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Avery’s hands shake as he stares at his screen.
In the corner, Youtube’s notification tells him that his own video—all fifteen hours of it—is done uploading. That’s good, he guesses. It should feel settling, because in a way it was Derek’s final wish to him. Now that it’s complete, Avery’s done.
He’s free to do whatever.
His hands shake so badly that he needs to press them palms-down on his desk to feel real. Distantly, he’s aware of his phone buzzing. He’d have to get up from his chair to get it, which he should do because he’s been at his desk for hours now—
He leans forward and presses play on the video, again, and Goodbye from d3rlord3 restarts.
Avery raises the volume and is promptly caught off-guard by the shaky inhale from his computer. He’s heard it over a dozen times now, but on previous occasions his own sobbing has prevented him from hearing anything clearly.
He sucks in a breath and holds it down, smothering the coil of disaster in his chest, trying to suffocate the emotions before another sob can work its way out of his mouth.
Sounds of shuffling, from the video. Avery swears he can hear Derek breathing; he holds down his volume button for clarity, but there’s no words to parse out. Just shaky breathing. A soft thump that makes Avery flinch, maybe he has the video on too loud-?
The audio cuts off without warning. The lack of white noise and breathing is jarring, and Avery’s back to staring at Derek’s goodbye letter for what seems like eternity before the video ends, again.
Avery rewinds and holds down the volume button.
Shaky breathing. My head hurts like hell. A thump- and then the audio cuts. Did Derek mean to have his audio on at all? Did he want to say something to Avery? Why did he cut his audio? Why’d he end it? Why’d he end—
He wouldn’t have put in the audio if it didn’t mean something.
Avery rewinds, holds down his volume, hits play—
There has to be something here, left for Avery.
One finger still on the volume button, he uses his other hand to scroll as he listens to Derek’s breathing. The description reads Thank you.
That doesn’t make Avery feel any more settled. His lips are chapped when he tries speaking, “For what?” No answer is forthcoming. “You did everything.” He pre-emptively restarts the video before it can cut to silence again, and it feels a little like talking to Derek.
“What are you trying to say?” he asks, “Do you need to tell me something?” he coaxes.
Derek responds with a soft thump, and that’s Avery’s cue to restart his video.
“I’ll come find you.” He promises, the words familiar between them, “But I’m going to need a clue, Derek, you know I’m not good with puzzles.”
Avery zooms in on Derek’s profile picture. There’s nothing special about it, it’s the default setting. His username is dhutchins333. He must like threes.
…If the D stands for Derek, then would Hutchins be Derek’s last name?
Avery replays countless more times as he investigates. Derek could’ve possibly hidden a bunch of codes that Avery just hasn’t found, but as it is he chooses to expand on this one piece of information that dangles in front of him like a hook on a wire.
Derek Hutchins is typed into a dozen different sites, each shadier than the last, all promising a multitude of information given any person’s full name.
He cross-checks by typing in his own name. If a site gives wrong information, he closes its tab.
One goes down, then another and another—either they didn’t get Avery’s information accurate, or they couldn’t dig up anything on Derek. The last remaining site before Avery has to go hunting for more is definitely the shadiest. Avery can barely move his mouse without an explicit ad popping up.
When he inputs his own name, all the information is correct. And Derek’s shows up.
It’s the fact that Derek’s birthday is listed as March 3, 2003 that makes Avery stand immediately.
That's him. It must be.
Avery's legs almost collapse from beneath him and it hurts to breathe, his heart beating like a trapped rabbit in his chest, kicking so harshly it forces out a dry sob.
He can’t tell if what he’s feeling is due to emotion or from sitting for hours straight. Either way, his exhaustion only adds mild sloppiness to his ability to scoop his phone off of his nightstand and rush out the door.
He hits his shoulder on the way out of his bedroom, trying to type the address listed on the website into his phone.
“I’m coming,” Avery says, wishing he’d taken his computer with him—he needs to hear Derek again, what if he hid a secret message in the audio?
Avery imagines the sound of breathing, his body grabbing his car keys and running out of the house on instinct alone. “I’m coming.” He reassures Derek again, wishing that he could hear him. Was Derek scared? Surely he must know that Avery’s coming for him—he wouldn’t let him down.
When you read this, don't think you let me down.
