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.

It took the better part of half an hour for Jonathan to walk from school to the main road and from there catch a short bus ride to town. So long as he let his uncle know not to wait for him for dinner, he had much leeway to do as he pleased. Dudley probably knew better than to try to keep Jonathan on too tight a leash; Jonathan had a free-spirited streak about him, something his uncle said he inherited from his father (or was it his mother). Apart from being summoned to school on an occasional basis by Jonathan's teachers, Dudley found him largely sensible in behaviour outside of school, hence the freer rein.

Bigger Bites sat on the same plot for at least half a century, a little ways off Main street where the side roads branched off to a wider block. Jonathan circled past the ice cream parlor at the corner, not wanting to bump into any of his schoolmates, and ventured further until he reached the huge parking lot where the trailers used to pull up, the diner being a favourite pit stop decades ago. Much had changed since then. The greasy spoon cleaned up to keep up with the times, with a thorough renovation illuminating its exterior facade with glass walls and a more open concept, though its owners fought to retain the original neon sign above as well as the dated signage post that used to face the former freeway. The place was now more family-friendly, and still drew an unpretentious crowd as well as the blue-collar regulars. Not too many teenagers frequented the place, but Jonathan wouldn't feel too out of place.

>>>One of the interesting aspects of living in a big city was the sprawling variety of venues and businesses, the wide diversity of cultures mishmashed together into a vibrant crazy-quilt melange. It kept life interesting and dynamic. Bigger Bites couldn't exactly be called 'exotic' but it was a bit of an absurd relic of Route 66 Americana surviving in the 'burbs of 2026 Boston.
>>> Jonathan had been to the diner on more than a few occasions. Being a bit of a nut about older cars, Dudley had brought him here mainly for the classic car shows Bigger Bites hosted on summer weekends. The place also proved to be a popular weekend afternoon stop for older bikers to rally, eat and reminisce while also being a popular spot for the sport bike squidboys to meet up after the sun went down. In the between times, the restaurant hosted mainly blue-collar types and tourists looking for a kitschy place to stop for food.
>>> Jonathan stepped through the chrome and steel glass doors and onto the black & white checkered floor with a bit of trepidation. He usually carried himself with a sometimes intimidating amount of self confidence but since school started back he was in waters so unfamiliar to him that he had begun to question things in ways he hadn't before. Things that led him to impressions he hadn't noticed before... Like how rooted Bigger Bites felt, like it somehow resisted change in a way he couldn't quite put his finger on. How it tried to root him as well but his awareness of it somehow pushed back against that feeling.
>>>He realized that he'd come thru the door and just stood there, unsure of how long that'd been, and people were just looking at him expectantly. "Table or booth, hon?" the waitress, Deloris, spoke from behind the long bar counter and seemingly broke the weird tension. At the sound of her voice it was like the universe blinked and resumed normality after an awkward pause, continuing on as if nothing unusual had occurred. "Booth, I guess." Jonathan met her gaze. "For two. I'm meeting someone, I think..."

Deloris' uniform was likewise a modernised, clean cut service staff button down, but that mismatched frilly white apron was a throwback to retro diner vibes, as was her practical nod towards one of the booths along the glass wall. If Jonathan were an old-school trucker he might've gotten some accompanying lip from her, but a teenage boy, clearly the youngest patron here this evening, deserved and received a friendlier welcome. The rest of the customers went back to minding their own meal, no one was bothered that it was a school night; the easy laidback spirit of the American diner still survived here in this century.

Even before Jonathan had gotten himself seated, the other waitress, a younger, redhaired girl, had already slid a menu on the table, and walked away instead of hovering. This gave Jonathan the chance to slide properly into the booth and catch his breath to survey the room.

There were no familiar faces, wait, the older man at the far end of the L-shaped counter in his unmistakeable khaki work vest, was that 'Mr Bill' Easterton, the retired Shop and Trades instructor? No wonder Jonathan didn't see him at the welcome assembly yesterday!

