Happily Unhappy: Season 1

Season 1, Episode 9: Powder Blue

On Sunday morning, Troyan steers down the streets leading to Cambridge College, the houses lining the roads all decorated for Halloween with pumpkins on their porches and spiderwebs draped over bushes. Troyan has been driving around for an hour and half now, going the same route with different detours in hopes he'll find the one he remembered the other day at dinner with Grandpa Jim and Grams.
The memory came back to him like a teasing flood, barely showing him anything that could give him a solid location. All he remembers is that house, the way it looks, the way the people were spilling their guts on the lawn and shrubs, still managing to dance. Every time Troyan tries digging out the memory for more details, his mind fails him and he's left with seeing no house address on the house itself or the mailbox. He's stuck with the image of the house and nothing else. He used to wonder what people would feel when they lost their minds and he's honestly starting to realize what they're actually going through.
Troyan slams on his break down Peachwood Avenue. The street is familiar, with cars parked along the curbs. The houses look like they could belong to frat boys, and there's a familiar tree with low hanging branches that for some reason, rings a bell. Troyan parks on the curb in front of a house with plastic skeletons hanging on either side of the front door. He locks it up, glancing around to make sure there is no one else out in the neighborhood. He starts down the sidewalk, eyes glued to the house with three pumpkins perched on the banister, penises carved into each of them. Definitely a frat house.
Troyan recognizes the olive green paint, the garage, the lawn that was once peppered with red plastic cups. This is it. Troyan pulls out his phone from his black jacket, aiming it at the house for a photo.
"What do you think you're doing?" A blond girl asks from the walkway to the house next door.
Troyan recognizes her right away but can't put a name on her face. She's Celine Taylor's sister-- the less cool and popular one. "I'm sorry?"
"You're taking pictures of that house." She points to his phone, her other hand wrapped around the neck of an acoustic guitar. "Isn't that illegal or something?"
Lynn. That's her name.
"I don't think so."
"So what are you doing?" Lynn raises her eyebrows, glancing at his phone again. "You're that guy that burned down Antonio's."
Troyan shoves his phone back into his pocket but doesn't say anything.
"Do you work for the cops now or something?"
"Can you tell me who lives in that house?" Troyan nods his head in the house's direction.
"Uh, no." Lynn readjusts her fingers around the guitar, like she's planning on using it as a weapon.
"But it's important." He pushes but she doesn't say anything. Troyan sighs heavily and then glances behind her at the house she just came out of. "That your house?"
"No, I give guitar lessons here," she answers. "No offense, but you're not the one who should be asking questions."
He sighs again, feeling defeated. "I was here at this house the night I... was at Antonio's. It's pretty much the only memory of that night that I have so I figured if I came here to see it, it might trigger something more."
"Doesn't surprise me," Lynn says, glancing over at the house next door. "I live a block away and even I can hear their parties."
"Are they frat boys?"
"Pretty much." Lynn shrugs one of her shoulders. "Bunch of college rejects, if we want to be technical."
"Do you know if they're home or not?"
"They're not." Lynn gestures to the empty garage. "Grant is kind of the ringleader so he's probably the one who threw the party you were at. His two sidekicks are too stoned half the time to do anything but sit there and wait for someone to plop down on their dicks." She tightly smiles. "Graphic, sorry."
"Well do you know when they'll be home?" Troyan asks impatiently.
"Probably not until tomorrow, honestly. The only one you'll be able to get information out of is Grant and he's usually on full weekend benders that start from Thursday and go into Monday afternoon."
Troyan studies her. "How much do you know about these dudes?"
"Let's just say my boyfriend has dragged me to a few of their parties," Lynn replies, coming down the rest of the driveway and digging through her own jacket pocket for her headphones. "Even guys like that have set routines."
Troyan watches Lynn start down the sidewalk by herself, muffling the world out with her headphones. He looks back at the party house. He'll have to be back tomorrow, then.