Chapter Text
Starks Pond in person was always smaller than the image ingrained in Kyle’s brain from his childhood.
In his memories its glossy surface stretched far out into the horizon, extending past the edge of the trees. Its waters were treacherous, its mysteries aplenty. When he was really little and incapable of conceptualizing the vastness of the world, he imagined that this was what the pilgrims had sailed to make it to the Americas. He could perfectly picture a giant wooden boat coursing through its waves, weathering every storm Starks threw at them.
Now he could recognize that it was barely the size of the High School’s Senior Parking Lot.
It was a puddle, a drop in a bucket of rainwater and waste in the middle of town. More an inconvenience than a feature.
This was where Clyde’s “Remembrance Ceremony” was hosted.
He shivered as a breeze blew in, his black slacks an inch too short on him, revealing his pale ankles to the world in a manner that would have been sinful in a 17th century court, but right now just read as Kyle couldn’t be assed to update his funereal attire from Middle School.
It had been a whole debate in his household, his mother appalled that Kyle would even think to attend such a formal event in any state of disarray. Kyle had argued that a half-hour trip to the Banana Republic in the nearest mall would be even more disrespectful to Clyde’s memory.
“He’s dead Ma,” He had said without any feeling, “It’s not like he’ll care what I wear.”
As expected, the majority of his peers were in similarly dressed down attire, and even those that had worn their nice black outfits had them covered by their Winter gear as another cold front had descended upon South Park two days ago, blanketing the town in ice yet again.
Kyle was practically marching in place, a constant bounce in his knees in order to keep his muscles active and drum up his internal body temperature to beat the chill that was settling in his body, each whistle of wind sending another shiver down his spine.
Everyone was gathered alongside the shore of the pond, all children and adults awkwardly clumped into mini groups to talk amongst themselves. There had been a semblance of organization when they had first arrived, Clyde’s father had addressed the crowd, thanking them for their support during this difficult time. He had explained that the original plan had been to go ice skating on the pond, but due to the uncharacteristically warm week South Park had endured before Clyde’s passing, the thick layer of ice had slightly melted and now it was deemed too thin to safely withstand the body weight of a kindergartener. Still, Mr. Donovan encouraged that everyone stay to enjoy the refreshments which consisted of warm apple cider and apple cider donuts.
Kyle knelt to the ground, picking up one of the thousands of rocks on Starks’s pebbly beach in his hand. He turned it over in his palm, enjoying the surface smoothed by eons of weather and water.
“Whatcha thinking about?” Kenny’s tenor startled Kyle out of his thoughts, causing him to almost fall on his ass.
“What the hell dude?” Kyle asked, brushing his hands off on his pants as he stood up, only to be greeted with Kenny’s frustratingly eased smirk.
“Sorry man,” he said, sounding nothing but, “You just looked like you were thinking too hard, I was just trying to lighten your load.” He waggled his eyebrows.
Kenny had managed to brush back some of his unruly golden waves into the semblance of an intentional hairdo, slicked back with what Kyle assumed was his typical concoction of 3 parts water and 1 part Dollar Tree Brand Hair Gel. During one of Kyle’s moral panics about overconsumption, Kenny had recommended Kyle replace his fleet of expensive hair care with his recipe. After two days of this new routine Kyle had come to two conclusions 1) there was no ethical consumption under Capitalism, and 2) without frizz control he looked like Chuckie Finster.
Kenny wore his orange parka, the sleeves so short on him it almost looked intentionally three-quarters length. The coat was left open to reveal his nicest shirt, a polo that had been died pink in the wash. Despite the stretches of uncovered skin all open to the chilly attacks of the Colorado air, Kenny seemed perfectly comfortable, standing with his a hand in his pocket not for warmth, but just to be casual.
Fuck Kenny.
Looking over at the frosty surface of the lake, Kyle had to shield his eyes, the landscape too bright, reflecting the sun back into his eyes until he turned back to face his friend.
“Lake shrinkage.”
“What?” Kenny’s smile dipped, less into a frown and more a smile of questioning amusement, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly at the redhead.
Kyle shrugged, staring at the gap in Kenny’s teeth before back at to the lake, “I was thinking about lake shrinkage.”
A moment.
Then, a scoff.
“Geez, okay nerd.” Kenny teased before holding up a plate of donuts he had seemingly conjured from thin air, “Want one? I think they were like two servings of carbs, but you might want to check.”
Kyle shook his head, “I already ate before coming. Ma’s been fucking anal about everything lately, grief can make your glucose unpredictable so she has me on a fucking scheduled meal plan as if I don’t know how to feed myself.”
The Broflovski household had been, in a word, suffocating in the days since Clyde Donovan’s dramatic end. Sheila had always been prone to fussing over her two kids, but it seems the direct confrontation of a young person’s mortality had broken something inside of her. Other then when he slept, this conversation was the first time Kyle had not felt his mother’s breath down his neck since he had been released to his parents’ custody late Friday night at Bebe’s house (and even in sleep Sheila had attempted to monitor Kyle, suggesting the soon-to-be 18 year old wear an owlet sock like an infant).
The only silver lining had been the momentary pause on collegiate conversations, but even that Kyle couldn’t enjoy because he knew at any moment the conversations would start back up again. In fact, the anticipation of returning to such a topic had caused his anxiety to spike more than usual. He’d hold his breath every time his parents began to speak, would scarf down his meals to the point of straining his esophagus just to vacate the dinner table as soon as possible, anything to prevent the dreaded question.
By the looks of the amount of his peers sporting new outerwear from various institutions, it’d be any moment now and Kyle was nowhere closer to formulating a plan than he had been on Friday. In the two days since Bebe’s party Kyle had moved the crimson folder at least ten times. From his desk to his closet, from his closet to his underwear drawer from his underwear drawer to tucked under his bed sheets with him sleeping on top. Currently, the letter was hiding under the old lawn mower in his dad’s shed which had laid untouched for years.
He felt weighed down by the knowledge that the relief was only temporary, that at any moment now he’d be pulled back into that avalanche.
Kyle sighed, kicking his feet so the toe of his shoe was buried beneath the pebbles and sand wishing he could sink into the ground as well.
“How you holding up?” Kyle looked up to see Kenny’s face now covered in a cinnamon sugar beard as he licked his fingers.
Kyle tempered his smile, looking back down at his feet.
The question felt oddly abstract to Kyle, unable to read his feelings.