>>>Jonathan strolled towards the booth with an appreciative nod to Deloris. It was hard to shake the unusual feeling he'd experienced at the door but maybe he was just a bit more 'on edge' and observant about such things given the events of the the last couple of days. He still wasn't sure he was just imagining it all despite there being other students just as involved as he was with the mysterious goings-on.
>>>He nodded and smiled flatly at the red-haired waitress as she slid the laminated menu at him and retreated. With the growing dusk approaching, the big windows of the diner slowly took on a mirrored appearance as the bright lights in the diner outshone the sun as it sank behind the trees and buildings to the west. If Jonathan had paid closer attention, or been less distracted by his own thoughts about who (or what) he was about meet, he might've noticed that the image in each big window pane reflected things a little differently than they appeared in reality.
>>>He drummed his thumbs on the tabletop for a lack of anything else to fidget with. His eyes wandered over the diner's other clientele, finally noticing Mr. Bill at the counter and giving him a curt nod should the older man's gaze stray his way. Given the man's school association, Jonathan wondered if Corbin had sent Mr. Bill or if it was a coincidence the two of them ended up here at the same time...if coincidences were even real anymore under the circumstances.
>>>"Coffee. Black, please " he answered the red-haired waitress preemptively as she completed her circuit checking on her customers.

"Wyck? Jonathan!" Bill slid himself over into the booth without an invitation when Jonathan looked up at him, beer mug in one hand, and a slice of apple pie in another. The retiree looked slightly less spry than just a year ago when he was seeing his last batch of students. Tradesmanship wasn't a class that Jonathan bothered to sign up for, that seemed to take him away from his art endeavours, so he didn't get much of a chance to get to know Mr Bill better apart from the compulsory introductory course in sophmore year.

Still, he only heard positive things about Mr Bill from his students; the man had a genuine affection for his apprentices, as he liked to call them. Jonathan now wondered if Mr Bill was the one he was supposed to meet, and suddenly the term 'apprentice' took on another level of meaning. "No need to get up, this ain't school. Well, maybe the school of life." He took a little swig from his mug, and look to see if Deloris would bring him another scoop of ice cream for his pie. "Coach says you need a little extra curricular help with your project, but tuition these days, oof. I told him you could come and see me if you wanted to learn how to fix things." Bill leveled his gaze at the teen, his eyes saying more than his actual words.

>>>"'School of Life' has probably taught more people than any other kinda school...but I guess that depends on what you're trying to learn." he mused as the old Shop Teacher settled opposite him in the booth. Between the both of them they looked like a 'Before and After' picture; one at the beginning of life's journey and the other at its polar opposite end.
>>>Jonathan tapped his fingers on the checkered linoleum countertop and bounced his leg as he fidgeted trying to figure out the best way to just clear the air between them and get down to business. He hated all the subterfuge and secrecy that had spun up around things after The Blackout. There were those amongst the other students that had prestige or status to lose by just being upfront with whatever was happening but Jonathan existed outside all that. He had nothing to lose in that department so he just spoke his Truth and cut to the chase.
>>>"Look. Things have gotten strange lately around School. Lotsa Capital W weirdness." he looked the older man in the eye, dead serious in the way he was known for. "Everyone is skirting around what's going on like they're playing some covert game. I want some straight up Capital A answers. I need help figuring out what's going on and what's happening to me."
>>>To illustrate his point, Jonathan grabbed the salt shaker and spun it with a twist of his wrist and focused his will on it, urging it to keep spinning for an improbably long time

The shaker continued its circular motion, seconds, more seconds, a minute, more than a minute. Mr Bill's smile crooked to one side of his face, prompting another swig of his glass. The salt in the shaker began to trickle upwards, impossibly, until its grains started to come out of the holes in the cap, almost like the opposite of the sands of an hourglass. "How come you never took one of my shop classes? Could learn yourself a thing or two about how to start things up and when to wind them down." He put down his glass again.

"Sure, something's going on in school. It's been on for years. I've seen some of it, good and bad. Sworn to keep my mouth shut, but I'm no longer on staff am I?" He chuckled. " "You're a wizard 'Arry", the sooner you get that, the sooner you can do something about it. What you want to do is up to you, though I much rather teach someone who isn't going to bring the world down around them."

"I think Corbin sent you to me precisely cause you might be able to do just that. The end of things, you can make that happen." The salt shaker began to slow down as more and more of the salt flowed out until it was empty, whereupon the cap started to unscrew. "Think you can fill it up again? That's how things work, order and entropy."

