S2, E7 | Conscience Heavy as a Body Bag

> 14th May, 2031 <

Untying the strings that hold it against his chest, Andrew removes his short, green apron with a sigh before hanging it atop the nearest hook, his eyebrows lifting as the bell above his shop’s entrance rings. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We’re clo-” he remarks as fast as he can muster, unable to lock the door prior to her entry, yet to look at her, but falling silent once he does.

“Elaine” he mutters with a smile, pleased to see the familiar face that turns the lock on her way in on his behalf. “Sorry, I didn’t want to take a chance on coming in through the back” the friendly woman replies, pleased when the store’s owner refuses the need for an apology. “It’s fine. You can come and go however you want” Andrew reassures with a grin, his lips pressing together as they arch into a smirk, “it doesn’t really matter- I like seeing you regardless.”

Blushing, Elaine’s teeth part through the lips her flustered subconscious force away from each other as her hand pushes dark locks of brown hair over her ear. “That’s sweet” she manages to respond, both hands holding the cords of her purse at her lap as she briefly looks around the cosy shop, “the plants are all so pretty.”

Though his day of work has been long and tiring, the late afternoon closing time is made infinitely more bearable by the woman’s presence in spite of the early morning opening. “Yeah, that’s what I’d been going for” Andrew responds, crossing his arms as he follows Elaine’s eyes around the store, “I never liked how open some of these shops were, so I wanted to make sure I could put a colourful assortment pretty much anywhere I could see.”

“I think you accomplished that” Elaine quips, taking her attention to the large, tree-like column in the centre of the flora-surrounded hole-in-the-wall boutique, an incredibly assortment of flowers all coming together to form one, seemingly infinitely-deep gathering of greenery. “I’m gonna assume this is the thing holding up the ceiling?” she jokes, though her curiosity is obviously genuine.

“Oh! Yeah, I call it the ‘Tree of Life’” Andrew responds, casually strolling forward to join her at the centre pillar, “I couldn’t screw into it, so I built a shelf that stretched to the ceiling and wrapped around every side.” With an eyebrow raised, Elaine gently grazes the end of one leaf with her finger as she praises the man’s work, appreciating its simplicity and beauty.

“This is really cool” she murmurs, taking a second look at the endless supply of various life that makes up the glamorous inner sanctum of the closest thing she can think of to heaven on earth. “Yeah, I-” Andrew begins replying, promptly pausing as he takes in the compliment, trying his best to hide the grateful smile that sprawls across his face, “-I guess it is.”

“You guess?” Elaine repeats, her raised eyebrow now turned on the man as her smile grows wider, a brief step taken further into the foliage sanctuary with her arms widening. “It’s like a really big, really colourful, really pretty, breath-taking jungle!” she proclaims, spinning around as her arms fall to each side, now faced with Andrew once more, “I don’t think I can imagine anything I’d rather be around more!”

Overwhelmed by the kind words, the shop’s owner bows his head as he hides the ear-to-ear smile he shares with the woman across from him, a sudden realisation coming across his mind. As the smirk fades, Andrew’s lips soon press tightly as his eyes begin to squint, his mind challenging the thought that slowly creeps into it.

“What?” Elaine soon asks aloud, recollecting the man’s attention as she takes notice of his change in expression, the comforting charm still present, though not overtly appreciatory before. Shaking his head, the man soon brushes off the shift in visage, unfurling his arms to wave off the notion of any adjustment as he turns back toward the counter. “It’s nothing, just a foolish thought” Andrew answers, a subdued chuckle leaving his lungs with the sole purpose of keeping the air light-hearted.

“Oh come on, tell me” Elaine replies, following the man back to the front counter, its glass shield covering an assortment of small, plant-treating charms. Trying to shake the looming though from his mind before he can talk himself out of it, Andrew tries to playfully return to his place behind the register before his inner elbow is gently pulled back by the endearing woman unknowingly responsible for making his heart skip a beat.

