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Mono, meaning ‘one’ or ‘alone’. His parents named him that because he was their firstborn, the first of many. Apparently. He ended up being their one and only. He remembers asking if he’d ever have siblings, as very young children are oft to ask. These kinds of memories only resurface when one is ruminating, and Mono has had a lot of time to sit and think about what he has done.
He’s been having a bitter time of it. That fatal moment when Six lets go of his hand replays over and over on the screen in front of him. The right side of his head throbs from watching for so long, analyzing every little detail. He now doubts if she even let him go on purpose, if she was simply weak from her ordeals and couldn’t support his weight.
More likely: she dropped him. Mono scours his memories for the slightest of offenses. He held her hand at all the wrong times, and for too long. Being clingy and needy, with only a vague sense of social cues, was a bad combination. Then there was that one time in the hospital, when he spent a good twenty minutes burning every toy in the pediatric waiting room. Six was her usual stoic self. He squints at her blurry face on the screen, looking for signs of annoyance. Her flat affect makes it hard to tell, except when she’s scared. But she wasn’t when she dropped him, so he has no idea. No idea at all.
The more he contemplates the screen, the more his head hurts, and the less sure he is of himself. That single, definitive moment is now a piece of yarn that has been picked apart into little fibers. There is nothing else to do but sit on the chair and think about what he has done. His parents. He didn’t have siblings, but he had parents, once. If they were still here, they would hate him, too. It’s for the best that he’s alone, now—
And the television speakers explode with static. Mono gives a start and throws himself backwards. Or the force from the TV does that for him. He had foolishly discarded his paper bag before entering the Signal Tower. Stupid, stupid. What a waste. He’s better off hiding his face, but there’s nothing in this room but the chair and the TV.
The ground in his self-imposed prison is unforgiving and cold. He shivers and crawls under the chair, feeling only marginally protected. The TV changes channels, showing Mono a familiar hallway: the one just outside the door. A large pair of hands press against the screen, then, and a familiar figure begins to emerge. Mono gapes in terror. The world slows and distorts, making his migraine all the worse. The screech of static pierces his eardrums, and he cries out in pain.
The arrival of the Thin Man both terrifies and demoralizes Mono. It only hammers in the fact that everything he did was for nothing. He was brave for nothing, fought for nothing, struggled for nothing. Therefore, he does not bother to run. After his initial outburst, in fact, he stays perfectly silent and still, cowering under the chair with his eyes shut and his hands over his ears.
The chair is just a normal chair, however, and the Thin Man easily moves it away. Mono hears wood scrape against concrete, and wonders what’s going to happen to him. Maybe he’ll have his life essence sucked out, reduced to a static silhouette. Or he’ll be turned into a monster, like Six was. If he had any fight left, if he didn’t already think his life was over, he would’ve fought back.
A large, thin hand closes around his waist. He is lifted from the floor like a limp doll. Then, the static noise suddenly stops. Mono dares to open his eyes, and sees that the television has been turned off. The room is so dark that he can’t even see his own hands. The Thin Man has no such trouble navigating the dark. He leaves the room with purpose. The only visible lights in the alien geometry of the tower are the soft blue and pink glowing from distant rooms. It is just enough light to allow Mono a glimpse of the Thin Man’s silhouette.
The walls take on a familiar shape: peeling wallpaper, wooden paneling. The man’s footsteps are muffled against the faded floral carpet. He ducks through a doorway, and they are in Mono’s room. Toys are piled up against the walls, and he recognizes it as the room Six was in. At the same time, it is the room he spent his earliest years in. The scribbles dotting the lower half of the wall are in his own, unsteady hand. There’s a clean spot on the floor where the TV used to be, and next to that, a block castle missing a few bricks.
Most importantly, Mono can see in here. A night light is plugged into the far wall, next to the door, and casts a warm golden glow. At the opposite end of the room is a clean bed, where Six’s suitcase used to be. The Thin Man sets Mono onto the clean, cool sheets, and drapes a blanket over him. It is the most comfortable thing Mono has ever laid in, and he immediately melts. For weeks, perhaps months, he had been on his own without a roof over his head. Nowhere comfortable or safe to rest his head. His ordeal has left him aching and broken, in desperate need of respite. He should be relieved, but the memory of Six letting go of his hand hangs over him. It is a dark, ugly stain that keeps his mind racing and his body tense.
The Thin Man is halfway to the door when Mono calls out, “Wait.”
He stops and looks over his shoulder. Mono almost clams up, but musters the courage to speak up: “Don’t go.”
With that same, unreadable expression, and those same, languid movements, the Thin Man draws up a chair and sits next to the bed. Mono suddenly feels shy, and a little embarrassed at himself. This is the one who kidnapped Six, kick-starting the events that led to Mono being dropped into a pit of flesh. On the other hand, his only other option for company are torturous ruminations.
Mono brings the blanket up past his eyes, grateful to have something to hide behind. With his face covered, it’s easier to cry. With each breathy sob, more and more tears roll down his cheeks. For the first time since being separated from Six—really, truly separated—he grieves. He remembers the scarce moments they found to play, finding joy in this hellish landscape. The hospital toys, the X-Ray, kicking the ball around in the schoolyard. Six giggling into her sleeve when he donned a soccer ball on his head and ran through the goal posts. The relief of returning to her when he had been forced to go through an area alone.
“I don’t understand what I did wrong,” Mono sobs, wishing he could just disappear into the mattress. At best, he can disappear under the blanket and curl into a ball.
“Too kind,” comes the Thin Man’s voice, so out of nowhere that Mono flinches. He sounds like he’s speaking through an old radio.
Mono peeks out from beneath the blanket to see him shaking his head and repeating, “Too kind.”
They make eye contact for a brief moment, and Mono retreats into his hiding space.
“You could have done everything perfectly, and she still would have dropped you,” he continues, which is of no comfort at all. Mono cannot help but believe what he says. There’s no one left to tell him otherwise. And, again, he is simply too exhausted to argue. Everything he thought he knew about Six may as well have been wrong, and she’s not around to explain herself.
“Why would she do that?” Mono whimpers into the pillow.
“I do not have all the answers.” The sound of creaking wood and rustling fabric. Mono peeks out again and sees the Thin Man reaching into his coat for a book. In his large hands, it’s more like a tiny notepad. “Go to sleep. You have been through enough for one day.”
Maybe if Mono hadn’t been chased halfway across the city and flung from a moving train, but...he can’t even keep his eyes open, let alone hold a conversation. A long stretch of silence is just what Mono needs to fall asleep. And the Thin Man sits vigil.