InsaneJournal

Stan tilts his head towards the open window, his hair whipping against his forehead in the rush of air, and says, “Can I ask you something?”

“Only if I can ask you something next,” Kenny answers. He smacks his palms against the steering wheel and glances to meet Stan’s calm eyes.

“Deal.”

“Then go.”

Stan kicks the underside of the glove box. “How did you afford this truck?”

“Prostitution.”

“Give me a real answer for once.”

“What if I really did prostitute myself to buy this?” Kenny rolls his cigarette between his lips. “You’d feel like shit for always saying I’m joking.”

“Dude,” Stan says at half his previous volume and with a slight quaver. “Did you?”

“Fuck no!” Kenny barks. “I’m not a whore!”

“Damnit, Kenny!”

“Okay. The truth is I sold a stupid gold statue that’d been in my closet for years. Got me just enough money to afford this thing.”

Stan props his head up with one elbow on the open window frame. “A gold statue? As in, made of the valuable metal gold?”

“Eh, they gipped me. It was really gold-plated tin. And the subject made it worth less.”

“... Tom Cruise?”

“Nah, Keanu Reeves.”

Kenny doesn’t have to look to know Stan’s aiming a stare dripping with skepticism at him.

“Don’t ask me, man. If I was going to lie to you, I’d come up with something better than this.”

“You’ve got a point there,” Stan concedes. The window suddenly jolts under his arm, and he jumps back as it rolls all the way up. His mouth knots up. “What the fuck, Kenny? I was enjoying the breeze.”

“Time for my question,” he says simply. His voice is utterly level. Stan shifts under the heat of an invisible spotlight. “Why,” Kenny asks, pausing between words to make sure they’re all heard, “did you and Kia break up?”

Stan exhales in a laugh. “That’s easy! She’s clingy and thought I was ignoring her, just like every other time. Dude, don’t be so dramatic. You really had me-”

“What was it you said?” Kenny interrupts. “Give me a real answer for once. That was it.”

“That is the real answer,” Stan says, but the stricken edge is creeping back into his voice.

“Bullshit. All your other break-ups lasted a couple weeks tops and involved you weeping like a bitch. It’s been over four months, Stan, and you’ve been nothing but happy. I want to know what happened.”

Stan crosses his arms, rests his chin on his chest, and lets his eyelids slide closed. He’s still, so still that Kenny looks away from the road a few times to make sure he hasn’t somehow disappeared. Kenny’s about to ask him again when Stan sucks in a loud breath. He sounds small when he responds. “Your question’s a lot harder than mine.”

“I know. Sorry.”

“I should get a second question for this.”

“Why’d you dump her?”

“I didn’t.”

Kenny chokes on a disbelieving laugh.

“I’m serious.”

“You got dumped, and for the first time ever, you didn’t care?”

“It’s complicated,” Stan offers.

“Obviously,” Kenny agrees.

“I’m not going to tell you everything.”

“I don’t want to know everything.” Kenny cracks his window, flicks out some ash, and takes a long drag on his cigarette. “I mean, I do, but... I’ll accept just knowing why she dumped you.”

Stan chews that over for a minute, tongue darting out to wet his lips with half-formed answers. He pieces his response together carefully, sets every word in place with flicks of his eyes, and he finally says, “She thought I had fallen out of love with her.”

“Did you?”

“What sort of question is that?”

Kenny shrugs. “An honest one.”

“Yes, okay?” Stan growls, slamming his hand down onto the window switch and leaning his head out as soon as it can fit through. “Or maybe no. I don’t really know if I ever loved her.”

Kenny catches the words before the wind can swallow them and rolls them around in his head. “What makes you think that?”

At that, Stan manages a broad, closed-mouth smile. “That question’s not part of the deal.”

“Fair enough. We’re almost back to your dorm anyway.”

True to Kenny’s word, the dorm comes into view after the next turn. Kenny pulls over to the curb and flicks the automatic lock when Stan tries to pull the door handle. “Hey,” he says as he blows a thin line of smoke out the window. “Thanks for the snacks.”

“Next time we go to Quick Stop, you’re buying.” Stan unlocks the door and hops out. “For Kyle too,” he adds, slamming the door before Kenny can object. He watches the truck peel out and tear down the road, one hand waving out the driver’s side window, cigarette tip tracing orange arcs in the dark between streetlights. Kenny’s truck squeals around its turn at the stoplight, and Stan strides through the propped open front door of his dorm. He takes the stairs two at a time, three flights up to his small room. A slat of light spills out beneath the door, and he knocks twice before the door pulls away from him.