Ushered into turning around, Andrew looks down at the woman who stands just a few inches lower than him, his eyes finding hers as his back presses into the transparent display case. “It’s nothing, I just-” he stutters, rolling his eyes as his smile instinctively widens, his chin shaking as it lifts toward the ceiling, “-I was just wondering whether or not there’s something I’d prefer being around more than all of this.”

With slightly widened eyes and two raised eyebrows, Elaine’s head tilts to the side as she asks the obvious question, “uh huh? And what’s the answer, Einstein?” Looking back to the woman’s face, Andrew’s smile soon begins to fade, his expression turned into something more than playful and blushed, almost taken over by something more certain, stronger than just a simple assumption.

“Yes” he whispers, the air that surrounds them quieting to the point where a pin drop can earn a few turns of the head, the mood taking a turn from the fun-spirited tenor that’d once surrounded them, progressing into something more. The enthusiasm deepening over her face, Elaine’s eyes find themselves coupling with the taller man, not wanting to let go anymore than Andrew’s do.

Creeping in, second thoughts regain their control over the man as the silence becomes too heavy for him to hold, his apologies profuse in their attempt to dissuade the discomfort of what unknown lies ahead. “Like I said, it was just a foolish tho-” Andrew begins to reply, shaking his head as he glances away, its rapid refusal brought to a halt as Elaine’s bag hits the floor, her hands releasing its straps from their possession as they press gently against each side of his face.

Before his thought can be finished, Andrew’s lips are proven incapable of parting as they press against Elaine’s own, the woman’s refusal to let him talk his way out of their mutual feelings resulting in a sudden, yet welcomed kiss. 

Spending a few seconds joined at the lip, the pair pull apart slowly, opening Andrew’s left hand to press into Elaine’s lower back, pulling her close as his right hand caresses the side of her face. Her bottom lip quivering, the besotted woman looks to the man’s lips as she gently sways her head from one side to the other. “I, um-” she begins to murmur, keeping herself close to the man as her hands refuse to relinquish their hold on his face, “I just didn’t want to wait for this any longer.”

Unable to put into words how shared that same stance is, Andrew lets his actions do the speaking on his behalf, lowering his face and returning the kiss just as the phone a couple centimetres behind him begins to ring. Interjecting itself into the eagerly anticipated sharing of romantic gestures, the call prompts the couple to pull apart, calling for the man’s attention at once.

“I’m so sorry” Andrew apologises, waved off by the more-than-understanding woman as he pulls away, leaving her room to retrieve her bag from the floor. Clearing his throat, the call’s respondent places the handpiece to his ear as introduces himself and the location of his shop. “Andrew Carrion, Home Jungle off the Rolling Hills” the man greets, “unfortunately, the store is closed for the day. Is there a message or some other form of help I can provide?”

Upon response from the caller on the other end of the line, Andrew’s eyebrows soon furrow before rising as his eyes widen, “oh god” proclaimed as the caller reaches the reason for his late-evening greeting.

= Generation Alpha is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onwards =

> 16th May, 2031 <

With her ear pressed against the bedroom door, Rebecca quietly listens into the other side of the entry, her breathing steady and quiet as she waits for a sound. Met with an unpleasant silence, the woman’s spirits begin to lower, falling through their metaphorical floor until a sudden proclamation is spoken aloud, intended for her ear. “The house was built eighty years ago-” Caden nonchalantly calls out, his voice subdued beneath its recent dejected disposition, “-I can hear your footsteps.”

Trying as best she can to conceal her frown, Rebecca turns the knob to let herself into her only  child’s room, her eyes immediately taking to the bed in which he lies. Lifting his eyes- though not the rest of his face- from the book in his lap, Caden watches his mother gently press the door shut behind her, her back pressed against its smooth surface as she momentarily looks to her son without saying a word, content with being a silent observer.

“I’m still here- just in case you were wondering” Caden remarks, slowly closing the hard-cover bind of text-plastered paper with a tiny bookmark protruding from his place in the story, “you took my keys, the floor creaking would keep me from sneaking out, and even if I did manage to sneak out- I don’t have anyone to meet with.”