He felt the restless energy sponsored by his anxiety at his current predicament, the buzzing angst that kept him on edge even in conversation with his lifelong best friend. But there was no way he could even begin to unload this on Kenny. Partly due to the fact that Kyle recognized how inappropriate these feelings were for this occasion. His… acquaintance? Friend, perhaps? Is dead, and all Kyle had really focused on was himself. How Clyde’s death had benefitted him in marginal ways. How others moving on from Clyde’s death would inconvenience him. But even more a reason not to confide in Kenny was the fact that Kenny loved to fix things. Kenny had once confided to him in the whispered hush of a too vulnerable late night conversation that that he liked being a problem solver for his friends, that it gave him a use in their friend group. The comment at the time had made Kyle smile and tease Kenny for the momentary sappiness. But now the knowledge only heightened his nerves. The last thing Kyle needed was someone meddling amongst all of his shit.
“Fine I guess.” He lied, before quickly following with: “How’ve you been?” after looking up to see a split-second of a frown from Kenny.
Kenny looked like he was about to say something, Kyle could see the fight in Kenny’s eyes, the way his chapped pink lips opened on a sigh, readying his voice to speak. But just as quickly as he started, the fire died and Kenny forced his hands back into his pockets, shrugging.
“Fine.”
For whatever reason, the word felt like a challenge to Kyle, like Kenny was proposing Kyle argue the single syllable. He’d said it with a quirk of his eyebrow, an ever slightly amused dip to his grin.
Kyle stood feeling dumb for not understanding what exactly Kenny was attempting to provoke from him.
Kenny ducked his chin further into his parka, staring out into the snowy tundra before them, his face blank until he looked out of the corner of his eye, catching Kyle’s gaze.
“You feeling anything?”
“No?” Kyle raised an eyebrow, looking away for a moment, “What is it that I should be feeling right now?”
“I don’t know… anger… despair… horny.” Kenny gravitated closer to Kyle, his shoulder brushing against Kyle’s as he leaned further into the redhead’s space. “You know, ‘Grief is nature’s most powerful aphrodisiac.”
Kyle pushed Kenny away with the palm of his hand to Kenny’s face, “That’s disgusting Ken.”
“It’s a quote!” Kenny defended with a giggle, maneuvering under Kyle’s arm to invade his space yet again, “Wedding Crashers, remember? Will Ferrell, hairy, slightly sweaty, hot in a shameful way?”
“Why the fuck would I remember that?”
Kenny shrugged, “Clyde fucking loved that movie.”
“Since when did you have movie nights with Clyde?”
“We did.” Kenny corrected, “Fourth Grade. Sleepover at the Donovan’s. We snuck down to his dad’s man cave to watch it, and Clyde got us caught with his big fat mouth.”
Kyle was hit with the memory of Clyde’s fake chuckle he use in a cheap attempt to get others to laugh and how red his dad’s face was when he entered the mildewy basement to tell the group of young boys that they had awoken him with their antics. The memory came out of no where, conjured only upon Kenny mentioning it, like it was lost to the world before Kenny appeared.
“Dude, how do you always manage to remember shit like that?”
“Have you ever thought that maybe it’s not me?,” Kenny smirked, flicking Kyle in the forehead before expertly dodging Kyle’s halfhearted swing, “Always got your nose in some book or some shit, you never pay attention to whats around you. And even when you do, you forget about it because you need to make room for the aquatic formula or some shit.”
Kyle could feel his forehead crease, “Quadratic.”
“That too,” Kenny shrugged before he took notice of the increasing chasm Kyle’s worry was creating in the middle of his forehead, “Dude, it’s just a joke. You shouldn’t sweat not remembering the dumb little shit like that.”
“Maybe I want to remember the dumb little shit.”
Kyle was semi-aware of the fact that he was a petulant child, demanding that an impossible change occur. What could Kenny possibly do to fix Kyle’s inability to remember insignificant facts about people they were barely friends with?
“No you don’t. Trust me, honestly its like a curse. The amount of times I’ve been woken up to the sounds of my parents banging a room over?” Kenny shivered, tucking his chin into the collar of his parka, “Some things should stay forgotten.”
Kyle couldn’t put a name to the heavy feeling this conversation brought on. It made his fingers tingle like his muscles had fallen asleep. His head felt nauseously light. He worried his lips, his teeth catching on the chap and cracked surface.
He understood there was a basic truth to what Kenny was saying, but he couldn’t help but feel excluded from his own life when his mind dropped these details. They seemed irrelevant, but the tiny things added up to the whole picture.
He wondered what he would forget about South Park when he moves without Kenny there to remind him. Will he remember the sound of his mother’s voice? The brisk morning air he’d brave everyday back when he rode the bus? What if he forgot about the size of Kenny’s gap-tooth and the subtle charm it brought to his face when he smiled?
Kenny was right, these things were small, but they were also integral to the sum of it all. Subtract .001 from any number and it becomes a different number. Change the timbre of Sheila Broflovski’s voice and you lose her command. Remove the chilly Colorado morning air and suddenly Kyle’s stories of wearing three pairs of pants to school make him sound ridiculous instead of prepared. Forget the exact degree of warmth of Kenny’s smile and suddenly the world seems dimmer.
The details mattered. At least to Kyle they did.
“Dude, it’s an Owen Wilson film, stop convincing yourself its the end of the world.” Kenny nudged him, giving him a smile that almost successfully concealed his concern. Almost.
Kyle cringed, suddenly realizing that he had now begun to make Clyde’s funeral about himself, “You’re right. I’m being emo for no fucking reason.”
“Speaking of emo.”
“I was goth, douchebag,” Stan walked up, his hands shoved into his suit pockets. His red beanie was balanced on his head, revealing enough of his hair to showcase that he had attempted to gel it into a more professional looking style.
“My deepest apologies, my sweet sweet Prince of Darkness.” Kenny said with a bow.
“Dude, where have you been, you said you’d be here like forty-five minutes ago?” Kyle asked.
Stan groaned immediately, “I have been here for forty-five fucking minutes, my fucking dad was holding me hostage. He and Craig and those guys’ dads are all have the world’s most depressing fucking circle jerk over near the parking lot.”
“Hmm?” Kenny inquired, saddling up next to Stan.
“I don’t know man, they’re just all reminiscing over our childhoods and getting all old-people sad and talking about how old and sad they are now or whatever. My dad kept his arm around my shoulder the entire fucking time and kept pulling me back anytime I tried to leave. I swear to fucking god, I cannot wait to fucking graduate and get the fuck out of here.” Stan ranted without taking a breath.
“You had me at depressing circle jerk, but lost me with everything else.” Kenny said, stretching his arms over his head, his shirt inching up his torso to show off his freckled abdomen.
“Dude you have no idea, Randy was crying.”
“No see, actually that re-peaks my interest. I might go do a lap and see for myself, anyone want anything?”
“I’m alright,” Stan said as Kyle shook his head.
