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July 27th
I found this empty journal at the library, under an incomplete copy of Pride and Prejudice. I don’t really know what it was doing there, but it’s a rather elegant thing, and I needed some paper, so I took it. Our summer vacation is coming to an end, and I have been feeling the need to write down my thoughts for a while. My body is in such a dire state of disrepair that I can’t really do anything else anyway. If this endeavor proves to be useless, at least it will have kept me entertained.
This timeline has been confusing, to say the least. I’ve recorded as many of my thoughts into Thanatos’ memory bank as I could, but I don’t think it will be of any use to future Roswell. Because, to be completely frank, I have been defeated. Nothing went as expected. And I don’t understand why. So I will go over everything that has transpired since our arrival on July 1st, hoping that by the end I’ll be able to draw some conclusions and finally make sense of it all.
Maybe I’m doing this for myself too. To acquire some peace of mind.
Let’s go back to day 1. Back when things were still following their intended course. Dinner came and went. I couldn’t tell you what I said; I was too busy studying everyone else to notice. Not that I really need to focus on myself much these days. I have gotten pretty good at playing the actor. A smile is all it takes, and suddenly I’m inhabiting a persona. Smile, giggle, chat about frivolous topics, have a bite every here and then. Keep your eyes open. Study the crowd, search for anomalies.
This little mental exercise left me exhausted, so I left early. I waved goodbye, smiled again, walked into my bedroom, and closed the door.
And breathed out, slowly and deliberately. Finally alone, free to be myself for a bit. I noticed a blurry figure scurrying toward me. My robotic friend Thanatos, who didn’t bother greeting me, instead opting to inquire about my findings.
“So. How did dinner go? Junior sat next to you?”
I must admit I found the question somewhat irritating.
“No, he chose Orlando this time. I think he’s going to make him his partner for the scavenger hunt.”
“It’s very likely, but not certain. If the data stored in my memory bank is to be believed, there’s a 76% chance that Junior chooses the person he sat next to on the first day as his partner for the scavenger hunt. That’s still a 24% chance that he picks someone else! For all you know, it could be you.”
I probably rolled my eyes and shrugged, before replying:
“Yes, and remind me, what are the odds of Dave picking me specifically?”
“7%. Not bad, all things considered.”
“Uh-huh.”
“That score used to be lower, but we’ve had a lot of good Roswell timelines recently. #1078 was especially striking in that regard. Junior asked you on a date, and you were so excited that you nearly forgot about your little schemes. Memphis ended up murdering you both.”
“Thanks for reminding me,” I said bitterly. “7% is not much. Do I still have the lowest score in the entire group?”
“Duh. Though Hoss is not doing much better, with only 8% chance of being picked. If you keep it up, you may even beat him some day!”
“That’s unlikely. What about the rest?”
“Dean’s at 13%.”
“Really? Only 13%? I thought it’d be higher.”
“You and me both, but Junior can be surprisingly fickle. If anything, Dean’s presence tends to motivate him to look elsewhere. Next step on the ladder is Sal, with an impressive 17%.”
“I suppose that’s fair. If Dave has to date someone other than me, I’d rather it be Sal. He’s wise and stable.”
Thanatos grinned at me in that obnoxious way he’s so fond of.
“Dating? Who’s talking about that? Those stats are only for who Junior picks as his scavenger hunt partner.”
I scoffed.
“Yes, yes, and we all know how that ends. Just give me the numbers.”
“Fine. Orlando: 21%. And naturally, Tyson has the highest score, with a consistent 33%.”
None of this was news to me, but it still stung. To this day, I still have no idea why Dave so consistently chooses to pursue Tyson romantically. They are so terrible for each other. Always fighting, always struggling to communicate. It’s completely irrational. Tyson doesn’t even seem to love him all that much. He desires Dave, like one desires an object.
But despite my troubled mental state, I was able to spot the discrepancy.
“Hold on, that only amounts to 99%. Who’s the final 1% for?”
“Oh, you know, there’s always the odd timeline where Junior doesn’t pursue anyone at all. Or a few where he dies before the vacation even begins. Or one very odd case, iteration #3198.”
I frowned.
“What happened?”
“Junior did the unexpected. He went for Benson.”
“Benson? You must be joking.”
“Oh, I’m dead serious. They had this odd father/son relationship, which took an unexpected romantic turn after Junior used the vault to save his daddy’s life. No one really knew what to make of it. I’m guessing you ended up murdering Benson, but you ordered me to erase my memory from the final days, so I can’t really be sure.”
I shook my head.
