park, and a soft wind was caressing the trees.

This was it. The music was back. Edgar had closure. And they lived through the most fascinating experience a fourteen-year-old kid could have. Hell, they had the most interesting experience any regular person could ever have. This had been quite the adventure!

But it wasn't over just yet.

Billy D. suddenly ran to the exact spot the portal had been. He looked to the left, to the right, in all directions, as though he were searching for something. He looked desperately for something.

Sean rose his left eyebrow and Johnny frowned, then spoke.

"Billy, what's wrong? What happened?"

Billy D. was pale now and could hardly find his words. He pointed to the spot the portal had been and said the most tragic words someone could say at that moment:

"Dude, that's where I parked my bike!"

They noticed he was slowly but steadily panicking.

"It's gone!"

He was in a state of extreme shock. Didn't expect to hear him say this though:

"I think Edgar Allan Poe just stole my bike!"

THE END