Carrying nothing but the box of Pink Floyd tickets and a bag of spare clothes, Cole and Jack make their way to the Camaro.
"Whats up guys? Need anything?" The man inside peers out the window and flashes them a smile.
"Nah nah, just... Nice car man," Jack was dumbfounded by the shininess of this car. "We uh, we wanted to know... Where.. If we could.. How did you wax it?"
Cole's face turned red and he fumbled around with the box of tickets.
"Not your... I mean. The car, I'm not creepy I promise."
"Haha thanks, man, I did it myself. I told myself I should save for college, you know, but ever since this friend of mine passed away, I knew I had to invest in this. I don't like to talk about it too much, but her death was so tragic, and her friend was lost as well. Man I told her I'd take her to Paris in this car one day. She would have loved this car, she loved all the old stuff. And college, man I wasn't even planning on finishing high school but she really did it for me. She made me realize I wasn't actually just a dumbass. I've applied to Princeton and Yale, I know, I know, I sound like Jess or whatever from Gilmore Girls. Man, she talked about that show a lot, I've only just started it."
Jack turned to Cole, and in that moment, they both knew exactly who he was talking about.
"I am... So sorry for your loss, truly. She sounded wonderful. We had a friend very similar to her. She also died tragically, along with her friend..."
"What are you doing? Don't just go around sharing information about Al, what are you, stupid? What if he's trying to chase us down and kill us," Cole muttered, pinching Jack's arm.
"Al?" the man in the car tilted his head.
"How do you know her? Why has she never mentioned you?" Jack gripped onto the edge of the car window, greasy fingerprints marking the car.
"Calm yourself, let me introduce myself, that is if you'd allow me to exit my own car."
Jack let go of the car and backed away, looking flustered and embarrassed, causing a scene in one of the quietest places in town.
"Hello gentlemen, my name is Bobadilla, but as you may know why, I'd rather be called Dylan." Dylan held his hand out, all covered in rings and veins, not that Jack was looking. Neither Cole or Jack shook his hand.
"I see we are a little hostile today, that's okay. Care to join me for some tea? Green tea is all I have, actually, it was Al's favorite."
"Blah blah blah it was Al's favorite, Al would have loved this, Al would've loved that, oh my!" Cole yammered about, mimicking Dylan's mannerisms and tone of voice.
"He knows nothing about Al, we didn't even know he existed, who does he think he is?"
After a long walk down the street and past a busy crossroad, they've made their way to a small victorian house, covered in flowers and beautiful carvings, not what you'd expect from a man in a leather suit with Dior sunglasses and a golden chain that drives in a classic car, but you had to give him some credit, it may be one of the most beautiful houses in town.
Upon entering, you get a strong whiff of apple pie and fruity candles. Fiddleleaf plants and walls full of Eddie Van Halen and David Bowie made up the entirety of the living room. With great concentration, you can hear John Lennon's Happy X-mas, War is Over, as well as in the background, a game of Jeopardy, hosted by Levar Burton.
There was another man sitting on the couch, possibly younger than Dylan, reading an old newspaper with the headlines "Levar Burton Releases a Granola Bar Company: LeBar!"
"Psst, if we get kidnapped and have nothing to do, I claim that article," Jack whispers to Cole, who was staring at nothing other than a small figurine.
A lewd figurine.
"Ew look at you, so mesmerized by a naked man, eyes up Cole."
"Well, well, about time Dylan brought home some new victims. The slaughter knife in the back is getting dull, someone hand be the butcher knife!" The man dropped his newspaper and stood straight up, cracking his back and sighing.
"Man that must have not been a good impression, trust me, I'm not that old, possibly only a few months older than you two. Nice to meet you, the name's Brent," he chuckled and he leaned in for a hug, smelling like weed and peanut butter.
"Brent? Hi, my names-" Just as Cole lifted his eyes from the figurine to make some real human interaction, Brent sprints to the kitchen, gasping and giggling.
"Oh silly me I forgot to set the timer, now the pies all burnt to crisp. Race would not be proud," sliding it straight into the trash, Jack blurts out.
"Now how do you know Race? Who are you two anyway? Why do you both seem to know everything about Al and Race, when we've never heard anything about you?"
"That's a long story, settle down, make yourself comfortable. Relax, if we wanted to kill you we would have already, we're both impatient guys, aren't we?" Dylan shakes his head laughing, and Brent simply lets out a holler.
"Now, in all seriousness, if you two are really so buddy-buddy with Al and Race, why were they so desperate to leave you?" Brent sets down his cup of tea, hard, on the glass table.
"What do you mean? Desperate to leave us? It was an accident, they died, they didn't... " Cole stammered, searching for words, but he really had no clue as to what Brent meant.
"Al and Race aren't dead," Dylan grins, holding his hands out as if he is a seventh-grade English teacher waiting for a student's interpretation of a story they just read.
English was one of Cole's strongest subjects, yet he chose not to participate in this one. Instead, he blanked out, fail him for today's class if you wish, but what else could he have done.
"Cut the bullshit," Jack says.
"Take a look," Dylan hands Jack a newspaper article, sadly not the LeBar one.
Two Teenage Girls Fake Death to Run Away from Two Boys.
"Crap, all crap, c'mon Cole, we're leaving. They're insane," just as Jack gets up, a bolded sentence catches his eye.
Please contact your local police department if you have any information on the following suspects, Jack, 18 years of age, Male, Brown hair, last seen 2/22/22, and Cole, 18 years of age, Male, Brown hair, last seen 2/22/22.
"We've found them," Brent smirks.