“No way. This never happened. I probably wrote this record in your memory bank as a prank.”
Thanatos stared at me mysteriously.
“Who knows? It’s not like you can go back and check. Maybe you’ll dream about it, and see if it was a lie or not. In the meantime, you should probably figure out how you’re going to kill Orlando.”
I didn’t want to think about it. All I wanted was to lie down and rest. Murder plans could wait.
But before I could move over to my bed, something happened that neither me nor Thanatos had expected. Someone knocked on my door. We both froze. I silently instructed Thanatos to hide under my bed, so he could spy on the conversation that was about to take place.
Hoss walked in. He had a strange timid smile, as if he knew that he was unwelcome in my personal space.
“Hello,” he said softly. “May I come in?”
“Sure, but isn’t it a bit late? Did you forget your toothbrush or something?”
“Haha, no, it’s nothing like that. I’d just like to speak with you for a bit.”
I reluctantly stepped away from the door, letting him in. He took a moment to inspect the furniture (as if it weren’t exactly identical to the one in his bedroom). He then walked toward the window, observing the night sky with sorrowful melancholy. I had no idea what this charade meant, so I politely asked him to get to the point. When he replied, his eyes were still focused on the movements of the clouds.
“Right. I’m not sure why I came here, honestly. We don’t know each other all that well. I could have waited until tomorrow, but somehow, I couldn’t. I really don’t know what came over me. Maybe I should leave.”
I tilted my head to one side, almost tempted to agree. But I thought I could learn more by letting him stay, so I encouraged him to speak up. This time, he turned to look me in the eyes.
“Roswell, are you doing all right?”
I feigned polite surprise.
“Me? I’m perfectly alright. Why do you ask?”
“It’s… well, it’s more an intuition than anything. I think it’s from the way you behaved at dinner. You were smiling and talking with everyone else, but in a sense… I’m being awfully rude, sorry.”
“No no, go ahead. Did I seem aloof to you?”
“Aloof isn’t the right word. It’s like you weren’t really there. Like you were on auto-pilot. Your words were a little hollow.”
He chuckled nervously, probably acutely aware that he was acting very strange. I don’t think he had ever spoken to me like that before. At the time, it didn’t worry me all too much. I thought he was merely projecting his own insecurities onto me. But looking back, isn’t it eerie how closely he described what I had been feeling that evening? Looking up in my own journal, I’m noticing that I even used that word to describe my actions: playing the actor. If anybody should know what that’s like, it’s Hoss.
But he wasn’t trying to accuse me of anything. I think he may have simply been trying to reach out. Assumed I was another broken soul in need of empathy.
Was he wrong? I’d like to think that he was, but I cannot be sure. The more I think about it, the more I realize how blind I was, on that 1st day. Hoss’ questions irritated me. I dismissed his surprisingly accurate insights as misguided attempts at psychoanalyzing me. I didn’t really understand why I felt this ache in my heart, when he left my room. But today, I understand. He reached out a paw, and I refused to take it. He offered to share my burden, and I pushed him away.
Can I really do this alone? I’m not sure anymore.
Hoss eventually left. I stared at my door, a little dumbfounded by this whole exchange.
“Well, that was certainly something,” I commented. “Off to bed I go.”
“Not yet.”
Turning around, I noticed Thanatos had climbed onto my bed. He was staring through me. When he spoke again, all trace of playfulness was gone from his voice.
“Listen very carefully. On the 7th day, you’ll ask Hoss to go take a walk in the forest with you. Leave early so nobody can spot you. Go visit the abandoned mill. Search the place thoroughly.”
“What? What for? And what makes you think Hoss will even agree?”
“It’s very important that you do everything I say. Forget all your other plans, and focus solely on that one.”
“You want me to kill Hoss? Jack should already be around on day 7, scouting the area. Is that how we’re doing it? Letting Jack claim Hoss?”
I was wasting my breath, Thanatos was already leaving. I tried to catch him before he could escape, but I wasn’t quick enough. Needless to say, I didn’t sleep much that night. I wasted the following days trying to understand what Thanatos had meant, and attempting to predict where this timeline was taking us.
The only issue being that everything was proceeding normally. It was even a little dull. Nevertheless, on July 7th, I asked Hoss to accompany me for a little walk in the forest. And while I’m here, being honest about my feelings, I should note that this prospect made me very nervous. Hoss was the only rogue element in that timeline (at least at the time). I didn’t know what had gotten into him, but it scared me. In fact, I still don’t really know what got into him.
