What’s inside
The conclusion of Stage 1: The Station.
The shack smells bad, like rotten things.
It’s dark, but I find an old pull chain bulb hanging from the ceiling. I pull it. It works. “How do we have electricity out here?” I ask the empty room.
It doesn’t say anything back.
The walls are covered in pictures, drawings, paintings, scribbles on napkins. Some of them look like outlines, but I can’t read them.
I don’t recognize anyone in the pictures.
There are some spots on the wall that look like they’re missing something, like there was something there that’s not anymore. And I notice some of the pictures have edges or whole sides cut off.
There’s a small workbench that’s got supplies on it, like a razor blade pencil, some glue, some bits of shell and moss, some coconut husk. I pick up the coconut and feel it and wonder how I know what it is.
There’s a small desk, too, with old paper and an assortment of pens, and a manual typewriter.
There’s a page in the typewriter.
I lean forward and look at the symbols.
They’re blurry at first, but as I blink, they come into focus: Van Buren.
I blink again, read it again, aloud:
“Van Buren turned his lips down. ‘I promise you this, Gaucho, you will remember. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll make you remember. All of it. Every piece of it. And in excruciating detail. You’ll remember it all so well that you’ll beg me to wipe it from your brain forever.’”
That’s it. All that’s there.
I let the paper flop back, and I say, “Huh.”
My ring finger itches.
I rub it.
Still itchy.
So I scratch it.
It starts to bleed.
“Oh no!” I say.
I apply pressure and go to the workbench for something to wrap it.
I find some masking tape and some construction paper. I use those to wrap it.
My finger is twitching and swirling around a bit, like a compass that can’t find north.
“Oh no!” I say again. “What have I done?”
STAGE 1: The Station COMPLETE!