Kenny began to march back up the hill towards the rest of the crowd, only throwing up a thumbs up to show that he heard Stan’s call that Wendy said there’d be a party at Tolkien’s that night.
“Isn’t that like insensitive?” Kyle asked.
Stan rolled his eyes without looking up from the screen of his phone, his fingers never faltering from whatever he was diligently typing, “Only you could find offense in a fucking party, Kyle.”
“I’m just saying, he sort of died at a party.”
“Yeah of rabies, completely unrelated to the setting. You don’t see people get up in arms over people using the toilet after Elvis died on the shitter.”
“That’s just a rumor.”
Stan looked up to give Kyle a confused frown, “Elvis definitely died on the shit–“
“I’m talking about the rabies bullshit, moron.”
Stan shook his head, “It’s confirmed, Tolkien’s dad said so.”
Kyle frowned, his head involuntarily twisting to the side as Stan’s words marinated in his mind.
Rabies?
“You’re sure Tolkien said rabies?”
“Yes, dude.”
“You’re sure you heard him right?”
“Uh huh.”
Kyle paused, his mouth crinkling to the side.
“And you’re sure Tolkien heard his dad right?”
“Oh my god dude, yes, he said it’s definitely rabies. There’s even like notices going out tomorrow to watch out for any animals behaving all rabies-like.”
Kyle paused, allowing the information to process.
“That’s bullshit.” He commented, folding his arms over his chest.
“What’s bullshit?” Kenny asked, having returned with two more cider donuts, wearing them on his thumbs like rings.
“No dude, it’s real, ask Tolkien, he wouldn’t lie about something like that.”
“Tolkien’s dad is a doctor, not a coroner, why would he be consulted on the cause of death?”
“I don’t fucking know dude, ask Tolkien.”
“You must have heard him wrong, no way Clyde just contracted rabies.”
“Well,” Kenny said, his mouth full of fried dough, swallowing before he continued, “Did Tolkien’s dad say how they think Clyde got it?”
Stan shook his head, “Tolkien didn’t say anything about how he got it.”
“You have to have contact with an infected specimen’s saliva.” Kyle crossed his arms over his chest, gesticulating as if the statement was a finite conclusion. The other two remained just as lost with Kyle’s argument as before.
“Wait so, you’re saying Clyde Tongue-Boxed like a rabid squirrel or something?” Kenny giggled with delight.
“Probably got it from Bebe.” Stan mumbled.
“No, that’s the thing,” Kyle exclaimed, ignoring Stan’s snide remarks, “I don’t think Clyde got it from anything or one.”
“So what? He’s the fucking virgin Mary of rabies?”
“It wasn’t fucking rabies!”
Kenny and Stan shared a look.
“I don’t really know if its something that’s up for debate at this point, Ky. I think its verified. By the cops. And like science people.”
“You didn’t see him Stan, the dude had a fucking exorcism. Right, Kenny?” Kyle had taken a second to turn to Kenny and gauge his reaction, but was already too involved in the heat of arguing with Stan to actually await the blonde’s reaction, immediately turning back to their other friend before Kenny could say a word.
“Wait but Ken had already-“
“Rabies doesn’t do that to a person. What you’re saying doesn’t makes any sense, dude.”
“Again, Kyle, dude, I’m just the messenger, if you have more questions you should ask Tolkien or his dad. But I feel like maybe–”
“You must have heard him wrong, that wasn’t fucking rabies.”
“Jesus Christ Kyle, do you want me to go get Tolkien so he can tell you himself? He said his dad said it was rabies and I feel like maybe we should believe the literal doctor here.”
“Dude, you’re so full of shit, no way was that–“
“-Fucking hell Kyle do you want me to–“
“–Do you even know the symptoms of rabies, cause–“
“–I never said that, I said that a medical professional said–“
“–That’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard of–“
Stan threw his hands up into the air, “Since when are you some fucking wizard expert on rabies?”
“I’m not, but there is no way Clyde just contracted rabies. Just think about it!” Kyle had a conscious understanding that his voice was already exceeding the level that’d be considered polite for conversation at such an event, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, all his mental energy invested in winning this argument now, “Clyde was the biggest pussy in our class, could you really imagine him approaching a rabid animal?”
Kyle ignored the pointed looks he was receiving from onlookers.
Stan shrugged, “Maybe it attacked him.”
“Clyde wasn’t an outdoors man. In what scenario do you see him going anywhere near a wild animal?”
“Well maybe it got into his house. We get bats all the time on the farm, Kenny practically has a fucking petting zoo in his house!”
“If a rabid animal attacked Clyde in his home we’d never hear the fucking end of it. Dude was the crybaby of South Park High, we’d have known if he had gotten bit. This isn’t adding up.”
Stan finally paused, seemingly lost for any sort of counterargument.
Kyle was practically buzzing, alive from the rush of the debate, his body no longer noticing the frigid March air. He felt high.
“So what did he have?” Came Kenny’s voice, slightly gravelly as he swallowed his last bite of donut, licking his fingers casually.
And now he was crashing back down to Earth.
“What?”
Kenny looked up like he hadn’t realized he had spoken earlier, “Oh, uh, I just asked what he did die of if not rabies.”
Kyle felt his cheeks heat in embarrassment as he realized he was caught in the net of a question he not only did not know the answer to, but had no clue how to even begin to unravel himself from.
And there Kenny stood, just simply rubbing his hands together to dust off the remnants of cinnamon sugar.
“Aha!” Stan announced triumphantly, “Kyle doesn’t know, he’s just trying to be annoying.”
“I’m being pedantic, not annoying.” Kyle corrected quietly, shying in on himself as he tried to solve the equation in his head.
Rabies did not make sense given the onset of symptoms and the symptom list, but what did? Kyle may have passed AP Bio with an over 100 GPA, but he was not equipped for such a diagnosis. Still, that knowledge did nothing to lessen the sting of a problem left unsolved. Of his blatant inadequacy.
“C’mon dude, there’s no need to get all lame and sad about it. We get you’re Mr. Ivy League or whatever, but, believe it or not, you don’t know everything.” Stan said with a sigh, sensing the redhead’s mental anguish, “Shit, Wendy’s coming this way. Does my hair look stupid?”
Kyle belatedly processed in his periphery Kenny’s chuckle and the movement of the blonde helping their other friend adjust the placement of his hat so it no longer sat perched atop of his head.
Standing uselessly, with his hands hung dead at his sides he could practically feel the cogs turning. He couldn’t bring himself to be moved by his friend’s romantic woes, his mind to preoccupied with the obsessive, nagging need to be right.