We met in the kitchen at dawn, had tea, and left together. I thought I would need to persuade him, but he agreed to the idea almost immediately. He didn’t even comment on the strangeness of the situation.
And then, when we stepped foot into the forest, he attacked me with:
“So, what are you scheming?”
He had that devious grin on his muzzle. He was trying to uncover my secrets while pretending to pass it as a playful bit. That way, if it got too intense, he could always retract his question with a simple: Relax, I was only joking. I decided to play along.
“I’m taking you to see my private nuke collection. I buried them in the woods nearby, and I needed someone to know. It’s been weighing on my heart immensely.”
“Cool. Did you build them yourself?”
“Yes, using spare parts from my own TV at home. That’s why I’m so behind on Chainsaw Man, I didn’t want to watch the latest episodes on my phone.”
Hoss shook his head in mock-disappointment.
“I can’t believe you’re doing Fujimoto-san dirty like that.”
We stopped talking after that. It was a rather beautiful day. I suppose I should say something about how delightful the bird songs were, about how much I enjoyed the soft and gentle breeze, the dew drops on the grass, shining like iridescent pearls, etc etc. Hoss, in true Hoss fashion, compared it to the wide scenery shots in Your Name. It was enough to stop us from yapping for a short while.
“No but really, why did you take me here?” Hoss asked softly after a long minute of silence. “You have been acting strange since we arrived here.”
I couldn’t tell him I was merely obeying Thanatos’ orders, so I dodged the question.
“Strange? How?”
“Forgive me for being so bold, but you just don’t seem all that sincere most of the time. And that mansion, it’s just weird how little you told us about it.”
“Why, aren’t you happy to sleep in a deluxe room?”
“You know what I mean. What is this place? Why is it so empty? How come we get to have it for free? Why is Benson the only butler?”
“You worry too much. I have some rich relatives I don’t speak to all that often. It was easy enough to arrange this whole vacation; all I had to do was-”
I didn’t finish my sentence, because Hoss stopped walking, staring me in the eyes, almost aggressively. I winced.
“What is it?” I asked, almost a little meekly.
“There. When you started talking, your whole posture changed. You put your hands in your pockets, you lifted your chin a little, you gave me that sleazy grin, and you began to speak in a slow, deliberate manner. You’ve been lying to me.”
I was both annoyed and intrigued. I’ve always known that Hoss was good at detecting lies, but for some reason, this rarely hampered my plans in any meaningful way. I asked Thanatos about this once. What were the odds of Hoss confronting me directly about my lies? As it turns out, only 9%. How many iterations did it take for him to finally gain that courage? How many times did a lion refuse to speak in the face of a boar, for fear of sowing discord?
“This is why you came into my room the other day,” I understood.
This was not the right answer, of course. I should have denied everything. I don’t know why I didn’t.
Hoss simply nodded.
“Well? What are you going to do now?” I teased.
“Why did you ask me to come here with you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where are we going?”
“There is an old mill, down this path. I want to make sure it’s empty.”
“… what, is that it? You’re afraid of squatters, and you needed someone to come with? You should have said so from the start. Also, I should mention that if muscle was all you needed, Sal would have made a much better bodyguard. But I’ll do my best.”
Soon we reached our destination. I confess I was a little nervous, but we found nothing. The building was completely empty; same thing for the basement. There were no signs that anybody had been there in years. Hoss didn’t make fun of me for making him participate in that completely fruitless task. He seemed to notice my dismay, and tried to reassure me.
“It’s good that we didn’t find anything, right?” He asked, somewhat uncertain.
“Yes. It… it is. It’s just…”
“Were you expecting someone? How did you know to look for this place specifically?”
“You could say I was warned.”
Hoss spontaneously took my hand, forcing me to look him in the eyes.
“Hey, I know you don’t really trust me yet, but whatever this is, I can help you, alright? You don’t have to be alone in this.”
I really didn’t like that. I really, really didn’t like hearing that. In that moment, I wanted to slap him. He was treating me like a child. I felt angry at Thanatos for putting me in this situation. Hoss must have noticed, too, because he left soon after that. He advised me to go home as well, but I wasn’t done.
I checked the wooden shack next. I searched the woods. But I found no sign of Jack, Dom or Memphis. Deeply troubled, I came home to confront Thanatos. I didn’t find him in my bedroom immediately, but I knew he was around.
“I did what you asked, and found nothing. Reveal yourself. What does it all mean?”
The voice came from behind my chest of drawers.
“Oooh, reveal yourself, nice. I feel like a ghost now. Which is fitting, in a sense.”
