1 - Jonathan Wyck

Despite Jonathan’s best efforts, or perhaps because of it, they were about to be late for school.

How did this happen? What will you do, if anything, to try to make it in time?

Jon's eyes flashed open at the sudden crash just beside his bed. " You. Awake. Now." 'Uncle Dudley', Jon's guardian, stood just beside the bed and on the floor rested the metal pallete tray the man had dropped to get his attention.

---

The shock of the sudden crash had barely worn off when Jon sat bolt upright in his bed gasping. Disoriented, he cast around confused. Dudley was nowhere in the room, no palette tray lay in the floor. Did he even own one that was metal? Jon fell back into bed, suddenly sweaty and full of nervous energy he couldn't identify the source of. "well... guess it was just a dream. I'm definitely awake now..." he muttered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and modulating his breathing.
The door to Jon's room opened and Uncle Dudley stuck his head in. "You awake now?" he said hurriedly. "First day of school and you're going to be late. Pshhh, I'll drive you today...no tomorrow, tho. Tomorrow you get up on time." Dudley shut the door forcefully enough to voice his displeasure. "Five minutes or you walk. Whole way." he called, his voice receding down the hallway.
Jon wiped his face and rolled out of bed. Grabbing his shirt and pants off the floor and touseling his hair into shape, he hustled to get ready and out the door. Dudley wasn't kidding about the five minute rule; the man was so punctual you could set an atomic clock by him.

At four minutes & fifty seconds, Dudley's car roared to life in the driveway, Jon stumbled out of the front door with his backpack in one hand a protein shake in the other and a piece of toast clenched between his teeth. Dudley's june-bug green '78 Impala slid into gear as Jon's rear slid into the passengers seat. Crunching through his toast and washing it down with the protein shake, Jon slid his arms into the black shirt that hung around his neck and finished dressing as Dudley wove through Boston morning traffic on the way to Ashford State High. On a regular day, he'd have taken the 'T', Boston's public transit, to school but he hadn't retrained his circadian rhythm out of summer break mode and into school mode. He yawned and adjusted himself in the passenger seat, slinging his black backpack up onto the seat between himself and Dudley.

The ride gave him time to reflect on the strange way he'd woken up this morning and the unsettled feeling it gave him. It was a similar feeling he'd been having all year, increasingly through the summer break. Like the feeling before a storm when the air was somehow charged and you could tell something was coming but not exactly what or where from. He thought maybe it was just anxiety over the future; a lot of things were up in the air after this year... A lot of the other kids in his class had gone to tour colleges in preparation for next year after graduation, but not him. He didn't see college in his future. Jon really didn't see exactly where his future led, if anywhere. Instead, he'd spent the summer either working on art pieces in the garage he'd turned into a studio or out partying. Dudley didn't exactly approve of his late-night social life but didn't stop him from going out either. Just dropped some cryptic advice about the kinds of people to avoid and what to do in oddly specific situations. The man was an enigma wrapped in the unexpected.
Dudley had come into Jon's life without warning and, initially, unwanted. Jon was legally Dudley's ward until the end of the coming school year. Once he graduated, he was 'of age' and no longer legally Dudley's responsibility. Jon really didn't know how to feel about that.

The sudden deceleration of Dudley's Impala broke Jon from his reverie and he looked out at the throngs of students piling out of buses and cars to mill about the parking lot drop off points. Some faces he remembered, others seemed new. Ashford High was a big school and attracted a diverse student body and that made for a unique social dynamic or rather a polyploid dynamic that someone like Machiavelli would revel in. It was something he wished he could avoid but never could. There was no escaping the Dark Triad of high school social drama.

"Hey, thanks for the ride. Just in time for the bell." he told Dudley as the car rolled to a stop behind the bus line. "You're so used to killing time maybe one day time might try killing you, eh?" Dudley said before pulling away. Around him students began hurrying to their assembly points as the campus bells rang.