“Hi Kyle,” Kyle barely registered Wendy’s voice before he was being pulled down into a loose hug by the girl, ending in a surprisingly strong squeezing of his biceps in comfort, “How’re you holding up?”
“Fine?” Kyle replied confusedly earning him an equally confused but polite smile back from her.
“Wendy, you totally killed it with the eulogy.” Stan smiled. He approached the girl with the type of unease of someone having just been told to act natural.
“Oh thanks Stan.” She said brightly, tucking a strand of hair that was already perfectly placed behind her ear, “It was actually just a reading that his dad asked me to do. The eulogy was the long speech his dad did at the end.”
“Right,” Stan managed to drag the word into three syllables, “Cool.”
“Yeah,” Wendy nodded, still smiling softly at Stan, “Oh um, so did Stan tell you guys that there will be a gathering at Tolkien’s house?”
Stan scoffed, “I did, but Kyle was complaining that it’s insensitive.”
Wendy turned to look over at Kyle again, her hair effortlessly tossing in the wind, “I thought the same thing too at first.”
“Yeah, actually now that you say it, it just doesn’t, it doesn’t seem right.” Stan corrected immediately.
“But, Tolkien’s keeping the invites list short I’m told, just a few of Clyde’s closest friends. It’s less a party and more a personalized memorial for Clyde. Not that his dad didn’t do a lovely job with all of this. Just, something more for Clyde, you know?”
“Ohh, yeah that actually– you know what? Yeah, I think Clyde would have really liked that actually.” Stan blabbed.
Kyle could feel more than hear Kenny’s delight, the tall blonde’s body racking with barely contained giggles, lightly jostling Kyle due to their proximity.
“So I’ll see you guys there?” Wendy asked sweetly, with a coquettish grin aimed mostly at Stan.
“Absolutely.” Stan agreed at the same moment Kyle grumbled “Probably not,” earning him a pointed frown from his friend. Not that Wendy really noticed, the girl entirely brightened at the confirmation that Stan would be in attendance.
“Kyle, as always, is a work in progress,” Kenny said from behind him, draping his arm over the redhead’s shoulders, “No fear Testaburger, its nothing my patented charm can’t handle.”
“That’s nice Kenny.” She murmured distractedly, “Well I have to go make the rounds, check in with everyone. I’ll see you guys tonight!” She then left with a graceful twinkle of her fingers in place of a wave and a lingering smile at Stan.
Stan watched after her, sighing contentedly as her form disappeared into the snowy distance.
“Whipped.” Kenny coughed into his hand.
Stan turned to his friends still partially off in Testaburger territory, eyes glazed over, smile questioning and insecure, “How did I do?”
“Dude, she had a total boner for you.” Kenny said with a thumbs up.
Stan smiled weakly before turning, “Kyle?”
“I’m going home.” Kyle mumbled, hands still balled into fists at his side.
“Jesus Christ dude, are you still angry about not being right about the Clyde thing?”
“No.” Kyle lied, face burning, “I just have a lot of homework to do.”
“That’s bullshit dude, we haven’t been assigned shit in the past week.”
“It’s advanced extracurricular research douchebag, you wouldn’t know about it.” Kyle bit back before turning and marching up the hill towards the parking lot, a move that probably would have been more of a statement if it weren't for the soft snow causing his feet to slide and slip on the incline.
Eventually, Kyle managed his way to his father, who, just as Stan had described, was in a semi-circle of middle-aged men all staring at the ground, each with a beer in one hand, the other in their pockets, idly sipping away in silence.
“Kyle, hey-hey buddy!” The relief on Randy’s face was only matched by the impending doom in Kyle’s gut, “Been a while, good to see you!”
A chorus of milquetoast baritone greetings murmured around Kyle as suddenly the dads now had something to talk about together, multiple comments about how tall they had forgotten the redhead had grown and barely audible inquiries about the basketball season.
Kyle ignored them all.
“Dad can I have the keys?”
His father sighed, not bothering to look up at him, “Kyle are you not going to say hi to my friends?”
Kyle clenched his jaw, turned halfway to give a curt nod to the men before looking back at his father.
“Keys?”
“That’s Kyle for you, grew up to be a queenish sasslord.” Randy chuckled, looking around at the other dads, with a wilting smile on his face which grew upon receiving murmured agreements “Remember how he used to dress up?”
The dads murmured agreements of “I do remember!” And “He did do that.”
“All of us role-played, it wasn’t just me.” Kyle muttered petulantly before turning his back further on the dads, watching his own expectantly.
“Kyle,” Gerald whined, “Don’t make me look bad in front of my friends.”
“Dad you hate these guys. Can I please get the keys?”
“Fine, here,” Gerald said, shoving the ring into Kyle’s chest with a mumble that sounded like “Whiny little bitch.”
Family dinners had been a staple in the Broflovski household for as long as Kyle could remember. The Broflovski Matriarch was uncompromising on this constant, insistent that mandatory family bonding was paramount for a happy household.
The tableau was always the same. An aesthetic spread of food lining the entire length of the table, laid over an ornate table cloth. Four places set out onto the table in almost perfect alignment to the cardinal directions, with a cutlery set indicating each occupant. A limited edition set of the Canadian Royal Wedding cutlery intended for a child, a Terrence and Phillip set, a medium sized Baroque-Style silver set and a set of large basic cutlery. Each occupant at their designated spot, Gerald to the North, Sheila to the South, Ike to the East and Kyle at the West. Gerald would always be absorbed in his phone, Sheila would always be dominating the conversation, Ike would only ever provide one word answers, and Kyle would always be left to just cope in his corner.
The scene never changed, no matter how old any of them got, no matter how busy schedules were, in sickness and in health if Sheila Broflovski announced that that night specifically was a family dinner as opposed to a regular dinner with the family, attendance was compulsory.
Sheila had demanded a family dinner every night since Clyde Donovan’s passing, much to the annoyance of the rest of the family. The young boy’s death had ignited Sheila Broflovski’s maternal instinct to Level Inferno and that meant she needed eyes on her boys at almost all times. It was suffocating, especially as the days steadily passed without any mentions of college or mail. The specter of grief could only shield him from probing for so long and there were only so many times the family could have the same three civil conversations before something would crack and a deluge of expectation and pressure would befall on Kyle again.
Kyle pushed around the peas on his plate, watching them roll with a sinking feeling in his stomach, that uneasiness of standing over a ledge with no bearings. His mother’s voice faded into a consistent drone, filling the otherwise silent room with her ramblings.
Gerald hadn’t lift his head from his phone screen all night, not even taking a second to glance at his plate, just mechanically shoveling his food into his mouth. On more than one occasion he hadn’t noticed there was no food on his fork until the utensil was already in his mouth. Ike stared forward with a blank expression, his dark eyes unblinking as they looked past Kyle to some indistinguishable speck on the wall behind him. Kyle had previously theorized that Ike had consciously adapted his senses to ignore Kyle’s presence altogether.