He has to hastily swipe up on the barrage of text notifications wishing him a Happy New Year to properly type into the Maps search bar, and when the travel distance loads he swears and slams shut his car door as he climbs in. He’ll need a plane ticket.
The drive to the airport is a blur. He opens Youtube on his phone at a stoplight, once, to click on dhutchins333’s only video and put it on loop.
There’s no traffic, thanks to it being three in the morning. The ungodly time also means that when Avery arrives, he’s forced to wait several more hours for even the earliest flight time available.
He places his phone between his shoulder and his ear, holding it there to listen to as he leans against a pillar. His legs protest the thought of sitting any more.
The only time that Derek’s breathing is interrupted by something other than the deafening silence of the video’s last ten seconds is when Avery’s phone buzzes with a call from his mom. He declines it initially, then again the second time, but when the third call comes and it becomes clear that Derek’s video can’t go for two seconds uninterrupted, Avery caves.
“Avery,”
“Hi, Ma.”
“Why’d you buy a- have you been crying?”
He has. It affected his ability to drive, when on the way to the airport he’d put on Derek’s video and the sound surrounded him through his car’s speakers. It took the person behind him honking several times for Avery to realize the light turned green.
The drive felt like a trance, but unlike what he felt in that church, his mind was awake instead of absent. He didn’t have full clarity on the church grounds. There, it was like his head was wiped clean. On the other hand, in the car, Derek’s breathing reverberated like an instrument.
“I’m-” Avery doesn’t want to have this conversation with his mom right now, “-I’ll call you back later,”
“No, no. You tell me why you booked a flight for six A.M. and why you sound like you’ve been crying, baby.”
Any made-up scenario will work as an excuse, and the real situation definitely will not. If any of the words out of Avery’s mouth include Minecraft or online friend he’ll surely see his mom marching through the airport doors herself within minutes.
He says the first thing that comes to mind, without thinking: “My friend’s dying.” Avery fiddles with the strings of his hoodie, ignoring the way his stomach plummets like it’s hearing real news.
Why’d he say that? Derek’s not dying, it’s just- the first excuse that came to mind.
His mom says something to console him, her tone genuine and worried.
And Avery’s suddenly acutely aware of every word he’s choosing to say. His throat swells whenever he tries to force something out. “I’ll call you after.” After I save Derek. “I don’t wanna talk about it right now.”
He boards soon after he hangs up, forgetting to replay the video until he’s seated on the plane. It’s basically a full flight, so Avery is unfortunately aware that the passengers on either side of him are close enough to overhear what he listens to for the entirety of the ride.
When they land, Avery has to dodge about a dozen people holding Happy New Year! signs as he exits the terminal and hops into the first taxi he can see.
He’s halfway to Derek’s address when he realizes that he doesn’t have his wallet on him. This would be fine if not for the paper taped to the back of the driver’s seat that reads CASH ONLY.
When the car pulls up to the curb of an apartment complex, Avery tries playing dumb with one foot out the door, “Do you take Apple Pay?”
The driver is already glaring and is, unfortunately, getting out of his seat. “Cash only.”
Avery books it. He makes it to the locked gates before realizing that they are locked, and then the driver grabs hold of him.
“Woah- hey-”
The driver, justifiably angry, shakes Avery by the shoulders. “You think you can just dash on me?”
“-I wasn’t trying to run-”
“I’ll have the cops called on you—and you were just running-”
“-I tripped on the curb actually-”
“-you better pay up right now, boy, or-”
“I’m just trying to see my friend- Derek, he’s in-”
“-I’m calling the cops-”
“Ahem.”
The shaking stops long enough for Avery to reorient himself. His back is pressed against the gate’s cold metal bars, and they continue to wobble even after the man stops shaking him. It takes a second longer for Avery to register that the person who cleared their throat is on the other side of the gate, behind him.
Due to his hostage-situation, all he can see at the moment is the angry driver glaring over Avery’s shoulder. “Is he your’s?”
Avery opens his mouth and is beaten to the answer by a woman’s voice, “Yes.” An one-hundred dollar bill slides through the bars by Avery’s face, and he watches as it exchanges hands. The driver’s grip on Avery is dropped immediately in favor of those same hands snatching the bill. “I’m afraid he’s a troublemaker, could you excuse him this one time?”
