There were no knowledgeable neighbors. The houses to the left and right of 744 Judgment were abandoned, and the sole resident across the street had moved in only a year ago and was all too eager to shut the door in Rai’s face.

Rai shrugged it off, and slid down the steps to resume conversation. “So, you were saying: Kiria knows the ghost kid.”

“Or I looped them together in a bizzare dream.”

“You’ve got all those cameras in your house. Can’t tech management, or whoever runs that, confirm you really did go downstairs in your pajamas?”

Sao bit his lip. The panel beside his doorway did confirm that around midnight he had been logged walking out of the apartment. He’d opened his eyes for the scan without realizing, which was the worst of it. Missing out on crucial details when one's eyes were closed was bad enough, but having no grasp of time and place even as he roamed with his eyes open - that had been a blow nearly as bad as the one Kiria had woken him with. If it had been her at all. “I did go downstairs, but don’t know why or what I saw on the way. I wonder if I didn't encounter Kiria at all, but bumped into something that affected the dream, making me think I woke up, sending me sleepwalking back home.”

“And you really woke up watching Wings.”

“I’m starting to think that was some subconscious self-defense mechanism. To stop me from taking Bell and Sigma too seriously. That latrine prank he pulls in the film’s final hour is just hideous.”

Sao managed to snicker over Rai’s stunned silence. As with his previous run-in with the alleged dream child, relieving the story to Rai had done little to clarify anything, but succeeded in giving his brain a bit of space to breathe, to throb without beating against the bone plate of his skull.

“I still think you need a break,” Rai said. “Maybe take a few days off. Check into a hotel, or stay with a friend if you need someone to stop you from wandering into the streets during your afternoon siesta.”

“You take care of that while I’m in the office, don’t you? I’ll think about it. After this.”

744 loomed bleakly before them over a sea of drooping yellow grass.

Sao gave a short bow. “You first.”

Without hesitation, Rai hopped onto the porch. There were two older-looking boys smoking just behind the front steps. “Don’t let us stop you,” Rai said. “We don’t live here.”

“I figured,” said the taller of the boys.

“Is anybody inside?”

“Don’t think so.”

Rai checked the rusted iron mailbox beside the door, and found nothing. “Do you know who used to own this house?”

“No.” The boy shrugged. “Heard it was a guy who killed himself. You know… nothing. Sorry.” His companion elbowed him in the side, and they shuffled off. There was a certain decorum to their exit, something like regard for the deceased owner, that Sao found himself admiring. Kids could be morbid, but these two weren’t.

The lock was gone - not just broken but removed, screws, knob and all, and the door squeaked open. The house interior was laden with rust and mold, but was remarkably well-preserved in its content. Yes, there were dirt tracks across the hardwood, and the living room had seen a rough night or two at the hands of adventurous locals, and there was a very conspicuous space which had probably once supported a television, but Sao was surprised how much had been left alone. The books and photographs lining the shelves had sat long enough to gather dust so thick Sao could not make out the titles or faces. Whoever the last invader was had also taken the courtesy to reset the cushions on the sofa after use, and stuff all cigarettes into a makeshift ashtray, formed from the sliced-off bottom of a can. In the kitchen, chairs were tucked neatly under the square table, and a good number of dishes and silverware were still in their cupboards and drawers. There was a faint, musty odor but any rotting food must have reached its end over the course of twenty years.

“He left this place in good shape,” Sao said, leaning against the window. The curtains, though stiff with age, had resisted the mold well.

“So did the squatters.” Rai footsteps came thumping down the stairs. “The bathroom smells better than the Joys’ place.”

“I suppose he cleaned up before he left for the camping trip.”

Bobbing up and down like a curious bird before the shelf of photos, Rai finally pulled one down and blew the dust off. “This must be Desmond. Those old guys weren’t kidding, he does not look like a soldier.”

“But he was in the army regardless, right?” Sao gave it a peek. He’d seen photos of Desmond in articles surrounding his disappearance, and the photograph Rai was inspecting was definitely the same person, albeit younger. Apparently he’d sported the emaciated look since his teens.

Rai went into the kitchen. There was alcove leading to the basement, much like the layout of the Joys’ home. Slipping off his gloves and holding out a hand for light, Rai descended with Sao in tow.

The basement was faintly lit by ground-level windows, a gauzy whiteness filled with dust particles that coiled midair and scattered upon their arrival, like retreating ghosts. The glow of Rai’s hands chased the shadows off with them, revealing an array of shelves filled with books, puzzles, baskets of blocks, a set of toy cars and a folded canvas track, cushions and blankets. On the ground beside a miniature couch was a board game Sao didn’t recognize, plastic pieces set on cardboard squares. Though the room was unlit and had accumulated a decade of dust, it was twice as vibrant as the Joys’ living room. Sao envisioned children sitting on the mats, reading the game's rules - no, it was more likely a couple of invading teenagers killing time until the light grew too dim to continue. Even so, he hoped they’d found a bit of happiness.