It was business as usual in the Broflovski house.
“It was a beautiful ceremony, wasn’t it Gerald? A beautiful ceremony. So sad. It’s awful isn’t it, Gerald? I can barely stand the thought. But really beautiful, Roger did a fantastic job. Fantastic job. Really. Although, I would have preferred a white lily to the bouquets of white roses and baby’s breath. Always thought white lilies looked real classy in a funereal arrangement, don’t you think Gerald? Gerald? Real classy. I think I would like white lilies for mine. You know I talked to your friend about them Kyle, oh what was his name? Kyle? You know your little horticulturalist friend? The quiet blonde? Kyle?” Kyle heard the sound of a knife hastily laid down against ceramic, scratching in his ears, “Kyle?”
Kyle finally looked up from his full plate, immediately tensing at the sensation of his mother’s worry now focused solely and directly on him.
He ignored the kink in his shoulder as it stabbed dully.
“What Ma?”
Sheila’s mouth shut itself into a thin line that Kyle had never seen on his mother’s face before.
He was frozen, unable to sit up until the room’s attention returned to the food, for a glorious minute the only thing heard was the scraping of metal against ceramics.
“You know,” Sheila’s shrill voice cut through the atmosphere again, “I was thinking of suggesting that Roger set up a scholarship in Clyde’s memory. Don’t you think that’d be a lovely idea, Gerald? I think it’d be really wonderful. A scholarship maybe for a student looking into doing research on rabies at UC Boulder, cause you know, Roger told me that Clyde was planning to attend UC Boulder just like his father. Such a shame. Such a bright young boy with his whole future ahead of him. It’s awful isn't it? Anyways, I was thinking- Kyle?”
Kyle hadn’t realized he had stood up until he was staring at the bewildered faces of his family silently watching him.
“C-can I be excused? I have some homework I really need to revise. Right now.” His hands fingers felt cold.
“Look at you, oh bubbe, you haven’t touched a morsel on your plate.” Sheila cooed, already standing up, “Are you feeling alright?”
“Ma, please-“
She crowded around him, her arms a furious windstorm of fussing and fidgeting. Pinching at his cheeks, squeezing his torso, checking his temperature. It felt like the hands of a crowd rather than just the two of his mother’s, all tugging and pulling and demanding until Kyle felt like they had possession over his body, like he was just a rag doll for these hands to maneuver and manipulate as they pleased.
“Stop! Just stop, okay!” Kyle exploded, swiping the hands away with harsh swipes.
A sharp gasp that presented like a stab in Kyle’s head, “Kyle Benjamin Broflovski, is that any way to speak to your mother?”
“I-I’m sorry.” He stuttered, backing up towards the stairs. “I need some space.”
Th indignation morphed into concern on Sheila’s face.
“I’m sorry.”
His mother’s face tightened before she sighed, “Oh bubbe, this must be hitting you hard. Your poor little friend. Go on and rest, I’ll bring your food up to you in a moment.”
I can’t do this anymore, I can’t do this anymore, I can’t do this anymore
He paced around his room, feeling his stomach toil.
There was pressure in his chest that only worsened as he tried to push the feeling down, ignore whatever was coming over him. He needed a distraction, he needed something to do with himself so he didn’t explode or fall apart or collapse into himself or-
Sitting at his desk, he opened his laptop to his latest essay, some art history paper on retrofuturism or something. He stared at the screen, willing himself to focus on the words in front of him, but the pages upon pages he should be editing were melting together, just a block of text indecipherable to him in his fog.
He stood up just to return back down, adjusting the way he sat, the brightness of his screen, the filter of his screen, combing his hair back out of his face, putting on his reading glasses, taking them off.
He sent a quick Not feeling great, won’t make it tonight. text to Stan and Kenny, the former which responding with a barrage of texts all complaining that Kyle’s absence would in some way hinder his plans for the night. Kyle ignored them, turning his phone to Do Not Disturb before opening his desk drawer and seeing the crimson red envelope again, harshly shutting the drawer again.
He forgot he had placed it back in there.
His next breath came out in a wheeze, his hands coming to slap over his mouth to muffle the sound.
The pressure in his chest rose as he tried to swallow down the dread and the panic crescendoing inside of him, begging for release.
He couldn’t remain here. He was suffocating, or dying or maybe already rotting and it was sure to realert his mother’s worry which would make things infinitely worse.
He had his shoes on before he had an actual realized plan.
He couldn’t just leave through the front door, his mother would notice and have an aneurysm.
He climbs out his window, using the tree directly outside it to scale his way down.
On the ground he can finally breathe.
The icy air is a shock to his lungs, but it is welcomed in wake of their thirst.
He started on his usual running path, his body aching as he started in a practical sprint, body aching from a lack of proper warm up. He didn’t care. He had to just do something.
Left from his house. Left right before the train tracks. Pass the basketball court, pass Mr. Mackey’s house. Left. He skidded to a stop at the base of the hill. At the crest loomed Tolkien’s house, a bright beacon in the snowy night.
He turned right instead.
He didn’t typically venture outside of the village. The roads had been neglected for pretty much the entirety of his life making them unusable for his usual runs and there was nothing really of note in there area. Just dilapidated houses and highly specific businesses that ran exclusively on a need and not want basis, not requiring the foot traffic of the village to keep afloat.
This was where the Mephesto Funeral Home and Morgue was located. The building stood apart from the others as it was surrounded by the sea of its own parking lot, with a wraparound driveway in front decorated with grand grecian pillars and perfectly trimmed hedges for an air of privacy.
Kyle slowed down as he approached it, stopping right in front.
The building was unassuming during the day, but took on a haunting appearance in the glow of the moonlight. Sterile white and triple the size of any other structure in the general vicinity, it looked completely out of place. In the midst of its own expansive and deserted parking lot, it appeared like a grim mirage.
He stared up at the building, hands in his pockets as the wind blew around him.
In the fourth grade Ms. Choksondiks took her class there on a field trip. They were supposed to meet the Funeral Home Director and discuss what his job entailed, but he called out sick so instead Dr. Mephesto, the town’s mortician took the lecture over. A sickly looking man with a left-skewed lazy eye, he left the class in tears when he described in excruciating detail the embalming process before jovially informing the group that one day they’d all end up on his table.
And now Clyde was.
His head suddenly felt clear, like the clouds had parted.
He climbed up the front steps without giving it a second thought.