>>>"Shop classes always conflicted with Art and the other classes on my schedule." he shrugged casually as the fluted glass shaker finally rolled to a stop. "Seemed kinda intentional if you ask me... Art and Shop are skill-adjacent." Jonathan was far from the type to avoid getting his hands dirty, after all.
>>>Mr. Bill's assessment about bring the world down around them resonated with Jonathan a bit too much. He'd been accused of being an anarchist, a nihilist, all too often and it'd be far to dishonest of him to deny the Truth of those feelings. It brought up memories of that conversation in the Hidden Courtyard with the veiled woman, the crow and that slithering fountain thing from yesterday when he'd gotten lost. "Been a lotta talk about Magick and Wizards goin' on and a lot of stuff pointing to that but what does it mean though? " Jonathan looked at Bill through the wisps of his black bangs, "Ashford, as far as I know, isn't exactly Hogwarts..." he said, a bit derisively. He knew of a solid twenty kids at Ashford for whom Hogwarts, or magic, being real would be their heart's desire come true. He felt like it wasn't going to be as easy as all that and the irony of both he and Potter being orphans suddenly struck him as darkly humorous. "We're all flying by the seat of our pants, me and the others, and I feel like it's gonna get us in over our heads real quick if we don't start learning the rules of this game. I'm not dumb enough to think we're the only people like this and if we're not then that means we're at a big disadvantage against the ones that DO know the rules." Bill's admonition to see if Jonathan could get the salt back in the shaker felt more like a challenge or a test of some sort rather than intellectual curiosity. He could feel the inherent disorder in the grains scattered over the linoleum countertop, the urge towards random distribution in each tiny grain, and the urge to 'magic' them back into the shaker was strong but Jonathan's stubborn streak was stronger. He scooped up the spilled salt into a pile on the counter with his hand, brushed it into his palm and returned what he could into the salt shaker.

"Smart lad," Bill nearly beamed when Jonathan chose to physically sweep the salt back into the shaker. "That's rule number two, or three. Don't do with magic what can be achieved through regular action. Also, for entropy to work, you have to set it up first. Someone has to put the salt back in before you can shake it out. Law of energy conservation. Don't need Strom to teach you that. In fact, just stay out of his way." Did Mr Bill just badmouth Professor Strom, the Head of Department for Physics?

"Ashford isn't magic school." Bill was clear that the students weren't there to learn how to do magic. "But they've put a whole bunch of you potential ones there for a reason. And don't bother asking, I don't know what that reason is, keeping you all together. Maybe it's to keep you safe. Maybe it's to use you. Turns out some of you learned about yourselves earlier than others. As far as I could tell, no teacher was supposed to nudge anyone towards it. Corbin's taking a big risk talking about it with you." Bill pursed his lips over the rim of his mug in a frown.

"If it's magic you want to catch up on; I can show you a trick or two. Corbin says you're seeing death. That's the source of your power, entropy. Knowing about the end, letting it define you, lets you use that to affect everything before the end arrives. At a cost." Jonathan would realise much later what that cost meant for a person like Bill Easterton, unlucky in love, stuck in a rut his entire career, no notable achievements in his lifetime. "Can you also see who's at the end? If you can, it also means you can try to get them to do stuff for you. Also means you can see beyond the veil. Don't be too unnerved by it, same beings, different form."

"If you need a name for who can do all these, although I don't particularly care for the Greek, it's Euthanatos." Myra had earlier described to their group what she read up on, for some book referred to what was known as traditions of magic. It seemed like Jonathan found himself adherent to one of these traditions.

>>>Jonathan tapped his fingers on the cool linoleum countertop as he listened to Mr. Bill explained things in that roundabout way that grown-ups liked to do. Sound all smart and cryptic but ultimately not very helpful. He put two-and-two together from the framework that Bill laid out for him, halting self-discoveries and lining up things he once thought of as coincidence, into a piece or two of the big puzzle he'd be asked to solve.
>>>"There was this underground band I went to see over the summer. Snuck out of the house and caught a ride over towards the docks; it was in an abandoned cannery. Youth-In-Asia. That was the name of the band." he confessed, beginning to draw some parallels between his experiences and what Bill was telling him. "I think that was when things suddenly started being different for me. A lot of their songs and sets were about endings and beginnings; being able to choose the reality of the things between those two points." He stopped drumming his fingers and looked at Bill, "You said the name for people that can do the things I'm capable of was Euthanatos..." The two did have remarkably similar sounding names, despite the linguistic sophistry.
>>>"Yeah, I get what you mean about knowing the end result and being able to guide things in the direction you want. I do that a lot in my art." he changed subjects quickly, possibly to avoid thinking about how 'guided' his life might've been when he fancied himself a rebel and free-spirit. "I see the end result in my head and guide how I want to render it onto a medium using the skills and supplies I choose."
>>>He stopped awkwardly, ending his comparison of art and Magick, "Wait. See who's at the End? " that part brought him to a halt. "I've been seeing a whole lot of crazy stuff lately. Things on different levels than us, expiration dates on people, stuff like that. I'm definitely gonna need some help understanding all that."

