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Back when it had just been daily call-ins, Clancy had almost— almost —not minded.
Sure, this “Beholder” guy was obviously crazy, but he was mostly harmless, and it wasn’t like Clancy had never gotten conspiracy theorists on the show before. They showed up from time to time, ranted about the how the government was evil or the moon landing was fake or the Earth was flat, and it was easy enough to talk to them for a couple of minutes in just the right condescending tone so that they hung up and his listeners got a good laugh out of it. But him —he just kept coming back on air. Every single day when Clancy was in to do his talkbits, the station phone would get that call from the ominous unknown number, and there he’d be again, always speaking in a half-raspy whisper that told of exactly how much he feared being overheard.
Stupid thing to be, honestly, when he was calling into a public radio station.
But that was that. Beholder called during work hours only, and Clancy could happily and peacefully ignore him whenever he was anywhere else.
Until he couldn’t.
Clancy had come into work a little late one morning, and skidded into his recording studio chair barely on time to begin his show, so he wasn’t off to a great start for the day. Over two years’ experience running the same show had paid off, though, and so his introduction went by relatively smoothly nevertheless. He was almost feeling good by the time the phone line opened up.
Then it all went right back to hell.
The first caller was exactly who Clancy had expected it would be. He picked up the receiver, and before he could even get his greeting out, there was that voice again, more frantic than usual. ‘Blake, thank God they haven’t cut my lines—I’ve found something you need to see. It’s real this time, I swear it’s real this time, you have to believe me, this is real and you need to let m-’
Before he could get any crazier, Clancy laughed to cut him off. No good letting the listening audience get too weirded out. “Sorry—mind giving that to me a little more slowly? I’m guessing this is everyone’s favourite daily call-in?”
“Yes, yes, Beholder, whatever! I have evidence with me—I know exactly what I have to do, I just need someone who believes me to come with me and just see!”
Haha, no, Clancy thought, but what he said was, “A real, ah… supernatural experience? Well, that’s what we’re here for, as you’re… aware. Mind describing what you’re-”
“This isn’t funny , Clancy!” On the other end of the line, Clancy grimaced. It was always weird when this guy used his first name without ever having actually met him. “This is important, this- this could be revolutionary, I can’t tell you what it is on the line or they’ll find me first, but come on, come on, please-”
Aaand now this was officially getting boring. Listeners didn’t like extended crazy ranting, and running a spontaneous surrealist horror series was definitely not in his station contract. On top of that, he rather liked being employed. Clancy stopped him again by clearing his throat loudly, tailored to sound a little like a yawn. “Ahem! Always good talking to you, Beholder, but it looks like our time on the line is up. If you don’t mind us moving on to the next caller-”
“I’m almost there,” continued Beholder frantically. “Just give me one minute, I’ll get there and we can go see!”
What.
Clancy blinked a couple of times. “I’m sorry, did you just say ‘almost-’”
“Excuse me, sir, you can’t go in there while he’s live-”
“Someone call security!”
The door to the recording room slammed open, and as Clancy spun to look, his breath caught in his throat.
There was a man in the doorway, cell phone clutched in one hand, and he was gorgeous .
He was tall. Had to be five foot ten at least, but he stood half-hunched over with his free hand pinning the door flat to its wall, taking heaving shaky breaths as though he’d just run an impromptu marathon. Perhaps he had. A messy bun did a halfhearted job of pinning his hair back, letting long black strands hang heavy over an unshaven face. Oversized round glasses would have obscured his eyes to a casual onlooker, but from the angle he currently stood, Clancy had a view right over their top edges into piercing, sleep-deprived, panicked black eyes.
He had a little mole right in the middle of his left cheek.
Clancy’s coworker elbowed her way into the room, gesturing for Clancy to cut the feed. “Sir, I’m going to need to ask you to leave .”
The man looked desperate, eyes darting between the woman and Clancy.
“ Please ,” he said shakily. “This time I swear I found something that’s real. I- I just need you to believe me this one time. It’s not far.”
There was a long silence.
His coworker was the one who broke it, with a short laugh. “I’m sorry, but no. If you’d like to step into the parking lot, I can call a taxi for you and get you headed back home, and if you’ve found something you feel like you need to report to the police-”
“ No police,” Beholder insisted vehemently. “I- I swear I’m not doing anything illegal, but they won’t be able to help.”