“Definitely looks like a place for babysitting.” Rai ran his hands by the bookshelf, title by title until the end, where a laundry machine was set. It too was in remarkably good shape. Behind it were two doors.

Rai tugged the first one open with a tissue. “Kiddy bathroom.”

“You were right. The break-ins have left them remarkably clean.”

“And behind door number two…” Rai set his hand on the doorknob and pulled. The frame creaked, but the door didn’t budge. Knuckles flaring, Rai gave it another yank, the tissue pulling to shreds.

“Locked?”

Rai set both hands around the lock, kneeling to inspect it. “More like jammed. The bar isn’t even in the slot. Some little asshole just shoved gum in there.” Out of the shabby jacket came a pocket knife, and in between the doorframe it went.

More paint chips went fluttering to the floor. Sao looked about the basement, his throat tight. Every dark corner, every cloud of dust, suddenly seemed to be concealing something or someone. A camera, a ghostly child or even Desmond, back from the dead.

The lock fell apart with a metallic snap. “Got it,” Rai said.

The door wedged open to reveal a small windowless bedroom, with a sideboard covered in moth-eaten blankets and sleeping bags. The sleeping bag pile seemed to be missing some of its stack. Sao felt the dust sticking to him as he entered. “Bedroom for sleepovers, I suppose. Why was the door jammed?”

Though faint, practically nonexistent compared to the Joys’ laundry landing, there was a whiff of of stale urine hanging in the gloom. Sao fanned the air as he skirted the edge of the room. The single bed which consumed much of the space still had its covers tucked in, but the surface comforter was slightly creased. Rai circled around it to a small dresser and gave the drawer a rattle. “Another busted lock.” He shuffled through the contents with yet another tissue. “Don’t touch anything. There’s some pretty gross stuff in here. Yikes.” He held up a tube of what looked like lotion, the once-clear plastic crusted brown with age.

Sao smiled thinly. “Perhaps the local teens have been using this as a meeting spot.”

“That would explain the improvised lock. But I seriously hope any recent lovebirds weren’t using this gunk. It looks like it expired not long after Desmond disappeared.” Rai’s next discovery was a length of nylon rope. “Well, at least they don’t have to worry about this expiring. And uh, I guess this thing’s still good?” The next item to surface was a clear plastic orb the size of an orange, mounted to a plastic base. “It’s like a snow globe without the snow. No, wait, the outside is kind of rough. What dirty games do you play with this?”

Sao moved to the shelf on the other side of the bed and spotted a thin stack of books. He brushed the top of the pile off with a handkerchief. There Are Stars Up There and Stuff. The cover featured a watercolor child and their dog standing by a telescope, backs turned, facing the heavens. He pushed it aside. The next appeared to be a novelty textbook, innovatively titled Mathematics in Space.

He lifted up Mathematics. “I wonder if these are the books Sigma was looking for. From what the Joys’ neighbors said, Desmond was the one who bought him the space books. Rai…?”

The drawer Rai had been inspecting was closed, and Rai was gone. For a moment Sao was gripped by fear. The sleepless night had left his brain feeling like raw meat and he immediately pictured all kinds of rot and suffering. Some snuffles from under the bed nearly snapped his brittle nerves.

The mattress creaked. “Rai!”

“Huh?” Setting the mattress down, Rai lifted his head.

“Were you...” Sao put the book on the bed and pressed a hand to his temple. “What are you doing?”

“I was looking under the bed. There’s something under the mattress. Take a look.”

“I’d rather not put my head down here. Like you said, who know what dirty deeds the squatters have gotten up to in here-”

“Then help me pick this up.”

Sao sighed and sidled to the other side of the bed to help Rai lift the mattress. It was unexpectedly light.

“See that?” Rai asked, snapping up the book that had been hidden and pointing at the mattress’s underside. “Looks like blood.”

Sao made a face. “There are girls in foster care too, I expect.” That and more; the underside of the mattress was a collage of old stains. He let the mattress drop and wiped his hands. “So what is-”

“My Little Spaceship. Where have I heard that before?”

“It’s a book Sigma had as a child. I think all the books here are his. The ones he went looking for at the Joys’. Seems they were here all along.”

“He must have been extra protective of this one.” Rai cracked the book open and began leafing through. The pages were worn and loose, the book had indeed been a favorite. “Pretty sick to think a kids’ stuff got left in a room now used as a-”

Two pages were stuck together with, from what could be seen in the hazy blue light, a piece of fabric in between. Rai frowned and for a moment, Sao wondered if the knife would come out again. His skin began to prickle. And he realized, it wasn’t the knife that he was afraid of.

Rai gave the pages a tug and they came apart.

Between the sheets, covering a 2-page spread of illustrated planets, was a pair of small boys’ underwear, yellowed with more than just age. Smeared across the lower crotch and back was a gash of red.