The benefit of living in one of the most boring towns in the continental United States is low security measures. No one would assume anyone would want access to the town’s morgue after-hours when there was maybe a funeral every couple of months. Getting into the building was easy, it took just one five-minute Youtube video on how to jimmy a lock without damaging it before he was walking inside the front halls.
The funeral home had all the fixings of a place intended for hospitality and comfort that was last renovated in the 90s. While the outside appeared harsh and loomed over him, the inside was blanketed in a warm light yellow glowing from frosted sconces. The wallpaper was busy florals, perfect for camouflaging slight discolorations accrued over the years. Low tiled ceilings helped the building retain heat well in the unforgiving Colorado Winters. A dark red carpet with a disorienting pattern stretched through the hallways, filling the rooms with the smell of its decaying fibers.
It was oddly comforting, a building so incredibly stuck in time, entirely unchanged from Kyle’s childhood. It felt like a homecoming of sorts to a time and place he could never actually return to. It was like visiting his old kindergarten classroom, without the disorienting feeling he got when he realized that he no longer could fit at any of the desks meant for children
Kyle walked leisurely through the rooms, not knowing where the “home” part of the funeral home ended and where the morgue started. The main room was still set up for Clyde’s services, Clyde’s Senior Portrait of him awkwardly cradling a football while staring up at the camera blown up to a grand portrait size. Clyde’s brown eyes following Kyle as he passed by and exited through the two saloon doors in the far back corner, suddenly surrounded by blinding white. The sterile hallway stretched down a ramp before him.
He trudged down the hallway, the only sound was the echo of each of his steps slapping down on the linoleum and the persistent drone of some distant machine.
He took his time descending down the ramp, looking into the small windows of each room, vacant office after vacant office, trying to decipher where any sort of records may be kept.
Finally he came across a room that looked promising. It was a regular stuffy office, but its desk appeared covered in various papers and its back wall was lined with multiple beat-up filing cabinets. Kyle slid into the room, closing it behind himself before beelining to the back wall, opening the top drawer of the first cabinet to analyze the filing what information it held.
It didn’t take him long to find Clyde’s folder despite the horrific state of disorganization the cabinets were in (Kyle at one point had to wonder whether the issue was a lack of organization altogether or a lack of understanding how the alphabet operates). Clutching the manila folder in his hands he pulled out his phone. He’d just take a couple of photos and return everything back to normal. Easy. Simple.
“Breaking and entering might interfere with that shiny perfect record there, Broflovski.”
Kyle jumped back from the desk, his back knocking into the filing cabinet, his right elbow slamming directly into the metal making his teeth rattle.
There was a man in the doorway.
“Careful.” He warned. His voice was all forced gruff, sounding like the person was scraping the words down the sides of his throat, inauthentic and grating. Purposefully obscured.
The figure was tall and slender, the gray morph suit he was wearing stretching length wise to meet his height while bagging awkwardly as his torso was unable to fill out the rest of the suit’s dimensions, as evidenced by the bunch of material tucked into a pair of graying briefs. His cape hung limply to his side, making him look like a colorblind matador more than whatever this guys intentions were. His face shrouded in a matching purple cowl.
It was like a store-brand Batman costume. Probably named something dumb like “Millionaire Man of Mystery”.
“Who are you?” Kyle ignored the comment, looking the man up and down.
“Doesn’t matter,” He grumbled in that grating voice, “You shouldn’t be here.”
Kyle scoffed, “And you should? No offense dude, but you don’t exactly look like a mortician, so I believe we’re both trespassing right now.”
“I’m here to prevent you from doing something stupid.”
Kyle looked him over.
“Wearing that?”
The masked man seemed to have had enough, beginning to walk around the desk towards Kyle. Kyle stepped back.
“I’m not stupid.” He said as a warning, squaring off to the man.
A scoff, “I know, but you’re prone to doing stupid things.”
Kyle sputtered, “You don’t know me.” His voice rose.
The man was wearing off-whitey-tighties, who the fuck was he to judge Kyle’s choices?
“But I do Kyle,” The guy said, stepping forward with his arms stretched out, corralling him backwards, “Now will you please–”
Kyle held his arm out to try and deter the man from coming any closer “How do you know me?”
The man stopped, shrinking ever slightly back in his posture like he was trying to appear less intimidating, “It doesn’t matter.” He said after a moment
“Yes it does.” Kyle argued.
“Okay,” The guy easily relented, “But it doesn’t matter as much as getting the fuck out of this place you’re not supposed to be.”
“We’re not supposed to be.” Kyle corrected.
“Right, so–“
“Did you follow me here? How long have you been stalking me?” Kyle asked, backing up slightly.
The masked man ducked his head slightly, further obscuring his face from Kyle.
“Kyle let’s go.” He said after a moment, his voice even deeper then before, a forcefulness to it that made Kyle tense.
His eyes flew up to the door, just over the man’s left shoulder, his path entirely blocked by him.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” Kyle said shaking his head, taking another step back.
The man matched him, “I’m not here to hurt you.”
“Right,” Kyle said, eyes darting between the man and the exit just above his shoulder, “You’ve just followed me to an abandoned building late at night to corner me.”
Kyle could audibly hear his own breath quicken, shaky exhales punctuated by sharp intakes.
“You broke in.” The gruff voice replied
“So did you!” Kyle said indignantly, nearly stumbling back over a stack of papers as he attempted to back up without looking.
“Look,” the guy paused, lifting his arms up. Kyle flinched.
“I want to help you. You’re not thinking straight and you’re making a mistake by being here.”
Kyle felt his feet pause beneath him as he stopped to look at the man.
Breaking and entering was only a misdemeanor in Colorado, Kyle had checked before unlocking the door. It being sort of private business sort of government building may possibly bump up the action up to a felony depending on the prosecutor, but this would be Kyle’s first offense if he got caught. He was a grieving kid, and grieving kids do weird shit because they’re grieving.
Kyle had already thought this all through.
But this was a far cry away from his typical nighttime routine. He should be studying or revising or writing or reading or anything other than breaking the law and putting his future on the line to what? Prove to Stan that he was right about their classmate/sort of friend’s tragic death?
He deflated.
The man let out a sigh of air, “C’mon, I’ll walk you ho–“
The sound of footsteps began to sound through the halls.
Kyle didn’t have a chance to react as he felt himself being pulled before being shrouded in darkness. He let out a soft groan as he was spun around and suddenly pressed back against soft warmth, an arm coming quickly to wrap around his mouth, muffling his sound of surprise.
“Quiet.” The voice hushed, momentarily losing its gruff as he silenced Kyle’s protests.
Kyle could feel the warmth radiate against his body as he was held against the other man, one strong arm strapped around his chest, pulling him flat against him so they fit as compactly as possible in the small closet.
