Friends With Time ⌛ (Tyler Galpin x Reader)

Day 160-161

Hey babe wake up, a new chapter of FWT just dropped! (Hiiiii, sorry it took forever to write this! We're publishing from my lunch break :P)

Day 160:

It all went by in a blur of gray.

Medical examinations. Afua and your mother coming back. It takes some convincing, but they buy it. They pretend like they don't know. Like they didn't know they were going to kill you. Like they're happy you're okay.

You spit out the words like gravel in your mouth. You try to stick to the facts, letting them fill in the gaps, but the lie covers you like thick dirt on your skin, and you know you'll never be clean again.

Everything is blue: the fog in your head, the room you stay in, the board room as you're dragged in for another interrogation.

You know you have to get out. There's no way they'll let you go out into the field again. They'll kill you, one way or another, unless you leave willingly. And if they don't, the lie will. It's cloying, choking you with its scent.

The weeks go by.

You petition to be allowed civilian release.

You stay in an old dormroom that remains empty and undecorated, staring at painted cinderblock wall until they call you in for the next thing.

You sign an NDA form.

And then they let you go.

You stand on the cobblestones at the front of the Academy, the cars rolling by in the slick, rainy-morning puddles. The downpour is thick, drowning out the sky and sun with its dark clouds. The scent of it is everywhere as the rain soaks the muddy, torn-up lawn.

Your mother did not come to see you off. She nodded to you as you left the boardroom. She shook your hand, avoided your eyes, and told you good luck. You were her failure child. She pushed and pushed, but you had too much of your father in you, after all. It was best just to let you go.

You wonder dimly if she'll have another child with the new man- what was his name? David? Dennis?- the ruthless one, the one with the scar.

Drip. Drip. Drip. The rain drips from the white overhang, down the white columns.

Everything you knew was here. Where will you go now?

Your car rolls up to the entrance, shiny and black and glossy beneath the stairs. The rain rolls right off of its silver detailing, and off of your black umbrella as you walk down. You have to force yourself not to look back at the Academy. Not to look back at USOAT.

Not to look back at your mother.

You pull the door open and slide into the leather backseat. The door closes with a thump. Immediately, the sound of the rain dims to a small rattling, only audible as it hits the metal roof of the car.

The ticking of a clock comes from the audio by the driver's seat.

"Where to?" the driver asks.

The car smells like old champagne and bourbon, smooth with a hint of vanilla as you compulsively search for the wheel-gear symbol. There is none. Tick, tick, tick.

You sigh and lean back against the leather seats. The raindrops chase each other down the window.

There is only one place to go, and the thought of it fills you with equal comfort and dread.

"Jericho," you say. "Up by Nevermore."

Day 161:

It's a long trip to the East Coast. The rain keeps on all night. The driver is not USOAT. He seems to sense that you don't want to talk, and leaves you alone.

The rain keeps on all night.

***

When you wake up the next morning, you're there.

The town has an aura of gray and deep blue hovering over it, although the rain has stopped as your driver sloshes through the puddles leftover from the night's storm.

You thank the driver and step out, shoes hesitantly landing on the wet pavement. You duck under the car door, step out, and take your first view of where it all happened.

A lone banner flutters in the wind, advertising an attraction with a man's face on it. You squint to see the words. Pilgrim World, it reads. Now including the Legend of Reanimation!

There's a boarded-up house in the central square next to a melted statue. A wooden sign creaks in the wind: Dr. Kinbott, PsyD.

Your stomach lurches. The woman he killed, the psychologist, ripped to shreds on her own floor to protect his alibi.

Your mind drifts back to hazy nights on the Bubble, his stroking fingers in your hair as you laid on his lap.

You think of the letters he sent, hands gripping the crinkled paper as he passed them through the food slot. I'm not doing this for you, he'd said. Had her family gotten the note? Did they care?

"Thank you," you tell the driver unsteadily, and he nods and drives off. You hear the sound of his car disappearing in the distance.

It's early- 6, 7 AM- so the town square is all but deserted. The only sound is the drip, drip of rain left on the eaves.

There's the Town Hall, in columns, and a fashion store called Hawte Couture. There's the police office, and right across from it...

The Weathervane.

You hurry across the way, wrapped in your wool coat against the dewy morning chill. A barista- not Tyler- introduces himself as Lucas.

"You're in early," he comments, leaning against the counter. "What can I make you?"

You hesitate, not sure what they sell. "Um," you say, "Do you have anything vegan? Something no-caffeine, kind of healthy."

Lucas blinks, but shrugs with a determined smile. "I'll see what I can do," he says, and you take a seat at a booth by the window so you can tell when Sheriff Galpin is in the station. Five minutes later, you have a warm, steaming drink in front of you.

You close your eyes and take a deep sip, trying to imagine Tyler in this shop that smells like coffee and caramel, and you can almost imagine him next to you, your heart full.

Then the bell rings as another customer comes into the shop. Sheriff Galpin sees you immediately.

"What happened?" he says, rushing over to you, eyes bright with hope as he looks around wildly. "Where is he?"

His face falls slowly, with each second you don't answer pounding in crushing realization.

And your heart breaks again.