Delicately shaking her head from one side to the other, Rebecca steps further into the open room, getting a chill-inducing sensation that- despite Caden having occupied the space for the majority of the past week- it’s barely been wandered through. Letting the novel he’d snatched from a decorative bookshelf in the hallway just beyond his door sit beside him, the Nurse’s lone offspring waits for his mother’s response, yet to hear her voice despite her eyes travelling between the walls.

“I’m sorry” Rebecca finally murmurs, her morale beginning to crater as her mind cycles through the litany of hardships her proudest achievement had been forced to survive through the last near-year and a half. “Your father and I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you” she confesses, a truth her son had already assumed long ago, “and as much as we want to help, we just-” she pauses, coming up short of any delicate phrasing to a rather simple confession, “-we just don’t know how.”

Hanging his head as he lets the book rest against his bed, Caden presses his back into the furniture’s headboard, not wanting to look his mother in the eyes as the sound of a car door shutting in the street just beyond their home’s front walkway is heard through an open window. “I don’t want your help” the emotional war-fought teenager admits, his face remaining held toward his lap as his arms cross, fingers wrapping around his arms as he cradles himself, “you can’t help this.”

Veering off to the side, Rebecca matches her son’s posture, crossing her arms as she looks away, trying to conjure a response before her son’s voice unknowingly refuses her the chance to speak. “We were going to Chicago” Caden admits, his head kept in the same place he’d held it as the doorbell rings, brushed off by the Nurse’s matriarch as she leaves her husband to answer, uninterested in cutting her son off.

“The night the cops came- told me about Izzy- we were supposed to drive to Chicago” the young man continues, barely able to hear the conversation shared between the two voices at his residence’s front door, “we were gonna spend the weekend out in Illinois to clear my head.” Confused, Rebecca looks to her son as his eyes remain distant, attention kept on his lap as his arms remain crossed, reluctant to fully open himself emotionally.

Feeling like a piece connecting her son’s intended departure and the decision to do so is absent from the conversation, Rebecca asks the only question incapable of being avoided. “Why?” the woman wonders aloud, finally pulling her son’s eyes away from his lap, their full focus placed on his mother as he parts his lips to speak.

Interjecting itself in the conversation, a knock at Caden’s door steals the interest of the room’s two occupants, its sudden arrival preceding George’s entrance. “Caden, there’s-” the man begins to speak, a more rigid tone held than that of his mother’s more emotionally-charged one, his pause taken at the realisation of his wife’s presence, “-there’s, uh- there’s someone at the door for you.”

With a care-free look of displeasure written across his face like a novel of bad omens, Caden follows his father down the home’s main staircase as his mother shadows him, matching his pace closely behind. Turning the bannister, the young man’s frown turns its presentation toward the front door, his line of sight following George before the outline of a third, less familiar and yet equally attention-capturing figure catches his eye, standing in the doorway with a hat held against his chest.

“Greetings” the tall, bald-headed man with an inherently-intimidating visage and even more fearsome posture speaks, his voice all too familiar for the youngest resident to not recognise. “I don’t believe we’ve met in person, but I know we spoke briefly over the phone last week” the man persists, stepping further into the home as unimposing as he can manage, though his impression is only increasingly made, “I’ve since heard of your loss. I’m- I’m terribly sorry.”

Still quiet, Caden inspects the man before opening his mouth, knowing him to be the person behind the contact card he’d been presented with not too long ago. “We spoke- albeit briefly- about some important matters last week” recalls, finally drawing the young man’s full attention, both eyes and a raised chin held from the youthful soul to the elder inquisitor, “I was hoping that- in lieu of recent events- you would be open to speaking again. Potentially with more detail?”

Squinting his eyes, Caden’s mouth shifts to the right as his parents watch on quietly, easily able to see the laminated badge resting on the stranger’s hip. “You left me your card last week. I was walking to you just before the cops came” the young man responds, bowing his head just slightly as he tries to decipher the man’s rationale, “why are you here now?”

