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“Hey Tillman,” said Stu, leaning against the doorframe. “C’mon, I got something cool to show you.”
Something about her tone, neither pushy nor wheedling but quietly sincere, compelled Tillman to rise from his depression cocoon, the futon in Stu’s living room that by now reeked of old Axe and pizza grease. He followed her out of the loft apartment - a decommissioned water tower above Choux Stadium that Stu had converted into a combination living space and mooring mast - and onto the catwalk that served as a front porch. Metal stairs spiraled up the side of the tank to the loading platform, where Stu was unhurriedly checking the envelope of her flagship, the Seagull.
She made eye contact with him for a moment, pointing to the blimp with her chin in a “let’s go” gesture before turning her eyes back to her work. He absently shrugged off the crumb-tainted blanket he’d been wrapped in and draped it over the railing, ascending the stairs in his sweaty pajamas and the bunny slippers he’d “borrowed” from Stu. (After about a week of him wrecking them with foot funk, Stu had simply told him “Keep ‘em”, but he’d thought there was a trace of something odd in her voice when she said it. Pride?)
Tillman had never been allowed inside the Seagull. That usually would mean he was more likely to do something, and he’d certainly tried his nascent lockpicking skills at the task, but the lock she used on the cabin door was just challenging enough that he felt like she was testing him, which had made him instantly lose interest. As Stu unclipped the mooring cables, he stepped inside for the first time.
The Seagull was appointed lavishly. Tillman didn’t know he knew the word “appointed” could be used in this context, but it sprang to his mind regardless as he looked around at the absurd rococo stylings of his surroundings, all ornately carved trim in Shoe Thieves gold against damask wallpaper in Shoe Thieves blue. Against the port and starboard windows there were matching baroque chaises, and at the front stood a burnished walnut rudder wheel, as if this were some pirate frigate of old. He uttered a low “Wow,” before he could help himself.
“Not bad, ah?” said Stu, sliding closed the door behind her. “I ripped a buncha this stuff off a cargo ship a coupla years ago, just needed a bit of spray paint. Make yaself comfy.” Without further ado, she took up her spot at the wheel, throwing one of the long levers that disappeared into the floor at her feet to engage the engines. The Seagull rocked forward and Tillman stumbled into the port sofa.
Outside the window, Choux Stadium fell away. Only as he watched snaking form of the Cooper River appear in the distance did Tillman finally think to ask “Where are we going?”
“Not far, just over to Charleston. There’s somethin’ you can only see from the air.”
Tillman scoffed. “Sightseeing? Weak. I could’ve just looked it up online.” But he didn’t stop gazing out the window.
“No, dipshit, you couldn’t have looked it up, because it’s secret.” Stu banked gently starboard, never turning her head to look at him.
The minutes passed in quietude, the thrum of the Seagull’s twin propellors the loudest sound in the cabin. Then Stu pulled back on that lever, and the sound slowly died away. “We’re here,” she said. She moved to the starboard windows, beckoning him over.
The cabin shifted imperceptibly as he crossed to the other side, hanging thousands of feet above Charleston. Stu didn’t point; she didn’t have to. Tillman saw, and his mouth managed a quiet “what the fuck” before hanging open as he stared.
Below them was the city, bustling and sprawling as usual, except for where… it wasn’t. It was like someone had taken scissors and cut an irregular chunk of Charleston out of the map, and beneath was a different map. A map of somewhere darker and more alien. Strange shapes writhed within the hole, and a strange texture overlaid the whole scene, somehow shimmery. And yet, the more he looked, the more Tillman saw that this other place had streets, and buildings, and those lined up with the severed streets and buildings at the edges. It was Charleston, somehow, but far, far below.
“That’s Sunken Charleston,” offered Stu finally.
The words didn’t make sense. “What... the fuck?” Tillman said, now turning to look at her. But as he did, the edges of the hole moved, overlaying a different section of the city. He looked back, moving his head this way and that. It was like looking through a window hanging in the air between the Seagull and the ground, a strange parallax effect that dizzied him more than the height they were hanging at. Stu was silent.
“Is it… underground? Or underwater?” he finally managed.
“Dunno. Probably neither. Maybe both?” Stu shrugged. “It’s real though. There’s better ways to get there, but no better way to see it.”
“What are those nasty looking-”
“Worm people,” Stu answered without needing him to finish.
“Worm people?”
“Yeah. They’re crazy and fucked up but they keep to themselves. Well, mostly. Usually.”
“Well, that’s weird, but not as weird as half the other shit that happens to me all the time.” Tillman finally turned away from the window and lounged sideways on the chaise. “Is that all you got?”
Stu sighed. “Tillman, listen. I get where you’re coming from.”
“Huh?” he said, picking wax out of his ear.
“I get why you’re like… this.”
Tillman sat up, eyes narrowing. “Wait, what is this? An intervention of one? Is that why you brought me out here?”
Stu made a face that split the difference between exhausted and disappointed. “No, shithead, I’m trying to connect with you.”
“Really?” Tillman seemed to find this hilarious. “Wow. You are not good at this.”
“Anyone ever tell you about glass houses, and the people who live therein? I’ve been trying to have this conversation with you for weeks but you keep dodging me when you get the scent!”
Tillman guffawed. “So you trick me into coming up here where I can’t get away? Captive audience?”
Stu said nothing at this, just grinned and made a show of looking out the window at the precipitous drop. Tillman’s face fell.