"Kids sneaking out of the house," Bill harrumphed in reminiscence, "still the same schtick. Mine was a long bike ride out by the interstate, fall of 76, freewheeling band by the name of Convoy Jones. Caught a truck on the way back, smashed both legs, somehow they got put back together. Give you the long version when you're old enough to drink." The older man veered off a bit, but came back to the point.

"You got it. Remember what you're seeing is not necessarily the end, but one possible end. Work backwards from there, and you can affect probability, make something more or less likely to happen, spot what might make something more or less likely to happen, because you might be able to see a thing before it happens. Expiration dates, heh," Bill leaned back, "If you can see it, it means you have a part to play in it. Had a part to play. Will have a part to play. Who knows. Means you can influence its outcome, prevent it from happening. If you could wiggle time, you might even be able to prevent the circumstances leading to it." It sounded like the retiree was referring to an adjacent domain of magic which could complement this entropy he was going on about.

To Jonathan's question about what else he could see, "Don't want to spook you out, but often those who see death also see the spirits of the other world. Doesn't matter if you're religious or not. If you hear voices or see things, and you are tempted to talk back, you're not going crazy. They talk weird, but once you figure them out, there's a bunch of insight there even I can't help you with."

"Look kid, there's a helluva lot more I can tell you about if you wanna listen to the ramblings of a retiree. You know Hank Torques? That garage south of Williamson Street? You'll find this retired shop teacher there tinkering. Swing by, but don't cut class for it. Evenings I'm here." He waggled a finger. "School of life," he chuckled. Jonathan actually knew the place, one of the old-timer garages that still called itself a garage instead of service station, or autocare.

>>>"Yeah. I know the place." Jonathan agreed. "Uncle Dudley, he's not really my uncle but yeah, he's ordered a lot of parts from there for the old cars he likes to drive. If driving is what you'd call it..." It wasn't that Jonathan couldn't appreciate those old cars for their clean linework or design style, they were roomy and easy to work on. It had to be the rebellious streak that must teenagers share with thinking whatever their parents or caregivers were into was somehow essentially uncool. "I'll swing by when I can and look for you. There's got to be a LOT more to this than you've told me so far... I mean, of Magick exists, why isn't it everywhere? Why have I, and I guess everyone else, been told it's not real for all this time?"

>>>"And if you don't know about the other stuff I'm seeing, know anybody who does? Anybody that I can talk to about that? You guys seem to have a cabal 'round here of secretly magical folks..." With all the sudden revelations of the secret lives of people around him all coming into the light, it made Jonathan question everyone and everything. How would he know the reality of anyone around him? If Magick was real, what else might be lurking out there ready to step out of of legend and into his life?

"Some of them think of themselves as cabals, secret societies, magical orders, hmph," Jonathan could tell on which side of the fence Bill sat. "The least annoying term is Tradition, what clique you belong to, because you tend to do the same kind of magic. Even so, there's a whole lotta difference within a tradition on how that magic is done. Spirit talker as well ay?" Bill wondered what he could suggest for Jonathan in that regard.

""That big question of yours is the hardest." Bill thought about the best way he could explain it to a sixteen year old kid, like a teacher would. "Magic is everywhere, but using it breaks reality as we know it. You get that right? Reality is a bunch of consistent rules that cohere with each other. Magic says let's bend those rules. Bend them too much and it snaps back. There's a cost. Too many people bending them, something comes crashing down. So while magic is real, magic is also the opposite of reality. This is what keeps people from just doing what they want with it; they could magic themselves out of existence if they think themselves beyond the rules."

Jonathan smiled darkly, "Well, I been bending the rules til they squeal for a long time now...so Magick probably won't be any different once I learn what rules we're supposed to play by." He thrummed his fingertips on the table nervously, "Guess that'll be the first lesson. The Rules. Before I end up in Magick Court or something." He pulled a $5 bill out of his pocket and laid it under the saucer of the white coffee mug as he drained half of it in big gulps. "Thanks for the 'heads up'. I'll drop by the garage after school tomorrow if nothing else holds me up.I need to head out. School comes early and I've got some thinking to do about everything you said."

"Take this with you," Bill tossed the salt shaker to Jonathan. "Don't let it run out." The retiree caught Deloris' frown when the waitress saw him do that, but all he did was quaff the rest of his beer and grinned at her for another round.