Teenagers on the cusp of adulthood weren't typically given to superstition and other such easily-dismissed thoughts. But if there were a chance for hindsight years from now, the Awakened ones of the Class of '26 might be able look back to as early as their first day of school to realise that change was in the ether. Perhaps it was the greater weave of fate that pushed against their coming back, as if delaying them, keeping them away from the penumbral shores, from what was about to happen.

But they wouldn't have known that of course. To them, the situation was simply that they would be late. Jonathan did not speed up the long driveaway like some of the other students faced with the prospect of being late. There were still some students on foot and on bicycle making a dash for it, surely he would be fine. What he didn't anticipate was being trapped at the last bend by two school buses, the more inconsiderate of the pair ought to pulled further up to make way for traffic behind. But as it was now, he was stuck until it unloaded, with no way of reaching the student car park yet.

Jon wasn't particularly paying attention as the Impala slowed to a stop behind the bus line. He'd been thinking about the previous year and everything that had happened. He was lost in the highs and the lows as they played back inside his mind. The sharp honk from a black Land Rover a few cars behind Dudley and Jon snapped him back to the present. He turned to look behind the Impala at the number of cars piling up behind them before looking ahead at the buses jumbled up ahead of them blocking access to the school parking lot. "Woah. Looks like they've got a new driver for number 37 this year..." the yellow bus sat with its rear corner halfway into the vehicle lane. "I got it from here, Dudley. I'll just cut around and walk the rest of the way." he ran his hand through his hair before piling his backpack onto his lap and getting out of the car.
The access drive for Ashord High ran past a particularly dense copse of trees, carefully cultivated for a century to separate the school from Boston proper, with only a small footpath on one side to accommodate students on foot or bike. Or skateboard...as he saw making her way up the scenic drive. The crowd of students was thinning quick so he knew he didn't have a lot of time to get to the dropoff and then to the assembly. The cars were packed bumper to bumper waiting for the buses to move and the drive to clear by he didn't have that long.
The only way across to the paved footpath was either up & over or under and around the buses. Under wasn't an option... He wasn't about to get grimy & greasy crawling underneath the bus and end up smelling like diesel exhaust, so up & over it had to be. He shut the door to the Impala, gave a 'thumbs up' to Dudley and hiked a few meters in the brush before climbing over the hood of the school bus and over to the opposite side.

It was sensible for Jon to leg it the rest of the way, for it looked like Dudley would still be trapped a while longer behind the bus. Scrabbling through the brush was hardly an annoyance, as students they had traipsed in a far worse manner across the surrounding landscaping, and the fellow student he nudged against when he re-emerged on the footpath didn't even bat an eyelid. They were all just hustling to be on time.

>>>Being 'bum rushed' out of the school after all the weird happenings of the day didn't sit right with Jonathan. Too much left unrealized, unspoken and unaddressed for him to just let it go so soon. IF the faculty hadn't tried so hard to downplay things, to make it painfully obvious everything wasn't ok he might've just let things slide. Between the cover-up and the vision he'd had during the power glitch, Jonathan couldn't shake the feeling something momentous was afoot...
>>>Normally, he'd have taken the public bus system home but his musings about the day distracted him and he'd walked far past his regular bus stops and into less than familiar territory. The sudden realization that he wasn't anywhere he recognized shook him out of his thoughts and back to the present. He took out his phone to get his bearings and plot a way back to his & Dudley's house but only his reflection in the dead black screen greeted him. " Figures... Phones dead." he huffed, drawing his hand through his black hair. Boston was a large city but outside the city center, where he'd apparently wandered, foot traffic was limited at best. No one walked anywhere anymore, preferring to drive instead.
>>>He was seemingly alone walking past rows of apartment blocks, old weathered buildings that had begun to hide the sun in the deepening afternoon light. The shrill call of a crow startled him as it cut through the suburban quiet. He turned to retrace his steps homeward but hesitated at a second loud 'CAW' piqued his curiosity as underneath the birdcall he heard a murmur of conversation. Muted, unintelligible but definitely a conversation... Following the sound left him to a high wooden fence sectioning off a private yard between two ancient tenements, the gate propped open enough for him to see inside.
>>>The source of the raucous cry flapped its large black wings as it perched on the large fountain in the center of the yard; the fountain itself an odd construct of black wrought iron coiled in a snake or wrym motif, the water rolling down its sides had the unnerving visual effect of the thing moving or squirming. The whole scene held the same funny feeling in Jonathan's head as he'd had during the gymnasium blackout at school earlier in the day. A heady, surreal feeling he couldn't place.