With a brief smirk, the man takes a glance in the direction of the young man’s parents before returning his line of sight to the visibly-intrigued soul he’s come to speak with. “Is there somewhere more private we can speak?” the man questions, letting his hat fall from the place over his heart to his side, lacking any emotional or intellectual connection to the curious young man, though sharing a common hunger for one, specific instance of justice.

|

> 16th May, 2031 <

“I’m so sorry about this” Andrew remarks, his profuse apologies brushed off by the woman he exits his vehicle alongside, who remains as understanding as she’d always presented herself. “Don’t be, this isn’t your fault” Elaine responds, stepping out of the passenger’s seat as the car’s driver rounds the hood, closing her door before preparing himself for the long march onward.

“I’m her father. If something’s wrong with her, there’s always at least a little bit of responsibility on my part” Andrew corrects, taking the lead of their collective stroll to the front door of a mostly-unmarked, brick-laid building off the side of a main road. “At some point, you won’t be able to blame yourself for what she does” Elaine reassures, bowing her head in appreciation as she steps through the door held open for her by the man she’s uncertain just what her connection to is.

“I raised her. Even if it’s small- there’s always some blame to fall on my shoulders” Andrew doubles down, again leaping ahead of the woman accompanying him to hold a second pair of doors open. “My mother used to say the same thing about me” Elaine replies, quick to try and dissuade the man she cares deeply for from alienating himself from what she believes to be an unhealthy outlook, “at some point, I had to remind her that I started making my own decisions somewhere along the way.”

His head shaking, Andrew lets out a deep breath as he holds back the answer, lowering his voice as he approaches a desk, “you don’t have to believe me, but I promise you- that didn’t stop her from believing otherwise” he concludes, putting the conversation to a pause as his arm rests against the entrance booth.

“I’m Andrew Carrion, I was called to pick up my daughter” the man remarks, watching the uniformed man reach for a clipboard before taking notice to additional presence out of the corner of his eye. “Why are you here?” the preoccupied father confusedly asks aloud, noticing a small crew of cameramen in the lobby alongside Ian, who shows his lack of involvement by presenting his hands.

“We were listening to the scanner when we heard she got taken in” the man responds, dressed in a way that can only be described as out-of-place, his denim khakis combining with a colourful, patterned button-up. Opening his mouth whilst taking a step forward, Andrew stops himself from speaking ill of the man before he can have an opportunity to think over his words, preferring to leave the statement as is and refocus himself on the more pressing issues.

“If you will- sign here and if you have a copy of your I.D, I’m gonna need to take it down for documentation” the black gentleman says with an unenthused voice, leaving the clipboard on the counter for the man to write upon. Turning his attention to the accompanying woman, the man in the dark uniform sets his next question at her hands to answer, “are you related to the girl?”

As she attempts to answer, Elaine finds her voice cut off by the gentleman beside her, his answer given on her behalf as he takes the pen to the paper’s necessary lines. “She’s her step mother” Andrew declares, lying through his teeth as he holds the back of his hand toward the officer for physical proof, a titanium wedding band worn on the ring finger of his left hand.

With a second clipboard already in hand, the officer rests the document in front of Elaine and hands her a pen, stepping through a door just a few feet away as the pair tend to the sign-in sheet. “I’m not gonna make you sit out here with those scumbags” Andrew whispers to the woman, directing a judgemental glare in the direction of the camera crew.

Appreciative, Elaine nods as the tip of her pen presses against the smooth sheet of paper, hiding a smile with all her might as the reception-working man returns. “Right this way, please” he calls out, leading the pair to the end of a tight corridor and into an unmarked room without any windows or vents of any sort, only a table at the room’s centre occupied by a set of casually-dressed officers and a clearly annoyed young woman.