“A psychiatrist , then,” she retorted scathingly. Jack was incredibly intimidating to the casual onlooker—taller than most, with a flawless dark red suit and consistently cynical turn of lip. It made her an excellent impromptu security guard. “Come this way, please.”
“Wait.”
That was Clancy. Both of the other two turned to look at him, Beholder with hope, Jack with one eyebrow raised. Clancy took a deep breath.
“Listen,” he said tiredly. “I’ll come with you. But there are conditions. First of all, I’m taking my recorder with me, so don’t try anything. Might make it into a radio special if it actually ends up being something good. Second— stop calling in. ”
The man had let out a long relieved breath when Clancy had agreed to accompany him, but opened his mouth as if he thought to protest when told to stop calling the station. After a few seconds of opening and shutting his mouth, he took another deep breath and nodded.
“All right, then. Jack, you can cover my bit, right? Script’s on the table, tell them the drama’s a fun cover-up for me having to leave early for an appointment or something.” Clancy went to pack up his bag. “You, go wait in the hall, I need to talk to Jack for a minute—what’s your name? I don’t mean any of your ‘Beholder’ garbage, your actual name.”
He hesitated for a long moment.
“Augustin,” he said eventually, quietly. “Auggie.”
God damn it, even his name was cute.
“ Really , Snoopy?”
Out in the hall, Auggie jumped upon hearing the voice, spinning around. A formidably tall woman with tattoos winding down to her wrists and hair dyed every shade of blue was walking leisurely down the now-empty hall towards him, arms folded in front of her.
To his shock, Auggie recognized her.
What was his roommate doing in Clancy’s station?
“I was fine with the radio show,” she continued. She didn’t sound angry, just vaguely amused with the whole thing. “I was fine with the daily call-ins. Hell, they’re getting us business, and Jack’s all over the extra revenue. But Clancy’s supposed to be in-office until four today.”
“Since when did you work here!?” was all Auggie could think to say.
Kai rolled her eyes. “Since I became station manager here three years ago, dear. I swear I’d told you before.”
Auggie, who would sooner die than admit he’d forgotten something, made a noncommittal noise and began a staring contest with the poster of David Bowie on the opposite side of the hall.
“Snoopy.”
Auggie grumbled something under his breath in the direction of Bowie.
“Take good care of him, you hear? I know he’s going with you because he wants to, but I know you. Be careful, and don’t break your favourite radio host ten minutes after meeting him.”
Bowie won the staring contest. Auggie scoffed and looked at the ground. “I have proof, not a death wish.”
“Sounds like both to me.”
“You really think this is a good idea?” Jack asked Clancy doubtfully once they were alone in the room. “I mean, you’ve called him a nutcase on-air more times than I can count.”
“And it’s probably true, but you can’t say you’re not at least a little curious. He’s not really dangerous, just crazy. Besides.” Clancy picked up and wiggled his audio recorder. “You and the rest of the station’ll be able to hear about everything that happens.”
“If you say so.”
Jack fell silent for a time, leaning back against one poster-covered wall and watching Clancy gather his things. The radio host was all right deep down— very deep down—but she worried for him, on rare occasions.
“Hey,” she added, as Clancy shouldered his bag, about to step out. He paused in the doorway, looking expectantly back at her. “Stay safe.”
He grinned, a cocky affair. “Obviously.”
“I’m taking your shift’s pay for this, by the way.”
“No, you’re not, shut up.”
“Nope! You’re on your own, Blake.”
“You owe me, then!”
The second Clancy stepped out into the hallway, Augustin took off, striding down towards the employee doors with the confidence of someone who knew the building inside and out. Weird, because he’d never been here before. Clancy wasn’t short, as far as people went, but he had to hurry along at a kind of awkward half-jog just to keep up.
“Can you tell me where we’re supposed to be going now ?” he asked drily, and a little out of breath, and a little grouchily, because he disliked being out of breath. “I get that being ‘ooh, creepy and secretive and mystic’ is basically your entire thing, but-”
Auggie shot him a scathing look.
“I’m not ‘creepy and secretive and mystic’ ,” he retorted. “I just know things most people don’t know. I notice patterns, I see trends .”
“There’s a bug on your shirt.”
“OH GOD WHERE!?”
What ensued were several seconds of Auggie flailing his arms to get an nonexistent insect off the back of his jacket, realizing that there wasn’t one, swearing expansively at a very amused Clancy, and storming out the employee entrance after having unsuccessfully tried to pull the “push” door two or three times with the radio host in tow.
Man , Clancy was going to enjoy this.