>>>"Lost?" the voice, a raspy breathy woman's voice, lilted from a corner of the hidden yard he hadn't yet seen. Half hidden by a shimmering veil stretched above a wrought iron bench, the woman called out. The veil, shifting in the slight breeze, obscured her from ready sight; her face becoming visible only in the light produced by her drag on a cigarette. Jonathan could tell her age or really recall her features between the brief glimpses as her cigarette light the growing gloom.
>>>"Well, yeah. I'm not...I don't know where I am. Never been here before." he hated to admit it but his honesty drove him to tell the truth.
>>>"You've been here before. You don't remember it." she said bluntly. "Or just don't remember it yet..."
>>> Jonathan scrunched up his nose. He hated non-answers almost as much as he hated lies. "I just wanna get home before it gets dark. Which way is outta here?"

>>>"That depends on where 'home' is and where 'here' is..." it felt fuzzy in his head as she spoke, like there was more meaning to what she said than either language could convey or his brain could interpret. Like there was some other way they should be speaking to better understand one another. It was giving him a headache and he was beginning to get a bit angry.

>>>A faint huff and a stifled sniff came from the lady behind the veil, the faint light of the cigarette outlining her face as her hand presumably wiped away a tear. The sudden revelation that the woman was more than a bit distraught helped ease Jonathan's mounting frustration. To him it stopped seeming as if she were toying with him and seemed more like she were waxing philosophical or trying to make conversation to stave off the silence. "Look...I didn't mean to interrupt you. I'll just go back the way I came." Jonathan felt like letting the woman have her moment in peace seemed like the right thing to do. She stopped him short, "Can't go back the way you came, Kid. Things don't work that way. You just gotta *sniff* follow the Wheel as it goes 'round." The big black bird chose that moment to punctuate the discussion, cawing as if in agreement.
>>>"Thanks for the advice, I guess..." he replied flatly. "And, hey...um, sorry for whatever you're going thru. Anything I can do to help?"
A long drag on the cigarette foretold her answer, "Not really. Thanks for askin' tho. Go on and get home now." the flickering light died down and she returned to the darkness behind the fluttering veil. "Be seein' you around..." she called as he stepped back through the gate, letting it close behind him.

>>>Wandering as the light faded into night, Jonathan found himself just as lost as before. He stopped at a roundabout he hadn't seen before and wondered if that was the 'wheel' the sad lady was talking about. He didn't have long to ponder the idea as Dudley's june-bug green Impala lurched around the roundabout and stopped in front of him. "Get in. You late." Dudley said curtly. Dudley didn't sound upset that he'd been gone all afternoon and into the evening tho a hint of amusement tinged his speech.
>>>"How'd you know where I was?" Jonathan asked as he slid into the Impala. "I didn't even know where I was..."
>>>"I just asked if people seen a big dumb Goth boy and they point me right to you." Dudley threw the Impala into gear and circled the roundabout on the way back home. "You're easy to spot. Stand out way too much." he said idylly. The pair spent the rest of the trip home in silence.

"Have a seat." Despite the serious formality of the title of Doctor, Veritas was generally regarded as a motherly figure amongst the staff, more youthful in appearance than one might guess her true age to be, though her chopped bob and bangs, slightly streaked in grey, gave her some kindly gravitas to match.

The counselling room was furnished with soft armchairs and a table for the counsellor, carpeted but enclosed with no natural light. A small shelf sat to one side with a tray of glasses and a water flask.

Today though the shelf was partially blocked by a third person in the room."Ms Nixon will join us today as well, as part of the school's efforts to improve our care programme." The woman looked as proper as she did yesterday, again in nearly the same shade of grey suit. In her hand was a tablet and stylus.