“Whatever this is- it’s over” Andrew proclaims, stepping into the room and waving his hand at Sophie, who sits in her seat with hands folded atop a small table. “Sir, you’re not doing yourself any favours” the first gentleman, a man with a large gut held in by the buttons of a yellow dress shirt, speaks as he stands from his seat, soon joined by a more slender hispanic gentleman, who’s smaller, grey dress shirt sports sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“What favours would those be, huh?” Andrew queries back, standing his ground as he approaches the first man, both eyes squinted as he steps closer to him, “what exactly do I stand to gain from letting you continue to hassle my daughter with these questions?” Shrugging his shoulders as both hands are held to each side of his neck, the large fellow refuses to present any confrontational demeanour.

“All I’m saying is that this would look really concerning in the eyes of a jury” the officer responds, his point doubled down upon by his thinner colleague, “there’s no reason not to give your daughter a chance to clear suspicion.” Continuing to demand his daughter’s preparation to leave, Andrew remains defiant to the officers’ suggestions.

“I know my rights. My daughter is a minor, and without a lawyer present- I retain the right to end any interrogation I choose to unless there’s evidence to a crime she’s being charged with” Andrew proclaims, tilting his chin to one side as he opens the floor to the officers, “so, is she being charged?”

With displeased expressions, the officers remain quiet, only needing their expressions to provide the answer Andrew had been waiting to receive. Freed from her troubling circumstances, Sophie follows her father and Elaine through the patrol unit’s lobby with her head down, wishing to make it as far without speaking to anyone on the matter as she can.

“No- move the fuck out of the way” Andrew commands, extending his hand toward the gathered film crew as they prepare to intrude upon the small group’s departure. “We just wanted to ask ab-” Ian quickly begins to assure, his efforts proving futile as the father refuses to budge from his denial of their presence. “Whatever it is- you’re not asking it now” the man doubles down, holding the first set of doors open for Elaine and Sophie to walk through, refusing to bring the cameras along.

“Thank you” Sophie murmurs, keeping her voice to a minimum as she passes through the second set of doors her father holds open, only to receive a reply she’d not anticipated. “Oh, you’re not gonna be thanking me for long” the man responds, stoking a gut-wrenching sense of worry within his daughter.

|

> 16th May, 2031 <

Stepping onto the back patio, Caden shuts the door behind himself as the taller man takes a look around, taking notice of the home’s backside, its lawn manicured, but not much else worthy of presentation to be found. “Your mother strikes me as someone that would be offended to not make things look presentable” the taller man quips, passing a squint toward the young high schooler as he nods, “that millennial-type. You know- the ones that make a bed look like a pillow display case?”

Subtly shaking his head to indicate that he doesn’t follow the point, Caden watches the crooked mouth his visitor wears move to the left side of his face. “I suppose that is before your time, isn’t it?” the taller gentleman sighs, lowering himself to the old, rickety bench overlooking the patio as he rests his hat upon his knee, “I could never understand why women did that. Then again, men have a knack for this thing called ‘being reasonable’, so I suppose it’s my nature to not get it.”

With his arms crossed, Caden shakes his head more visibly this second time around, his confusion put into words, “is this some sort of code I’m supposed to understand? What are you saying?” With a small chuckle, the tall gentleman shrugs before replying, amusing himself with the first thought that comes to mind. “Well, technically I’m saying women suck at making sense” he responds, “but that’s far from the reason I’m here, so I’ll leave my potential standup material at that.”

Folding his hands, the bald-headed man looks off into the short distance to rest his eyes upon the Carrion residence, the dark sky of a dying day leaving the house without much sign of life, every window lacking the light one would imagine an occupied home would present. “I know you weren’t interested in it last time around, but the circumstances are different now obviously” the inquisitor points out, finally refocusing his sight on the once-reluctant young man beside him.

“I’m sure you said it on the phone, but I don’t remember your name” Caden replies, stepping away from the backdoor before pressing his back into one of the two columns supporting the terrace of his parent’s room. “Dennis Eaton” the man responds, keeping his voice to a respectable level as he chooses to prefer maintaining a presentable visage, “I’m investigating Sophia Amari on behalf of a client and know the two of you were close.”