Kyle stilled as he heard the sound of shoes hitting the linoleum creep closer to them, the sound crescendoing until it stopped right when it was the loudest.
He felt the man behind him adjust his hand over Kyle’s mouth, pressing just the slightest bit more urgently as he stilled.
The two were so close now that Kyle could feel the man’s heartbeat beating into his back, the softest pulse into his spine, slower than his own and incredibly steady. Kyle tried to focus on the consistent rhythm to calm his own racing heart which he could practically feel drumming in his throat, making him nauseous.
This was it. Any second now whoever was out in the hallway would open up the door and Kyle’s future would crumble before he could even have accepted it.
The man shushed behind him, his arm around Kyle’s torso tightening ever so slightly, strapping Kyle to his chest like a seatbelt. The shush was less an admonishment and closer to a comforting hum a parent would give a crying baby to soothe them. The man’s breath warmed the back of his neck, caressing the hairs at his nape, causing Kyle to have to suppress a shiver.
Then– the footsteps began again, this time receding, the noise getting quieter and quieter until Kyle couldn’t hear it anymore.
They remained there, in their odd embrace for several more moments, holding their breath to hear if the person would be returning.
“They’re gone.” The man said resolutely, letting his arms drop from Kyle who had grown accustomed to the extra warmth and now felt at odds with the temperature in the room.
Kyle hugged himself to try and regulate his body, his chest still thumping aggressively in his chest.
“You alright?” The man ask, startling Kyle with his voice as he broke the droning silence.
“Who are you?” Kyle said, looking up to him.
The man regarded him silently, looking down from underneath his hood, all but his eyes obscured by his costume making his expression unreadable.
In the darkness the man no longer looked so silly. His costume perfectly blended into the night, if Kyle wasn’t standing so close to him, still able to feel the ghost of the man’s breath, hear him breath, Kyle doubted he’d even know he was there.
Kyle shivered to think how someone might use such camouflage.
“Why did you follow me tonight?” Kyle asked after he received no answer, “You knew I’d end up here, didn't you? How?” He demanded
“Wait two minutes, then go through the front entrance,” The man replied instead, looking away from Kyle.
“Wait what?” Kyle scrambled to update his brain to his current reality, utterly lost by the instructions, “Where are you going?”
“To create a distraction.” The man said without looking to Kyle, slipping out the door before Kyle could respond.
Kyle was now left alone in the dark, completely dumbfounded by the orders.
He stumbled out of the closet after an indeterminate amount of time, mind reeling.
He could hear some sort of commotion coming from further in the building, echoing down through the halls, the sound of metal scraping against something before a deep yell.
Kyle halted, wondering if he should investigate, unsure who the yell could belong to. He didn’t know what the man was capable of, nor what he meant by distraction, but clearly it was resulting in some violence. He felt a part of him worry that the man was in some danger but pushed the thought aside. No one with good intentions dressed like that before stalking people in the night.
Kyle continued back up the ramp.
He felt disoriented and dizzy and worst of all, stupid.
The night greeted him again with silence, the outside world undisturbed by whatever he had left unfolding in the morgue.
The wind had gotten stronger in the time he had spent in the funeral home, whistling as it swept down from the mountain but Kyle barely notice the resulting drop in temperature, warmed by the uncomfortable itch of self-loathing.
That was so beyond idiotic of him. He was so dumb to think that anything good could have possibly come from that plan. It was childish of him to think that he could solve some grand mystery that in all likelihood didn’t exist.
His head hung as he walked himself back home.
When he arrived back, forcing himself to do every step of his nighttime routine despite every muscle, organ, blood cell in his body urging him to just hide in his blankets and turn his brain off.
His brain felt dull, slow and sludgy.
He slipped under his covers only to remain seated upright, the lights still on in his room, staring blankly ahead, silently replaying all of the events in his head.
None of it felt real. His behavior, that strange man, that outfit.
The stress had finally caught up to him, he was losing it.
He heard a knock. Barely perceptible. Easily ignored.
The sound came again. Tinny, unlike a knock against wood. He turned to look at his door because where else would it be coming from? But the hallway was empty.
Then he saw something shift out of the corner of his eye.
A man at his window.
There was a man at his window.
That man was at his window.
Kyle locked eyes with the man, perched on the branch closest to his window. The suit now blended him into the night, obscuring his form into the branches, the only immediately detectable features being his bright violet eyes.
The man motioned for Kyle to open his window, rolling his eyes when Kyle shook his head.
“Let me in Kyle.” The gruff voice was only slightly muffled by the glass.
Kyle attempted to shush him, worried that the noise would wake up his parents, but the man simply continued, “I need to talk to you.”
A pause.
“I’m not leaving until you let me. I can make this a long night for the both of us.”
“Shut up.” Kyle hissed, walking toward his window, picking up his phone on the nightstand on his way, tapping on the screen thrice before turning it to face the man.
“I’m gonna open this window and then you will wait until I am on the other side of this room. You move before then and I press call.” He warned.
“Okay.” The man deadpanned.
Kyle unlatched his window, shimmying it up enough for the man to crawl through before backing up slowly, nearly tripping over his bed as he maintained eye contact with the man, waiting for him to move prematurely.
The man perched as still as a gargoyle watching Kyle back, expression unreadable.
Kyle felt his back hit his bedroom door, his left hand fumbling behind himself to reach for the knob, his right hand still clutching his phone, thumb poised over the call button, his eyes never leaving the violet.
“Can I come in now?” The man huffed out after a minute of stoic staring. He hadn’t moved an inch, yet.
“One second,” Kyle warned, “Okay, come in.”
The man shimmied the window up an inch more before climbing through at an excruciating pace, his eyes only leaving Kyle’s to glance briefly at the ground before him. His movements were completely silent, managing to bypass even the creakiest of Kyle’s floorboards without incident.
Once he was fully in to the room, the man slowly stood up, raising his hands up to Kyle, his gloved palms facing outward.
Kyle narrowed his eyes at him, his back leaving the door as he slowly stalked forward.
The man looked out of place in his childhood bedroom, the blacks grays and purples of his costume clashing horrifically with the Terrence and Phillip themed decor that remained from Kyle’s Elementary school days. None of it felt real.
“You want to pat me down, sugar?” The man said before clearing his throat.
“How do you know where I live? –Don’t come any closer.”
The man paused, stepping back slowly, “Doesn’t everyone know everyone here?”
“I don’t know you.” Kyle pouted, his arms instinctively attempting to cross over his chest before he remembered that he needed to be on the extreme defensive.
“You don’t need to know me.”
“You’re being evasive.”
The man waved his cape, “That’s the point.”