"How are you doing at the moment Jonathan? I am concerned about what you may have experienced at yesterday's blackout. Can you tell me a bit about what's going on with you right now? I'm ready to listen if you're willing to share." So that’s what the school was calling it, a blackout.

Her tone was gentle, but nonetheless probing..

>>> Over the years, Jonathan has been a frequent client of Ashford's counseling center and that familiarity made the place less intimidating. He had been in exactly this same spot, in the windowless room, on plenty of occasions for a variety of reasons. This, however, was the first time where the room held a third occupant.
>>>Jonathan rolled into the room and sat comfortably loose in the plush chair opposite Veritas and sat back, eyeing Nixon as he did so. The look was adversarial, like a boxer sizing up an opponent before a match, before turning a more cordial affect to Dr. Veritas. 'Concerned about what happened to me during the blackout yesterday?" he shrugged noncommittally, combing his big hand through his black hair. "Well, that depends on what really did happen during the blackout. So...what did happen? Honestly." He lets his eyes slide between the two counselors, a knowing expression directed at them both.
>>>Of all the students at Ashford, Jonathan Wyck had a knack for being in the center of trouble...whether by his own design or drawn into the machinations of others. He was also known for his, often brutal, honesty. Other students, and especially faculty, always knew where they stood with Jonathan even if they wish they didn't. Using that candor was his edge and he was intent on testing it against Nixon.

The same disconcerting feeling Jonathan had yesterday as his eyes darted to Nixon even as he evaded Veritas' questions was amplified, for the guidance counsellor from the Board of Education revealed no expression throughout, save for the occasional scribing on her tablet. This was regardless of the familiarity Jonathan had in his dealings with Veritas previously in one of these very rooms.

Veritas was in contrast always warmer, despite Jonathan's prickliness. "Stress can sometimes make us see events negatively. Did you see or hear something that made you feel less safe yesterday? Did you speak with anyone that made you feel this way?"

Veritas did not rise to Jonathan's baiting, especially not with his case history of recalcitrance. She was used to handling difficult students, not as disciplinarian, but as counsellor. She made no mention of any discrepancy in truth, but turned the questions towards what version Jonathan was going to bring to the table.

Jonathan had the feeling though that the version of the story he chose to tell was somehow important to himself personally. That it would shape how he dealt with his newly experienced reality in some way. Sure, he could try to convince Veritas, but could he affect himself in the process?

>>>"Talk about it? Yeah. The blackout was all we could talk about for a while. Trying to figure out what was going on. Pretty unusual event for the first day of Senior Year, right?" Jonathan countered. "What'd you think we'd be talking about? Aside from the standard catching up from Summer Break, I guess. It was all over the socials asking what happened , who was with who, all of that." Truth, maybe not all of it just yet, but nonetheless that was what happened.
"Why should we feel feel 'less safe' about a temporary blackout? I didn't see anything. That was the point of the lights being out, right?" he presented that stone faced façade to the counselors and put the ball back in their court.

"I'm pleased to hear that your first day back adjusted well with everyone else." Jonathan had heard this serene, opaque tone from Veritas before. He knew he hadn't convinced her of anything, But he also knew that that meant she didn’t get anything out of him either. He was confident that how he presented his accounts were often more convincing than what the account contained. Surprisingly, Veritas didn’t push back, although Jonathan continued to be aware of Nixon’s gaze at the periphery of his vision. "It sounds like you’re demonstrating the maturity of a senior year student, Jonathan, keep it up." Did she just say something encouraging? It felt like Veritas was ready to wind up the session and dismiss Jonathan! If so, what was the point of all this?