“No more jokes. You knew I wouldn’t find any traces of Memphis’ crew. Where are they? Are they going to be late? How will this affect the timeline?”
Thanatos revealed himself. He took his sweet time, climbing onto the bed on his own. He patted a space next to the pillow, inviting me to sit. Despite myself, I complied. He cleared his throat.
“Memphis isn’t going to come at all.”
I blinked. I wish I’d said something spiritual, but from what I remember, I just replied: “what?”
“You heard me. Sometimes he simply doesn’t show up. It’s not frequent, mind you, there’s a 0.6% chance of this happening, but it’s not unheard of.”
I was utterly dumbfounded. This was great news, but somehow I felt even more anxious than before. Still, I had to ask:
“So… does that mean we’re safe? We’re all going to make it?”
“No. Or well… I don’t know.”
“What do you mean?” I shouted.
“In the past, these kinds of iterations have never gone well. Someone always ends up dead, if not the whole group. Usually, it’s because of a natural disaster. The first time this happened, an earthquake destroyed the building’s foundations while you were all in the basement. Everything collapsed, no one survived. Another time, lightning struck, setting the hedge maze on fire. Dean, Tyson and Hoss burned alive. Then, the third time, it was a car accident. The bus collided with a truck. None of you even made it to the mansion. Dave was the only survivor; Benson learned the story by reading the newspaper. And so forth, and so on.”
I felt cold sweat running down my back, and wiped my hands against my clothes.
“This… this is nonsensical. It’s almost like…”
“A curse? Yes, that’s what it looks like, doesn’t it?”
“No. It can’t be. I haven’t come this far to be fooled into believing in curses. This has to be a huge coincidence.”
“Believe what you will, but know this: something will happen before the end of the month, and at least three of your friends will die.”
“Why three?”
“That’s the lowest recorded number of casualties for this type of timeline. I’m not counting you dying of natural causes, obviously.”
“Right. But if Dave dies…”
“Everyone else dies, yes. Like always.”
“But how will I know how to protect us?”
“That’s the tricky thing: you won’t. It’s always a new threat.”
“I could always kill Orlando, and send everybody home. Or Benson. Or have Sal commit another murder in his sleep. This has worked well in other timelines, so why shouldn’t it in this one?”
“It would work, yes. But you’d lose valuable data that could be used in the future. These timelines are unique. From a purely logical standpoint, they offer the highest chance of success. No doomsday awaiting you, no dragon to claim the vault. Think about it.”
And naturally, I did. I’ve always been greedy. 0.6% chance… I thought I could make it. I thought this could be the one.
On July 12th, Dean began to cough. Immediately, I knew something was off. This was the signal I had been waiting for. I seized control of the situation, ordering for him to be quarantined in his bedroom. No one was to approach him, except to bring him meals. They all thought I had gone mad with paranoia, but I made them obey. I didn’t want anybody else to catch the virus.
But naturally, I was too late. When I walked into the basement to consult Oz, I found him dead. He bad been carrying the disease from the start, and died in his own bed before anybody could notice. Benson died soon after, and then one by one, we began to drop like flies. Of course, we tried calling the hospital, the police, our families, anyone that could rescue us from this situation. But a violent storm on July 11th had destroyed the telephone lines, and the roads were all consequently blocked. We were completely isolated.
July 13th is when I found Oz dead. Benson died on July 16th. By that point, Tyson, Orlando and I were already infected. We knew we had to send someone to seek help. Sal was the more logical choice, but I really wanted it to be Dave. I knew we were doomed if he caught the virus too. But naturally, that idiot didn’t want to leave Orlando behind; so Sal left the mansion that evening, swearing that he would bring back help as soon as possible.
We split the mansion into two parts. The sick lived on the first floor of the building, while the healthy could have the ground floor. We tried to limit contact as much as possible. On July 16th, Dean was already delirious with a fever. At night, I sneaked into Oz’ lab, trying to find something that maybe could cure us, but I wasn’t even able to analyze the nature of the disease.
Dean died the next morning. I found Orlando crying next to his bed.
“Why is this happening to us? What did we do to deserve this? All I wanted was to make my friends happy. One final time before I had to leave. Why did we have to come here?”
He didn’t seem worried about dying himself, even though it seemed inevitable at that point. He was already burning with a fever of his own, his scales glistening with sweat. I had never seen him like that.
“We have to tell them to leave,” I said. “We can’t afford to waste anymore time. Dave won’t listen to me, but he will listen to you. Tell him.”
“I can’t,” Orlando whimpered. “You know how he gets when he’s emotional like this.”