“You better teach him a lesson,” The driver says, but he’s already gripping the bill with more conviction than what’s in his tone.
“Yes, of course.”
Avery startles at the click of a metal latch, the gate swinging open. The woman is the same height as him and is dressed for a corporate job.
She waves at the driver who walks away, muttering something along the lines of “kids these days”, and it’s only when Avery hears the taxi’s engine thrum behind him that she speaks up.
“Avery, I presume?”
Avery stares, uncomprehending.
“You appeared in Hutchins’ video.”
It’s like a switch being flipped at the mention of Derek’s last name, and Avery doesn’t waste time with getting inside the gate, “Derek-!” Avery shouts, confused and hopeful as he rushes to the doors, “Is he-?”
The woman lets Avery run past her and into the building. There’s nobody at the front desk, instead a handful of people are scattered about. None—not even the ones with their backs facing the entrance—turn to attention when Avery barges in and almost trips on the welcome mat.
They’re all wearing the same navy-colored windbreakers, the letters D.M.S. stamped across the back.
Avery’s mouth feels dry, his skin clammy. He squeezes his phone in his hand, the video paused from the moment he got out of that taxi, and hurriedly double checks the address, but there’s no unit number given.
That’s ok. The apartment building didn’t look that big from the outside. If Avery needs to knock on every single door, he will.
The woman’s shoes click as he walks in behind him, “There’s no point in going up. The room was empty when we arrived.”
Avery steps towards the stairwell. “Which apartment?” He makes eye contact with the person nearest to the stair door, and they lunge to slam it closed. Avery stops. “What- the frick. Who even are you? Are you all-” he spins to look around the room. Unfamiliar faces look down at clipboards or tablets. “-do you- for Derek…?”
“Hutchins.” The woman finishes, or corrects—her tone is impassive. “He’s a person of interest in our case.”
“For what case??”
The woman steps between Avery and the door, crossing her arms. It feels like she’s looking down at him. “Your video, Avery.” She says, “Something was brought into this world, at this location, and it’s the D.M.S.’s jurisdiction to investigate.”
The woman stares like she’s waiting for Avery to ask what’s the D.M.S.? but there’s only one thing on Avery’s mind.
“I need to see him.” Avery’s voice shakes. He’s been travelling on autopilot for so long that standing still and talking is allowing his senses to gradually reawaken, but all that Avery can taste on his tongue is ash and every breath feels too heavy.
Avery steps towards the door, but instinctively takes several back when the woman places her own foot forward.
“It’s a contamination zone,” she argues.
“Where is he?” Avery suddenly remembers the answer to that question—the room was empty when we arrived—so he just shakes his head aggressively, “You have to tell me something.”
“The D.M.S. is under no obligation to involve civilians in our affairs.”
“Then try kicking me out! I’m not leaving even if you make me!” Avery shouts to the lobby. He’s horribly outnumbered, but nobody makes a move. “I’m already involved, anyways. I can’t just- just leave him,”
Others are actively staring now. But Avery can’t pay them mind. The woman doesn’t, either. “Is that what you think?” She asks.
“I am involved. Yeah.”
“We may be able to work something out, Avery.” Her words make Avery perk up, surprised. “We’re the United States Department of Metaphysical Sciences. We frequently investigate cases like these, perhaps we can work together on this one.”
Avery frowns, the offer almost sounds too good to be true. “You guys will help me find Derek?”
“We’ll work together to find him,” She corrects, “We do need your help as someone who’s had direct contact with the entity—that’s extremely valuable information. This one might just turn into one of the old cold cases if we can’t find anything out.”
No.
Avery can’t let that happen—Derek can’t be reduced to a missing person, vanished from his apartment. Now that Avery pays attention, he can spot a shiny, polished badge clipped to the woman’s belt. The engraving takes the shape of a squid with three eyes.
He glances around the lobby—people quickly look away, acting like they were caught eavesdropping on the conversation when Avery and the woman were admittedly being very loud in the middle of the room—trying to see if there’s another way up.
But why would he decline, when they’re offering to let him in on their investigation? They’re experienced, and knowledgable—both things that Avery is not—and they’re asking for Avery’s help.
To find Derek.
“Okay.” Avery agrees, nodding. “Yeah.”
The woman smiles.