ChapterEighty-Five
Private Message | EchoZone Internal Chat
From: DeadStrings
To: StringTheory27
Date: July 27th, 1997, 1:14 AM
Subject: Out of town ...
It seemslike I haven’t messaged you or checked my messages for a while.I apologize, but I’ve been very busy.
It’s funny how it took me a family trip—business or maybe just plain family drama—to finally check my messages and respond to you.
Is it terrible that while everyone’s running around the house, I snuck into my brother’s office and found a computer?The connection’s painfully slow—something about the card thingy saying 28k instead of 56k?I don’t really know.The whole internet thing is still a bit of a mystery to me.
Otis came with me, of course.He grumbled through the first hour of the drive, then passed out with his head wedged between the armrest and the door.And before you ask, I wasn’t the one driving.A family friend volunteered.
Otis isn’t speaking to me after growling at my brother’s cat.I told him that if he doesn’t behave, he’ll be taken to the backyard, where dogs belong.
You asked for a playlist and to tell you something.
The something is I’m out of town.
Now, here’s the beginning of the Family Detour Playlist—songs I played when the conversations got too brittle and I needed the road to say more than I could:
“Disarm”—Smashing Pumpkins
Seems convenient for a family reunion.
“No Surprises”—Radiohead
This one is trying to convince themselves that quiet is the same as peace.
“Dreams”—Fleetwood Mac
Because some truths only come through harmonies.It softens things I can’t say.
“Runaway Train”—Soul Asylum
This one is haunting and gets me every time.Especially when you realize some people have disappeared while standing right in front of you.
“Don’t Letthe Sun Go Down on Me” —George Michael & Elton John
Forgiveness sneaks up on you sometimes.This one reminds me to leave the door cracked, just in case.
I’ll write more soon.I hope you’re doing okay—Allegra too.There’s something enviable about a cat that doesn’t explain herself to anyone.
ChapterEighty-Six
Roderick
July 27th, 1997
“What are you doing here?”Cleo’s voice slices through the static in my brain the second she finds me planted in front of Julian’s computer, hands hovering over the keyboard like I know what I’m doing.
“Looking for clues?”I offer with a shrug—casual, breezy, completely full of shit.