“So like I was saying” began Stu, but Tillman butted in.
“ON TOP OF SPAGHEEEEEH-TTIIIII” he bellowed. Stu looked bewildered for a moment. “ALL COVERED IN CHEEEEEEESE” Her face flickered into a smirk.
“I LOST MY POOR MEEEEEEAT BAAAAAALLLL” she yelled in tandem with him, slightly flat. He blinked, then broke into a grin.
“WHEN SOMEBODY SNEEEEEEEEEZED” they harmonized. “IT ROLLED OFF THE TAAAAAAA-BLLLLLLE, AND ONTO THE FLOOOOOOOOR” Stu squinted as she tried to remember the next line, but Tillman boldly mumbled “something something sooooomethiiiiiiing” before their voices picked up again with “AND ROLLED OUT THE DOOOOOOOOOR!” and they lapsed into hysterics.
“You are such an asshole man!” laughed Stu.
“Takes one to know one,” Tillman grinned.
“Yeah. Yeah it does.” She shook her head. “That’s all I’m saying, Tillman. You and me, we’re the same. Same asshole.”
“What are you talking about, Stu?” Tillman was trying to be pissed off, but in vain. “You’re not… you’re not like me.”
“I am, dude. Or if I’m not, I definitely used to be.” Stu let out a long breath. “I used to be just like you, honestly.”
He slumped quietly, eyeing her with mistrust, but said nothing.
“I was a dick to everyone. My friends, my enemies, random people I didn’t even know. I was always funny about it, but I was mean.”
Tillman quirked his lips. “Why?”
“Same as anyone, guy. I was insecure. I figured as long as I kept other people from seeing the real me, I wouldn’t have to look too close at the real me either.”
They sat in silence for a minute, watching a falcon circling over the highway a few dozen meters away. It was Tillman who broke the silence, which surprised them both. “What changed?” he said.
“Why, Tillman Hendahson,” lilted Stu, “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve evah said to me!” She laughed, and then he laughed too, a little. “What changed is that I became more self-centered.”
“What is that, a joke? I don’t get it.”
“Yeah, it’s a joke, but it’s also real. I realized if I was gonna be a self-serving asshole, I should at least be serving my real self . The real me. As it turns out, the real me was a girl.” Stu did a little ta-da pose. “So now I can still be a jerk if I want, but it’s not a reflex anymore. It’s a skill.”
“That’s… okay that’s kinda cool actually,” Tillman admitted. “But like, none of that applies to me. This is the real me. What you see is what you get.”
“Okay dude, if you say so,” said Stu. “Kinda weird that your true self isn’t sad at all about losing your best friend.”
Tillman looked like he’d been slapped. “Hey! I never said-”
“You’ve been moping around my place for weeks, never going out, lashing out at the other Thieves. It’s clear you’re depressed, and you’ve got every reason to be, so why don’t you call Nagomi? Or Sutton?”
Tillman scowled hard. “Nagomi hates me.”
“Tillman, off the top of your head, how many people can you think of who don’t hate you? And it doesn’t matter. The other ex-Crabs lost Kennedy too. They’d probably be glad you reached out.”
“You don’t know them,” he asserted sullenly, but didn’t offer a counter argument.
“Look Tillm, I’m not your therapist but if there’s one thing I’ve learned from being a Shoe Thief, it’s how to mourn.” She stood up, regarding him not unkindly. “If you’re too uptight to cry when you’re sad, I gotta say, that’s kind of cringe.”
“Hey!” said Tillman indignantly. “How dare you hoist me by my own petard!” But Stu was already at the helm, kicking the engines back into gear.
“I’ve said my piece,” she called over her shoulder. “Die mad about it, get over it, or take it to heart. Either way, you’re not my problem anymore, roomie. Or should I say ex-roomie?”
“What, you’re kicking me out too?”
“Nah man, Dix texted me that the cleaners finally got all the flickering out of Jaylen’s old flat. It’s free for you to move in as of today.”
“Oh, word?” Tillman realized he’d been bracing for bad news as getting good news knocked him over. “Hah. Hahahaholy shit!”
“Congrats dude.”
Tillman stood up and did a pelvic chop of triumph, but Stu was looking away so she couldn’t groan at his shit. He was considering moving to where she could see to do it again when she cranked the wheel around into a tight u-turn and he fell on his ass.
As he crawled off the floor and into his seat, he looked out the window, then pulled out his phone and started scrolling through his contacts. “Hey Stu.”
“Yeah?”
“Season 11 is gonna kick ass.”
“Hell yeah it is buddy. Hey, what is the line of that song that we both forgot, now it's bugging me."
"How should I know, it's a song for babies. I was just trying to annoy you."
Stu smirked. "Oh yeah? Should I tell Vela you think babies are annoying?"
Fear gripped his heart. "You wouldn't." She raised her eyebrows, smiling enigmatically. "Dude. Please don't tell her."
Her nose wrinkled. "Don't call me dude and we got a deal."
"Oh," he said, nodding. "Cool."
The hole in the sky drifted away out the back window, but as he looked, Tillman thought he saw something writhing in the sky over Charleston. Then it was gone.
Stu crooned in her gravelly tenor as they sailed back to the stadium and home, and Tillman caught himself humming along. "It rolled in the gaaaaardeeeeen, and under a buuuuuuush, and then my poor meeeeeeat baaaaaalll was nothing but muuuuuuuush..."