“So you decided to come asking me if she killed her mother, right?” Caden adds on the man’s behalf, the expression the investigator maintains shows that the suggestion is not far off from the truth. “That is why I’m here, yes” Dennis answers honestly, pressing his elbows into each thigh muscle as he leans forward, cooperating with the young man’s reservations as best he can.

“I understand that you don’t want to be involved with Sophie anymore than you already have. Believe me, I get it and I see your side whole-heartedly” Dennis clarifies, playing the advocate for a young man who feels increasingly like he’s the only one that can speak to what he’s experienced, “but- for better or for worse- there are few people still around that can speak of that girl from experience, and there are even fewer people willing to do so.”

Bowing his head, Caden lets the man’s words sink in as the tip of his right foot taps against the patio’s concrete foundation, his lips pressing together whilst the voice across from him continues speaking. “I’m not telling you to go out in public and decry that your old friend is a murderer, I’m just asking you to give me a little bit to work with” Dennis vows, watching the young man’s eyes take to him from the sliver of his eyelids.

“I know the court of public opinion will take some swaying to be convinced that America’s sweetheart wears an evil layer of snake skin, but that’s not your battle to fight” the man continues, his head swaying from one side to another as he holds his hand toward Caden, his thumb and index fingers parted just slightly, “all I need is this much.”

Looking to the man in silence for a few moments as he allows the request to simmer in his mind, Caden’s chin finally begins to lift, his face looking directly to that of the man’s ahead. “What would ‘this much’ be?” the young man wonders aloud, his response all that Dennis needs to convince himself that the breakthrough he’s looking for is right around the corner.

“Anything that can tell me I’m on the right track” the investigator replies, his forward lean increasing just a short amount as the back of Caden’s head presses against the stone pillar, which acts as a headrest to him. As his nostrils flare, the arm-crossed young man turns his view to the Carrion residence, his eyes setting upon the dark room he knows belongs to Sophie, mustering the confidence to break his vow not to speak his once-friend’s fate into existence.

Eyeing the ground, Caden lets his thoughts roam, recalling the years of adolescence he’d spent with the same girl he now seemingly holds the near-immediate fate of, though quickly finding himself incapable of imagining Sophie without also picturing Izzy, someone he’s ashamed to admit to himself he’s forever paired with the figure of his greatest disdain.

As the mental picture dances from Sophie to Izzy, back to the former and onto the latter, the cycle repeating to a nauseating degree, Caden’s lip begins to curl, his contempt for the now-red haired killer sparking an impassioned urge to see it that she faces the consequences for all that she’s done. His voice quiet, but just loud enough for the investigator to hear, the young man answers Dennis’ call for a signal- a sign that salvation lies ahead of the same track he’s chosen to follow.

“She went willingly” Caden mutters, still looking ahead to the empty bedroom on the second level of the next door home before turning back to the private eye. “Her mother took her just like she said in the video- but everything after that was bullshit” he continues, watching Dennis correct his posture, sitting further upright whilst staying silent, not wanting to impede on what is a revelation to him, and a weight lifted off his chest to the young man wronged multiple times over.

“She agreed to stay with her mom because she was tired of thinking about the future. She hated all the tests and the college talk, and figured she wouldn’t get it if she wasn’t around” Caden continues, gradually removing each metaphorical cinder block that had been placed on his chest cavity whilst Dennis remains over-the-moon simply occupying the place of a listening ear.

“When everything went down, it wasn’t because she got thrown back into the bunker. She was only ever in it that first night” Caden concludes, “a neighbour came over and saw her for a second. She figured he recognised her and decided that she needed to end the lie.”