“I’ll force him to leave,” Tyson suddenly blurted out.
He had been sitting in a corner of the room all along. Compared to me and Orlando, he was still doing well; he only coughed occasionally.
“And how do you plan on doing that?” I asked, skeptical.
“I don’t care, I’ll find a way. Grab his ass and drag it down the road if I have to.”
“You moron. It won’t matter if you infect him too!”
“Guys, please,” Orlando said, wiping his eyes. “Don’t fight when Dean’s body is right next to us. I can’t take it.”
He sounded so miserable that were both silenced immediately. In the end, I was the one to propose a solution. The only logical solution.
“We have to convince Hoss to leave, and take Dave with him. It’s the only way.”
“But that means nobody will remain here to help us,” Orlando observed.
He was being selfish, but can I really blame him? He was already falling apart, and he didn’t want to be alone in his final moments. I know this feeling better than anyone. But to his credit, Orlando quickly changed his mind. I believe his love for Dave was genuine. Maybe even as strong as mine. Tyson had no objections.
I spoke to Hoss a few hours later, when he came to deliver our meal. I made sure to keep my distances.
“How is Dave?” I asked.
“Not well. He’s been inconsolable. I left him outside. He’s digging a grave; I assume for Dean, though I didn’t ask.”
“And what about you? How are you holding up?”
“As well as I can in these circumstances. I’m alive.”
He had a feeble, desperate laugh.
“I don’t even want Sal to come back. I want to catch this damn virus and let it end. I can’t handle it anymore.”
He sniffled loudly, wiping his eyes. I had never seen him like this before. I’m not a very tactile person, but I strongly wished I could hold him in my arms, in that moment. Tell him it was going to be alright.
Ironically, I’ve always felt like this. Like I’m a form of poison, and staying near me can only lead to doom. My love is corrosive, it dissolves what it touches.
I really loved Hoss in that moment. Because when I told him to go away, it was no longer just to save Dave. I wanted him to live as well. I remember thinking: I hope he steps onto a stage at least once in the future, so the audience can learn to love his infectious charisma.
I wish he were still there with me.
But of course, he had to leave. I don’t know how he convinced Dave to accompany him. Maybe he had to sedate him, or threaten him with a gun. All I know is that on July 18th, we had the mansion to ourselves. We buried Dean in the grave Dave had dug. Orlando said a few words. Tyson took care of us. I spent most of my time in the garden, waiting for Sal to come back. I don’t know if something happened to him, but he never returned. Maybe this mansion really is cursed. At least, he’s probably fine. Thanatos told me I was pretty good at saving Sal. I had a 47% success rate with him. That’s comforting, in a sense. Proves I’m not just wasting my efforts. I wish someone could tell him, some day.
On July 20th, Orlando died. He agonized in bed for hours, before his heart finally gave out. I can still hear his screams. Tyson left after that, I don’t really know where he went. That idiot probably died in the forest somewhere. Alone, invisible. Serves him right. It’s just me now. I’m badly starved and dehydrated, and I know I don’t have a whole lot of time left. I’m running out of ink. What was the point of writing all of this? What was I hoping to achieve?
Maybe Thanatos can record this journal, and read it to me when the next iteration begins. Maybe future Roswell will be able to make sense of it.
I’m so tired. Dave, Hoss, I wish you were here.
Please forgive me.
***
Sal,
I know we haven’t spoken in a year. I know you have been ignoring my letters. But you need to read this one. Please. You’re the only one who can help me.
I promise, I’m not trying to start a fight. I know you feel guilty for what happened at the mansion, but I promise you, it wasn’t your fault. You did your best, and it was unfair of me to accuse you of running away. I wasn’t coping all that well, and I lashed out at you, but it was unfair, and I apologize.
I’m hoping to reiterate this apology when we meet in person, but first, listen to this.
I just came back from the graveyard, and found this little journal on Roswell’s grave. I don’t know who put it there, but I can assure you it’s genuine. I still have some of his class notes from way back when, the handwriting is exactly the same. Apparently, he wrote it on the day of his own death, before the paramedics found him.
You have to read it. I know it’s painful, but you have to. Tell me I’m not going crazy. I feel like I’m losing my mind. This journal… it makes no sense. If it’s genuine, then neither of us even knew Roswell at all.
I can’t speak to Dave about this. He couldn’t handle it. But you can. Please, if you don’t want to speak to me again, at least read the journal. You deserve to know.
I just feel so alone these days. Please, don’t leave me in the dark. I love you.
- Hoss