Chapter 77

Chapter 77: 77 I waited and watch the solid green light of the phone charger glow before finally pulling it out of the wall. Preparation for the next meal had already finished so the kitchens were quiet with only a single kettle still whistling away. I coiled up the charging cable and put it in my pocket then walked to the side door that opened out onto a small terrace. I imagined the space had a purpose at some point in time but now it seemed to just be here to dry the odd handcloth. That and give easy access to the roof. After climbing up and carefully balancing across the narrow beam that joined the roof of the kitchens to the building next to it, it was a straight line to the rooms where you and I slept. I took my time traversing the route, sometimes stopping to peer at an oddly shaped cloud or follow an eagle’s course through the sky, but eventually I reached that bit of roof where I told you I loved you. Barely any time had passed since then yet I felt like that moment was oceans away. I paused at the edge of roof, then sat, my legs hanging out over the edge. Finally, I held your phone out in front of me with both hands and pressed the power button. A few moments passed, almost as if the phone itself was groggy after having slept for too long, then a logo I hadn’t seen for almost a decade popped up on the screen. No, that wasn’t quite right. I saw the OS logo quite often, just not that version. My father had been hesitant to let me have a smartphone so I’d arrived on the scene a bit late. I waited and watched and was eventually rewarded with the lock screen. I stared at it, barely believing that the ancient bit of tech still worked, but also hesitant to take the next step and unlock it. What if it had a passcode? It had to have a passcode, and I had no idea what yours would be, so that unwarranted feeling of rejection was just one step away. I shouldn’t have been feeling like that. I knew Aunt Yeung wanted the best for you, and would do all she could, but I was seriously falling apart here. What could I do? Nothing. Just like before. I was just... My hand closed more tightly around the phone as my chest throbbed painfully and my finger brushed against the screen. Click. The screen faded in and out and suddenly I was staring at the clock at the top of your homescreen. You... didn’t have a passcode for your phone. On the one hand, the tech security focused side of me immediately started composing a foolproof argument as to why you really should put a passcode on your phone, while the rest of me leapt for joy, eternally thankful that sixteen-year-old you had no idea how to protect yourself digitally. I scooted backwards on the roof and sat cross-legged with your phone cupped in my hands as I poked around. Your phone plan had long expired and there was no saved log in info for the wifi networks at the manor (I checked) and so no notifications, yet the little piece of metal felt so full of life. Under the clock (which was the wrong time) were a line of skeuomorphic apps for the phone, contacts book, notes, and camera. I hesitated a moment, then opened the notes app. As I had expected, it was absolutely full of little jottings, mostly unfinished to-do lists for homework and assignments, but there were also many just capturing a thought you must have had. It was interesting. I’d initially assumed that your habit of noting things down had started after your technology disrupting had started but clearly you’d always liked scribbling, or tapping as was the case here. I pressed the home button (how long had it been since I’d seen a phone with one of those?) and thumbed at the camera which opened with a strangely satisfying lens shutter animation. And then I saw them. Your friends, your school, your home, all preserved at 480p resolution. I found myself counting the number of times I saw the same person appear, clearly trying to see if you had a crush of some kind, but instead all I discovered was... loneliness. You had friends, that much was clear, but for each picture of a person, there were two or three of an object - a crumpled can, a fire hydrant, a broken bit of linked fencing - all things you’d seen and thought important enough to document. Perhaps I was reading too much into it, but I couldn’t help but feel that you were so utterly different from all your peers - you lived in the same world but saw a different one all together. A tear ran down my cheek and I buried my face into the crook of my arm, making sure to keep your phone tightly held in my grasp. I remembered how you told me that you were late to have romantic feelings for other people which made your feelings for me now all the more important. Had you found someone in me who you could truly connect to, someone who could stand next to you and see the same world as you? I didn’t know, but I dearly hoped you had. I took a deep breath then sat up, eyes bright and tail twitching. I had a job to do. -- Bran only realised he’d fallen asleep on the fold out sofa when he woke up. They’d given him a blanket and the cushion already on the sofa was a servable substitute for a pillow yet he was still surprised he’d been able to sleep through the night. Had they put something in his food? In all honesty, probably, but he’d been too hungry to do anything about it. But now that he’d had a pretty good night’s sleep, he started to think. He skipped the question of ’how to escape’ (it seemed pointless to think about that while he still knew so little) and instead went on to wonder ’just what were they doing here?’ There was the big monster, the Nameless Beast, with all the sightless eyes, that was bizarre inanof itself, but that Arthur had claimed they were actually trying to do something ’altruistic’ with it. Altruistic in what sense? The thing looked terrifying, though perhaps humans looked just as terrifying to it, that is, assuming it was awake enough to see it. They were using it as some kind of energy source, that’s what the show with the smartphone Bran could use had been all about after all, but what was so special about this monster that put using it as the source above other sources? Energy storage techniques had improved radically over the years, so surely there was a solution there that wasn’t quite so squishy and full of eyeballs. There had to be something unique about the creature. And where did that put Misha? That was perhaps the question that most bothered Bran. Up till that point, he’d assumed these ’bad guys’ (for want of a better term) were just trying to grab Misha and maybe mind control him with the Baize Tu to get up to some bad guy shenanigans. Simple, stupid, but at least logical to some extent, but all this with the Nameless Beast and phone just made no sense. Were the people after Misha from a different department, or something? No, that couldn’t be right. Malcolm and Zhan had been after Misha, and they seemed to listen to Ling, and Ling worked for Arthur... And then there was the bizarre question of Ling, Misha’s mother. She clearly knew who Bran meant when he said ’Misha’ yet what would make a mother disassociate with her child like that, especially one as lovable as little Misha? It simply beggared belief. No, this wouldn’t do. He needed more information before he could start speculating coherently. Bran sat up, still a little groggy and looked around the small room. The night before the place had looked like a small side office that had been given storage duties and now in the morning it looked much the same. It wasn’t messy per se, but there wasn’t a lot of walkable floorspace between the tall columns of cardboard boxes. Bran got up then stood on the folding sofa bed to see about getting into one of these boxes. He’d unfortunately cut his nails not too long ago so it took a bit of time to use his stubs to slice through the tape but he eventually got it and discovered the boxes were full of... stationary. Bran reached in and pulled out a handful then craned his neck to look down past the hole he’d just made. More stationary. He let the pens in his hand drop back into the box and stepped down onto the ground and headed for the door. When he reached it, he paused and tried the handle, fully expecting it to not budge an inch. He was wrong. With just a small twist the door swung open and Bran stepped out into the hallway. He was underground and the lightning hadn’t changed a bit since the night before which made it feel like no time had passed at all. Bran worked to control his building anxiety and decided to just start walking in a direction. His sense of direction was awful but experience had taught him that if he just kept going, eventually he’d find his way. He had just reached a crossroads when a flicker at the corner of his eye caught his attention and he turned to see a small child standing some ways down the left passage. "Hello?" Bran called out cautiously. He recognised the child as the same one as the monster’s illusion the day before though he couldn’t bring himself to think him evil. The small child’s head jerked back and he looked down toward Bran, seemingly surprised to see someone. He stared with wide, round eyes, then gave a little wave. Bran waved back. Then Bran realised who the child looked like. He looked like a very young Misha.