His mouth just slightly open, Dennis processes what’s been said before attempting to raise the now-obvious question, only for Caden to interject with his recollection’s conclusion. “She turned off the jammer and knew Izzy would get the text. When the cops came, she killed her mom so she wouldn’t spill the beans” the young man finishes, shaking his head as he steps across the patio, taking the unoccupied half of the bench for himself, “the cops came, the story got out, now we’re here.”

In complete shock at just how much of a response he’d not expected to receive, Dennis struggles to present the next question out loud, his mind still attempting to comprehend the bombshell dropped on his investigation. “How- do- how do-” the man tries speaking, stumbling over his words more than a dancer lightly swaying over a clutter-covered floor, “-how do you know- all of that?”

His blank stare directed toward the dark room in the next house over, Caden answers as honestly as he had the first time around. “Because I broke in” he confesses, the lack of regard for keeping the secret any longer than he already had prompting his voice to carry a tone of indifference, “Izzy and I- we broke in on Halloween night. She said she didn’t get signal out there and wanted to know if it was just being in the middle of nowhere that did it.” 

“And you- you saw her?” Dennis queries, taking surprise when Caden shakes his head, denying such a claim. “No- that’s when I saw the T.V” the young man replies, drawing the lines that, without context, he’d left out of place up until that point, “you can even hear it in the doc. My tone changes when she said she didn’t have a way to know what day it was. She even slips up in it later, too- the T.V was right there. And her mom didn’t have cameras, ‘cause we would’ve been caught fast.”

Pulling his head back, Dennis processes what Caden’s claimed before striking another question as if it were a match, his intentions set on lighting the case’s fire with it. “How do you know all of this?” the man inquires, looking ahead at the same room at the home next door that he knows his younger confidant has his eyes on.

“She told me” Caden replies, immediately prompting Dennis’ head to swivel back toward him, “after we finished filming, I drove Sophie to the first quiet place I could find. I told her I knew she was lying and-” Caden proceeds, his lips forming an honest frown as he shrugs his head, “-she left nothing to the imagination.”

Stricken with disbelief, Dennis nods to himself as he fills the gaps to the puzzle he’d become well-versed enough to know from memory, shocked at how satisfied he is with the way the pieces fit. Almost forgetting to offer his appreciation on his way to the door, the man quickly leaves his seat and prepares to re-enter the home on his way to the car, only for a final, sudden inquiry to enter his mind, one that allures him enough to turn back and ask.

“Why not say anything sooner?” Dennis queries, putting his search of legal answers aside as the ability to empathise proves not to be lost on him, “why hold onto all of that until now?”

With a subdued headshake, Caden stays silent for a moment as his head drifts toward his right shoulder, eyes still glued on the dark room just a single, chain link fence away. “Because I told her I wouldn’t” the young man admits, a deep guilt beginning to come over him at rapid speed, though he keeps himself contained long enough to answer the question, “and I think- no, I know- I know Izzy didn’t have to die.”

As a deep breath slides through his teeth, Caden grimaces as Dennis watches on, feeling a second-hand sorrow in the deep-ridden pain the young man expresses. “I know Sophie had something to do with it, and if I’d not kept my mouth shut, Izzy would still be alive.” the young man seethes, wearing his contrition as an emblem of shame he holds himself to retaining as a consequence for his inaction.

“Staying quiet already put one body in the grave” Caden finishes, slowly breaking his sight from the home next door to look Dennis in the eyes through the dark circles that surround his own, “I don’t need anybody else’s death on my conscience.” Though his spine runs chills, the investigator’s true horror comes from the youth behind the confession, one that he can’t honestly refuse, but one he wishes never had to exist.

Better left unanswered, Dennis leaves the conversation open-ended, stepping through the door and setting his sights on returning home as Caden is left with his thoughts, their constant presence able to be perceived as anything less than a plague he finds himself deserving to be caught in. 

With not a set of ears to hear his voice, Caden lets it fall silent as it had for the majority of the past week whilst his eyes drift back to the empty room ahead, nowhere left to linger but on the past, which he can’t help but convince himself is not as far behind him as he’d prefer.

== Generation Alpha ==