“Stan?” Kyle asks as he peers out.

“Hey dude. You’re back earl-” Kyle’s hand jerks out, fists in the front of Stan’s shirt, yanks him into the room, and shuts the door swiftly. Stan tugs his shirt flat again. “Goddamnit, why is everyone interrupting me today?”

“We have to talk,” Kyle says in a rush.

“What’s wrong?”

“I saw it. The thing in the shadows.”

Stan backs up until he hits his bed and sits down heavily on it. “Where?”

“In class.” Kyle slips a hand under his hat to tangle in his curly hair. “It freaking followed me to class, Stan.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah.”

“So what do we do?”

Kyle stops abruptly and jerks his head towards Stan. “I don’t know! You saw it first. I thought you’d have a plan!”

“What?” Stan squawks. “When would I have come up a plan?!”

They stare at each other until Stan breaks the look and drops his chin into his hands.

“Okay, let’s think about this.”

An open notebook plops onto his lap. The mattress dips as Kyle sits next to him, and he gives him a questioning glance.

“What’s this?”

“I drew up some stuff while you were gone.”

Spread across two adjacent pages are a number of diagrams: a dark, squat figure with a pointed head and one round eye; an overhead view of a small classroom with one entrance, an oblong table with chairs in the middle, a desk in the forward corner by a blackboard, and a line of half-desks against the back wall; a thin hand with impossibly small nailless fingertips and knobby knuckles straining against the wrinkled skin; a close-up on the creature’s eye, perfectly circular and alight with multiple shines across its reflective surface; a line of names that reads “Lexus Token Cartman Me Wendy Bebe”...

Stan leans towards Kyle. “What was special about you six?”

“We’re the only ones in the class,” Kyle says, scratching one eyebrow.

“Really? That’s weird.”

Kyle lets out a clipped, mirthless laugh.

Stan rotates the notebook so the drawing of the creature is upright. “This is really detailed.”

“I was bored.”

“No, it’s great.” He points at the classroom diagram. “You saw it in here, right?”

“Under that desk-chair-thing near the corner.”

Stan slaps the notebook closed between his palms and jumps up off the bed. “Let’s go.”

“What?” Kyle scrambles to his feet. Stan smiles at him, eyes bright.

“Let’s go back to the classroom. I want to see where it was.” Stan whips his shirt off over his head and rummages through his closet. Pulling out a black tee, he adds, “We might even find a passageway under the desk or something. It might even still be there!”

Kyle opens his mouth to object, but stops. His lower lip pokes out as he thinks, eyebrows twisting from slanted in concern to drawn tight over his eyes to arched up with some silent revelation. “You’re right,” he finally concedes, and a black shirt smacks into his face.

“Put that on so we won’t get spotted,” Stan says as he buttons his black jeans. “You have black pants, right?”

“Only dress slacks.”

“Then here.” Kyle is prepared this time and catches the folded jeans before they hit him. He changes quickly and is greeted by Stan levelling a glare at his head. “... What?”

“Your hat,” Stan says with a tinge of disgust.

“What about it?”

“It’s brown.”

“Oh come on!” Kyle shouts. “It’s dark brown!”

“Yeah but...” Stan sweeps his eyes up and down Kyle’s body, frowning slightly. “It ruins it.”

“We’re going monster hunting, not to a fashion show.”

Stan’s frown deepens and with a groan, Kyle flings his hat against the wall, uncovering a ball of fiery red hair. “There! Better?”

“No,” Stan admits after a few seconds. “Your hair is really obvious.”

“What did you expect?!”

Stan slides open a drawer inside the closet and picks through a pile of knit hats. He pulls out a black one. Kyle rolls his eyes and mutters, “This is stupid,” but he takes it anyway and tugs it down over his forehead. Stan circles him, tucking in loose curls here and there until none of the vibrant red shows.

“That’ll do.”

“Great, can we go now?”

“Sure.”

Neither of them move. Kyle gives an aggravated sigh. “Well?”

“I don’t know the way.”

“Oh.” And with that, Kyle sets out and heads down the stairs with Stan at his heels.