>>> Jonathan sat back in the chair, eyes flicking between the two counselors as if trying to ascertain the power dynamics between the two. Nixon was giving off aires of being a superior to Veritas, inverting the traditional position of tenure. He didn't like that. It felt wrong and Nixon felt like an alien presence or occupying force to Jonathan.
>>>He was suddenly reminded of the lady in the courtyard he'd spoken to last night after he'd gotten lost. She said 'can't go back the way you came. You gotta follow the Wheel as it goes 'round.' In this particular moment, that phrase brought to mind in Jonathan that things don't stay the same and change is inevitable, even if the change is unwanted. Nixon was a change from the defined 'norms' Jonathan had come to rely on and maybe that was what set him, and the others, off when she was around?
>>>In his internal musings he'd almost forgotten dismissal by Veritas. "Thanks, I guess..." he addressed the odd compliment from the gray haired counselor. "Part of 'growing up', I guess." He rose from the interrogation interview chair and loomed over the desk for a moment before winking at Nixon, "Guess I'll be seeing you around sooner or later." His tone, deadpan as ever, left an aire of finality to it before he exited the room for the next student to go under scrutiny.

>>>The lunch meeting between The Seven left Jonathan in an unusual mood. It felt like something crawled around in the back of his mind; it reminded him of the unsettling way the fountain, from his odd interlude yesterday, seemingly squirmed and moved under the trickling flow of water. He sat in art class physically but mentally he was elsewhere...somewhere within himself. As a senior, he'd already been through the art classes that taught history and technique, materials and methods so his blank stare at an empty cream colored sketch pad.
>>>Unbidden, a idea formed in his head as if deposited via muse. He'd been thinking about Emily and the image he'd drawn of her... Like a bolt, it was as if he heard her talking: "Have you SEEN me?" The inspiration had struck and his eyes moved rapidly as he contemplated the inspiration and what implications acting on it may bring. Jonathan had never been one to shy away from the consequences of his actions and this seemed more important than anything he'd done thus far.
>>> He'd need help to get the first stages going but he had a couple of people he knew he could rely on now to pull the Truth back from the brink...and maybe Emily with it.

Jonathan's was caught up thinking about how to prevent the erasure of Emily that was evidently going on. He had already taken his first step, which was to make sure he had a drawn picture of her. He considered the possibilities: the first and most obvious was that the powers-that-be were actively suppressing the truth, whether a few, some, or the entire school administration were working towards this. The last option was the scariest. The second was some agent or agents seeking to delete the evidence of Emily's existence. This could explain why there was a blackout, including student handphone records, and also why subsequent social media posts were garbled, inaccessible or simply gone. In the latter, this might mean that Jonathan's plan might encounter the same problem. The last, seemingly least likely possibility, is Emily herself. This one was harder to rationalise, for it meant that Emily wanted to be seen, judging by her multiple appearances, and also wanted to be forgotten after that. A dramatic flourish?

Whatever campaign Jonathan could cook up, he certainly could expect some response. This might draw out the perpetrators.

>>>Struck by his muse, whether that muse was inspiring Art or Troublemaking (likely both), Jonathan hadn't really considered the final details of Emily's disappearance until well after the piece had been completed and the creative fever left him.
>>>The miniscule weight of the tiny thumb drive that held a copy of his files felt far weightier than it should; like it held something of importance. He decided it was probably just his imagination and a bit of excitement at stirring up 'capital T' Trouble for those trying to hide the Truth. Admittedly, at least some of that Trouble was bound to blow back on him but that just added to the excitement. Dr. Veritas had a whole file on Jonathan's troublemaking urges... Her professional opinion was that Jonathan committed these trespasses for self-validation and attention-seeking behaviors from authority figures to fill the parental gap he suffered from due to his orphaned status; a diagnosis that Jonathan himself would've disagreed with. Not like he had a better idea where his urges came from but he felt ...knew... they came from some righteous place inside him. One that pushed a strong urge towards 'righting wrongs', whatever that meant.
>>> Jonathan knew that whatever the fallout from releasing those files into the wild, it would help put right Emily's disappearance and the cover-up that followed. It'd let those behind it know it wouldn't be that easy to erase someone and there'd be a fight to keep it from happening again. He expected another trip to Dr. Veritas was in the works as soon as the files got out. It had his handiwork written all over it but he hoped that Kyle's expertise would eliminate any direct links and put enough plausible deniability out there to blunt any 'official' response.
>>>Having passed off the thumb drive to Kyle and the Art Club table squared away, Jonathan headed out to the practice fields to find the Coach.