An Entire Year of You

Chapter 31: The Letter

If Carlos had a choice, he would have spent all the time he had left in Night Vale with Cecil and Josie. But, like with most things, Carlos didn't have a choice. There were things to wrap up, research to finish. He never did get any proper information on the house that didn't exist. He still didn't understand Cecil's mysterious readings or the problems with time either, though nobody seemed bothered by it, so he supposed it didn't really matter. Nothing really mattered. There was so much he would never know. When he returned to The University of What It Is, providing Josie's predictions didn't come true, and they asked him what he had done all year, what would he tell them? What would he say he'd learned?

He'd learn how to love, but it hadn't helped him.

Two weeks left. Two agonisingly short weeks. Cecil, unaware of the time restriction that had been placed on their time together, was far too busy to even attend the bowling league. An awful lot had been happening in the town, more than usual that was. Earl had disappeared shortly after Carlos had met him, which he couldn't help but feel that it was a relief followed by a heavy guilt for ever feeling such a thing. The mayor had also disappeared for a while that month, but she'd reappeared shortly after to announce her plans to step down after one more year in office. Hiram McDaniels would get his election campaign after all. Carlos wouldn't get to see that.

Things disappearing and reappearing had been somewhat of a theme for the month. Dana, who like so many other poor radio station interns, had disappeared two months prior, presumed lost forever to the walled off confines of the dog park, had sent Cecil a message. Just a single text explaining the mayor's latest speech. She was alive. Alive and nearby, close enough to hear what was going on by that park. Since then, Cecil had been doing everything in his power to get a message back to her. He had to force their 'times to match again', so he said. Though he hadn't mentioned her much in those two months, Carlos knew that deep down Cecil still felt responsible for her. She was still his intern, after all, no matter how far she wandered.

Carlos wasn't going to get in the way of Cecil's mission. How could he? He would happily choose the safety of a missing child over his love life any day. It was too late for anything real passed friendship to blossom between him and Cecil anyway, regardless of what both of them wanted. Carlos had just been to afraid of how it would end and squandered his chance. Time might have been broken, even occasionally backwards, but never enough to change anything. So, he would stand back and hope for Dana's safe return. He wanted that to be the note he left on, not on the regret of what would never happen.

He was cleaning his apartment, soon to be someone else's apartment, when the figure appeared, causing Carlos to scream in shock. The man in the tanned leather jacket appeared before him. No smoke, no flash, he just appeared out of thin air. Clearly, he'd decided that the door had taken to long last time. Last time? Yes, there was a last time. The buried memories reappeared as suddenly as the man himself did. He stopped screaming immediately.

"You, you're the mailman." Carlos remembered.

"Mailman, handyman, whatever you need man." Said the man in the tanned leather jacket.

"You...already said that."

"And it's still true." The man reached into his pocket and handed over a brown envelope. So that's where he got the last letter from.

"Thank you. Isn't there an easier way you could deliver mail? Like...a less terrifying way?" Carlos asked.

"Not until the post office is back in service. Sorry."

"Wait...what actually happened to the post office, anyway?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Oh, come on. It can't be that bad. I won't remember it anyway." Carlos laughed.

"You won't remember it, but it will haunt you." The man in the tanned leather jacket replied sternly.

"Oh..."

"Have a nice day, Mr Cienca." The man disappeared once more. Still no smoke, still no flash. The memory of the man faded once more, but Carlos knew who had sent the letter, even if he wasn't sure who had given it to him. He fumbled to open the letter. Same situation. The letter was half coherent, half a jumbled mess, signed by J.Fink and J.Cranor. Then he noticed something. He wasn't sure at first, so he ran to his bedroom, where he'd been keeping the first letter in a draw, and placed the two sheets of paper next to each other. It wasn't two separate letters, it was the same letter, only the text that was jumbled in the first one was now clear in the second, and vice versa. He grabbed a blank sheet and a pen and started to transcribe the full text.

'Dear Mr C. Cienca,

A friend of ours has recently learned from a relative about your research to the desert community of Night Vale. We know very little about the town, but from the scraps of information we could find it sounds like a truly fascinating town. A place that would be full of inspiration for writers such as ourselves.

Sadly, we are unable to visit Night Vale. It's near impossible to find and somehow even harder to travel to. That's where you come in. We wish to work with you in a professional manner by exchanging your knowledge of the town, its people, and its events for whatever you need to lead a comfortable life and continue your research. From what we've heard, we think Night Vale would be the perfect subject for a podcast.

If you're interested, please contact us as soon as impossible.

Yours faithfully,

J.Fink and J.Cranor.'

And then, at the bottom of the second letter, was the holy grail. Something that wasn't on the first. A contact number. If it worked he could contact J.Fink and J.Cranor. He could continue to work in Night Vale.

He could stay.