--------------------------------------------------

Pressed flat against the stone wall, Stan raises three fingers, then slashes his hand towards the right. He pivots his head to watch for confirmation. Kyle leans with one shoulder on the wall, crosses his arms, and quirks a confused eyebrow. Stan sighs silently. He flicks his eyes upwards and looks back at Kyle expectantly.

“No, it’s-”

Stan points one finger at Kyle’s face and presses another against his own lips. For what must be the fiftieth time that night, Kyle rolls his eyes.

“Really?”

Stan nods.

“No, it’s on the second floor,” Kyle whispers, and he does his best to ignore the excited smile spreading across Stan’s face.

Stan smashes himself against the wall and holds his breath as the front door of the building swings open and a janitor hustles out. The door is left unlocked, which merits a quiet hiss of victory before Stan grabs Kyle’s hand and surges in. He freezes once they’re just inside, looking back and forth for a staircase. The door closes with a resounding clack, and he jumpstarts to the left only to be stopped by a tug on his hand. Kyle tips his head towards the right. Stan jolts out a solemn nod and takes off at a full run. Sure enough, he spots an alcove at the end of the corridor with narrow cement stairs marching upwards, and when he turns sharply to bolt up them, his arm goes tight as Kyle swings around to follow. He counts the steps in his head to keep pace – 28, 29, 30. The floor flattens out, a landing, he notes as he slows to take in the surroundings, but when he flings himself 180 degrees to find the next flight, Kyle slams into him and they both topple over.

“Why’d you stop?” Kyle hisses.

“I didn’t know the stairs turned around here!” Stan whispers back heatedly. Disentangling his fingers from Kyle’s, he stands up and brushes the dust of his knees. He offers one hand to help his friend up, but Kyle stops suddenly, his hand hovering above Stan’s and his mouth hanging open a sliver. Kyle’s jaw snaps shut, clenched teeth exposed as he flies to his feet and in a flash he grabs Stan and throws them both into a bathroom Stan hadn’t even noticed was there. It’s a small standalone unit with no stalls, the door propped open by a large, lumpy rock. Stan wedges himself between the wall and a visibly dirty sink, praying that the view from outside doesn’t extend that far. He lets out big breath and before he’s even done exhaling, Kyle’s hand is clamped over his open mouth to stifle any noise.

Outside, shoes tick by on the slick tile at a brisk pace. The steps stop close by, so close they both tense up and Stan’s hands latch on to Kyle’s waist to pull him in, further away from the door. The person on the landing lets out a high-pitched “Hmmm,” but soon enough the clicking resumes, echoing quieter and quieter until it fades away down the first floor hall.

Just about the time he notices it’s so quiet he can actually hear the overhead lights on the landing buzzing, Stan realizes Kyle’s hand is still sealed over his mouth. The palm’s cupped away from him so he can’t bite it, so he does the only thing he can of.

He licks.

“Dude!” Kyle yelps. He pushes off of Stan’s face, causing the back of his head to collide with the wall. Stan winces and rubs his injury.

“You were asking for it.”

“How?!”

“You put your hand there.”

“You were going to get us caught!”

“I was just breathing,” Stan points out. “Besides, you’re the one that’s not taking this mission seriously.”

Kyle stands with his legs spread and sweeps one arm towards the door. “I’m the one that saved us here!”

Stan gnaws on his lower lip, struggling for a good comeback. Nothing. “Where do we go now?”

“Up and left,” Kyle snips out. He closes one damp hand around Stan’s wrist and hauls him out and up the remaining stairs.

The hallway upstairs is empty, much to their relief, except for some half-desks scattered about. Picking his way around them, Kyle passes two rooms, rounds a corner, passes three more, and comes to a stop in front of a thin door with a frosted window that reveals nothing but darkness. Stan cranes his head over his shoulder.

“This is it?”

“This is it.” They lock eyes for one moment, then Stan tilts his head up in assent, and Kyle slowly reaches out for the doorknob. The blood rushes in his ears, surges in his tingling fingertips. His hand closes around the metal handle, static cracking as his skin contacts, and in one swift move, he twists it.

At least, he tries to twist it. The doorknob doesn’t budge. “What the hell?” he mutters. He wipes his palm on his thigh and tries again, gripping tighter this time. Still nothing.

“What’s wrong?” Stan asks.

“It won’t open.”

“What?!”

“It won’t open!”

