Work Text:
On a desk in a mostly clean room, there was what appeared to be a slight mess of paper and books. Like most of the room, it was neat yet slightly eschew, as if tidied by inexperienced hands. Wrinkles on the bed, dresser drawers not quite lined up correctly, and homework in seemingly random stacks.
In that mess of papers, on the very top was a journal, a worn ribbon marking it halfway done. Sticking out, an extra sheet of paper was folded up. Had the room been just a bit more neat, more orderly, it might have been noticed, beckoning even an incurious person’s attention. As it was, though, it merely blended in, as was the intent.
The letter was short, but important. It read:
“Dear Luella, Martin, and Oliver, my most important Noll, as well as those all concerned, including Lin and Madoka,
By now, if you’ve read this, you’ve likely figured out I won’t be returning from Japan.
You’re all likely asking why I’ve chosen this. If I’ve run off because of you. But no. This is something I must do. Its not premonition that foretells this, nor even fate that as decided my path. I’m making my own journey, as I see fit.
Its hard to explain, what I want to do… need to do. Its not a new desire. Its not a sudden passion. I’ve always yearned to know these things. We saw That Woman slumped over, and I remember that what was once a dim question becoming a burning inquiry as I looked at her face.
I know it makes little sense. I do not expect anyone to understand, not even mine Oliver. Its not a pursuit I would recommend, which is why I must do so now. Now, while my mind is mushy from forming ideas, not holey from crisscrossing structures of adult beliefs.
I’ll find a way to contact. Perhaps give over my findings.
Or maybe its just foolish research, and not worth pursuing.
I’m the stupid medium after all, not the idiot scientist.
I’ve done as many things as I can bear to do. I’ve stayed for your love far longer than I intended. But I must journey onward, to find these answers.
As much love as I am able,
Eugene A J Davis.”
A young man, a teenager, enters the room. He walks past the bed, the desk, the slightly open closet door, not really seeing any of it. He grabs a shirt from the dresser.
Oliver Davis collapses, and he sees a death in the shine of headlights.