Kyle strangled the frustrated noise attempting to rise in his throat.
“Why are you here then?” Kyle struggled to keep his voice down, his words coming out in harsh staccato whispers, “What do you want from me? I get it, you proved your point, I was stupid–“
“You were right.” The man’s voice was slightly clearly, sounding more natural. Almost familiar.
“Wh-what?”
“I’m going to grab something, okay?”
“No. Hands where I can see them.” Kyle warned, holding his phone back up as a threat.
The man froze, watching Kyle over with careful eyes.
They both stood there at opposite ends of Kyle’s room, eyes locked in a stare down. Kyle’s hands shook with each of his breaths, his heart beating as he anticipated an attack. He felt clammy, his body cold but sweaty as he tried to remain grounded and in control.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” The man said slowly, hands raised once again.
“What did you do back there?” Kyle’s voice quivered, almost entirely dropping out at one point.
The man frowned, “Kyle, you don’t–“
“I heard a scream, what did you do to–“
“You need to sit down.” The man warned.
Kyle’s eyes bugged out furiously at the man’s demand, “Don’t tell me–“
“Kyle,” the man groaned in frustration, “You look half-dead, you need to sit and eat something.”
Kyle’s entire body felt like it was vibrating, his head impossibly light.
The man was right. He was going to faint if he kept on like this.
Kyle swallowed, the action taking much more effort than it should. His eyes had troubling focusing on the man, shooting back to his desk where he knew he had a granola bar stored for moments like these. Easy access, except for the fact that his desk was against the far wall, meaning the man could easily corner him if he were to leave the door thus–
“Tell me what you want me to do.” The man’s voice was lighter or maybe Kyle was just confused
“Ah, just s-sit down, hands up.” Kyle shut his eyes harshly, his head pulsing irritably, when he opened his eyes again the man was on the ground just as instructed, “D-don’t move.” He breathed out.
The man slowly nodded, his eyes wide as the scanned over Kyle.
Reassured slightly that the man was following his orders, Kyle began to stumble to his desk, furiously pulling the drawers open until he found his emergency stash. He struggled with the wrapper, his hands far too sweaty and unsteady to competently unwrap the thing, but Kyle’s brain was too fogged to be embarrassed by his lack of dexterity.
The relief felt immediate although it was mostly placebo. His body began to relax under the reassurance that the issue had been identified and was actively being resolved. Kyle had to fight himself to remain alert, his body wanting to melt into the floor despite the presence of the odd man.
He was all too aware that he had already shown himself to be in far too a vulnerable state for comfort. But the man remained exactly where and how he had been instructed to, his eyes still scanning Kyle over
After the nausea finally subsided Kyle spoke up.
“Why are you here?” His throat felt fuzzy, his voice coming out raspy.
The man blinked at him, his expression entirely unreadable as he gave Kyle another once over, finally he spoke, having to quickly restart his thought after beginning without his fake rasp.
“I have something to show you.” He said slowly, eyes wide as they clung to Kyle’s like he was explaining something to a child and needed to make sure they were paying attention.
“Is that alright?”
Kyle clenched his jaw before nodding.
“Fine.”
The man very slowly moved his hands, the cape slightly obscuring the movements until a manila folder was pulled out fro the cloth.
“Drop it on the bed and then step back.” Kyle commanded, his voice shaking slightly.
The man did directly as ordered, backing away as Kyle took cautious steps towards his bed.
It wasn’t a surprise that the folder was Clyde Donovan’s, it was at that point the only logical conclusion, but–
“Why?” Kyle asked looking up to the man with a frown.
“You were right. It wasn’t rabies.”
Kyle lifted the file up, examining the outside of it in between glances to the man who was watching him intently.
“What happened to not doing anything stupid?”
Kyle could have sworn he saw the man temper down a smile, “I was preventing you from doing something stupid. Never said nothing about myself.”
Kyle raised an eyebrow at the man before tearing through the packet, reading over toxicology reports and the regular autopsy examination sheet which mostly reported what Kyle already knew.
Clyde had been pronounced dead at the scene. Not that it really needed a coroner to call, the boy’s spine had practically snapped in half before their eyes, his torso mangled in a way that churned Kyle’s stomach treacherously whenever he though about it. He’d died with trace amounts of alcohol, marijuana and, according to the toxicology report, another unidentified “party drug”. He had sustained various lacerations and contusions throughout his body, likely from the thrashing tantrum he had had shortly before his death.
But then the words “Cause of Death: Undetermined” caught Kyle’s eye.
Kyle read on, flipping to a full page labeled Miscellaneous Autopsy Notes that was full of frantic chicken scratch. It mostly read as someone’s insane ramblings, all various hypotheses, none of which were entirely legible or coherent.
Kyle squinted his eyes at the words, longing for his reading glasses but not wanting to display another vulnerability to the stranger.
But then his eyes cast over clear text at the very bottom.
Case handed over to the Colorado State Coroner’s Office and State Police on 03/15 due to suspected foul play.
Kyle grimaced at the words, running them over and over again in his mind.
“Why tell the public that it was rabies if they suspect foul play?” The man asked in a gruff voice.
Kyle looked up.
What he could see of the man’s face was set in a hardened expression, watching over Kyle.
“You think they’re trying to cover something up?”
The man nodded.
The room was silent, the sole noise the silent clicks of Kyle’s old bedside clock, each second ticking and ticking as they watched one another. Kyle watched the man’s chest raise and fall, it was almost a shock to him that this was a real human standing in front of him and not some specter come to drive him insane.
“Why tell me?”
The man’s mouth turned down to a frown.
“You were actively trying to deter me earlier from investigating this. You told me I was stupid to pursue this. So why now tell me I was right all along?”
“I never said you were stupid.” The man glared.
“You said–“
“Your plan, yeah it was stupid– a lapse of judgement or whatever, but I would never call you stupid.”
Kyle felt his cheeks burn.
“Quite the contrary in fact, which is why I need you.”
“Need me?” Kyle squeaked.
“Look, I wanted to keep you out of trouble, but I’m a little out of my depth with this. I’m used to like petty crime, playground shit really.” The man moved his hand up as if he was going to brush some hair back only to realize his cowl blocked his hairline, “Potential government cover ups are a bit above my pay grade. I need someone who can do research.”
It took Kyle a moment to catch up, “I can do research.”
The man nodded, “Good. I trust you with this.” The man indicated to the manila folder, “Not a word to anyone.”
The man then turned with a flourish of purple nylon back to the window, somehow already halfway out in a moment’s notice.
“Wait!” Kyle cried out, immediately cringing as the man turned back to him to frantically shush him, “How will I contact you?”
“I’ll know when you need me.”
And he was gone.