Stan pushes past him and grabs the doorknob with both hands, wrenching it hard. It turns no more than an inch before stopping, far short of letting the door open.

“I think it’s locked,” Kyle offers.

Stan whines wordlessly.

“Next time, we’ll-”

“Give me your ATM card.”

“Huh?”

With one upturned hand thrust out, Stan repeats, “Give me your ATM card.”

Kyle looks at his best friend, takes in the squared off shoulders, the tense limbs, the set jaw. He averts his gaze and pulls out his wallet.

Stan snatches away the card with a quick “Thanks,” and immediately wedges it between the door and the frame.

“Don’t break it.” Kyle slumps down the wall and sits cross-legged, absently watching Stan work. To his credit, he doesn’t strain the card so much that it bends or force it. He just works with it, jiggling the knob as he attempts to slide the card in past the latch and push it out of the way. Simultaneously, he bumps the door with his hip, twists the knob, and thrusts the card forward. Stan whistles.

Kyle lifts himself up a bit. “Did it work?”

“Not even close,” Stan says as he flops down next to him. He holds out the card between two fingers.

“What now?”

He shrugs.

Kyle slings an arm around Stan’s shoulders. “Let’s come back on Thursday.”

“What, during your class?” Stan asks with a tired smile.

“No... hey wait, yeah!” The soles of Kyle’s shoes clap against the floor, and he draws his knees up. “You can come to my class with me, in case anything happens. It’s technically full, but there’s tons of space. Just say you wanted to observe another section.”

Stan’s spine straightens out a bit. “That could actually work.”

“And then,” Kyle says, fingertips drumming on Stan’s shoulder, “we come back later to inspect the room and bring Kenny with us.”

“He could pick that lock in seconds,” Stan finishes. They look at each other with twin grins. Together, they jump to their feet and sprint down the hall dodging desks, all semblance of subtlety left in the shadows by the classroom door. The janitor they saw before is at the front door when they reach it, armed with a mop and a full bucket of clean water, and the befuddled expression on his face at seeing two black-clad boys flying towards him makes both of them burst into laughter.

A few yards out from the building, Stan slows his pace slightly. Kyle spins around in front of him and jogs backwards. “You okay?”

Stan leaps forward and tackles him, and Kyle’s forced to spin to keep himself from falling. Just as quickly, Stan shoves off of him and runs at breakneck pace in the direction of their dorm.

“Your stamina’s worse than mine,” Kyle shouts with a smirk before he lunges after him.

--------------------------------------------------

The door swings open so fast it slams into a dresser, and Wendy turns to yell at the intruder but stops when she sees Bebe’s glum face. “How’d it go?”

“Bad,” Bebe says, toeing off her pumps and tossing her purse onto her bed. “The door was locked, so I couldn’t get in.”

“Darn.” Wendy interlaces her fingers and stretches her arms up over her head.

“But I did get us tea lattes!” Bebe says, waggling a glass bottle in each hand. She sets one on the dresser and hands the other off to her roommate. “How about you? Find anything?”

“No,” Wendy sighs, “but that in and of itself might be something.”

Bebe dabs some makeup remover onto a cotton ball and runs it over her eyelids. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Look at this.” Wendy flips through the documents open on her computer and clicks on a PDF packed with text. “This is the biography linked on the faculty profile of Ms. N. Notice anything?”

Tucking the front of her hair behind one ear, Bebe skims the information for keywords. “Raised by middle-class parents, loves sitcoms and barbecue, studied literature in college... this is really pointless.”

“Exac-” Loud laughter from outside cuts her off, and a male voice cries out, “Cut it out, dude!”

Wendy and Bebe shout in unison, “Shut up!” and Bebe shuts the window with an echoing thud. Wendy waits for her to smooth the top of her hair, take a quick breath, and rejoin her at the computer before she talks again. “Exactly. Everything in her biography is fluff that can’t be fact-checked. No hometown, no named college, nothing!”

“Weird,” Bebe says. A smile grows on her sparkly lips and she adds, “Speaking of weird, know what I did see in the Humanities building?”

“What?”

Giggles bubble out from her. “A couple making out in the bathroom.”

“Ew, gross!” Wendy’s nose wrinkles up with disgust, but she can’t hide the amusement that slowly blooms on her face. “Anyone we know?”

Bebe shakes her head. “I couldn’t see them that well. The guy had a great ass, though.”