The book hit the bed with a dry thump.

“Don’t touch anything!”

Sao was unable to contain a nervous laugh. Did Rai know he was repeating a command he hadn’t even taken seriously himself? Deja vu of the ugliest kind. Rai rushed out the door, dust flying in his wake. But Sao was nailed to the spot; in an instant his brain had disintegrated to mush.

The piece of fabric stuck to the pages was small, shrunken almost. It wouldn't fit Sigma, who was bigger than Sao. No way. It must have been one of the break-ins fooling around. Bowel movement after too many drinks. No, the color wasn’t that... alright, ignoring for a moment (it took some willpower) how a small person would be bloodied in such a way why abandon the briefs here instead of taking them out to trash? It’s not like the owner was waiting outside. 

But he had been, at one point. And Sigma hadn’t always been big. The Joys said he'd hit a growth spurt...

The stream of thoughts ricocheted off the back of his skull and landed in his throat. At last, Sao really felt as if he were going to be sick. He said so, to the empty room

Rai’s head appeared in the doorway. He had a wild look to his eyes, they flashed almost as violently as his hands. “Back upstairs. Leave it. Back up - go!”

---

“Wait.”

“You said we had to go.” Sao stopped with his hand half-extended to the lockless front door.

Rai was posed stickman-like in the foyer, limbs all slightly apart as if he were afraid of touching his own skin and contaminating himself. “You know what this all means. The lotion and the rope in a locked drawer. Teenagers didn’t put them there, they were Desmond’s. And the books. And Sigma looking for them. Looking for his-”

“Please, don’t.”

“I wanna make sure I’m not nuts. Am I? That crap in a kids' bedroom - it looks like the babysitter was not the nice old man we've been led to believe."

Sao wanted to shake his head but didn’t move.

“Sigma was...” Rai hesitated. “Probably a victim right up until the guy was lost to the woods. It puts a very revealing spin on the camping trip. Sigma and the campers would have reason to do away with Desmond. No wonder Sigma felt like life was looking up afterward. He was free of the guy. But if that's the case...”

Unable to draw up a line of thought for himself, Sao scuttled after Rai into the living room. 

“How did Sigma pull it off? Kids are miraculous and all that, but how did they manage to keep that haphazard alien story in order, all five of them? Why not something simpler? And not a slip for twenty years. And one of them was eight years old at the time.” Rai took down another dust-coated photograph. Apparently too disgusted to breathe on it, he scrubbed it with a tissue. “Self centered fuck. Are all of these pictures of him?” He set it back on the shelf like some rotten produce. It showed Desmond in front of the house, with a familiar bronze van. “He was what, sixty when he moved in? Sigma would have just barely been a teen. A twelve or thirteen-year-old isn’t huge, but Mr. D was literal skin and bones. Seriously, he must have had some health condition, the way he looked. Why didn’t Sigma knock the perv's lingering teeth out?”

Rai paced, snarled at photos and checked his phone again, while Sao only stared. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, and he didn’t like what he was seeing, but he had no idea what he could do about it.

Rai scrubbed another photo. “The Joys said Sigma was timid. A displaced orphan who didn't fight back - a dream for some old scumbag looking for a kid to groom. And he probably said all kinds of things to keep Sigma hiding in shame. That book wasn't hidden under the bed as a funny little accident. No wonder Sigma snapped after thinking the Joys or some other kids might have found it.” Rai let out a vicious sigh. “Hypnotherapy, huh. He remembered some kind of hidden shame but forgot where he’d left it.”

The photo showed Desmond smiling, in a beige Central Army uniform that hung over his body like a sack. Behind him was the army’s flag.

“Maybe they did kill themselves,” Sao said. His own voice sounded miles away, echoing.

“I hate to ask this, but which one?”

“All of them. Racer certainly committed suicide, with video evidence, the counseling center's cameras suggested the same of Kaye. Desmond may have been the same. Sigma is eccentric, and he may even be hollow as you say, but he isn’t an idiot.”

“I regret what I said now. But how would he have tricked them into that?”

“Blackmail, maybe. Desmond certainly gave him something he could use to turn the tables. If the man was already troubled by his military past...”

“It would have to be some incredible dirt on the others, though. Racer seemed pretty well-adjusted; he was more social than Desmond, at least, moving himself into a spiritual commune. And Kaye had her family. She was unrelated to the military, too.” Rai slid down another photo. “I think you’re right on some counts. We should probably be more afraid of Sigma than we are. Knowing some horrible shit happened to him makes it worse; he has a real reason to be lashing out. Although, he seems like he coped pretty well for years..."

"Repressed memories. He even suggested that himself, at the dinner."

"Yeah. The appearance of Racer, I think you said, was likely the start of those memories bubbling back up. That may have triggered his cheating. As a result, he winds up in therapy… dredging up some trauma he wasn't prepared for. It's not totally clear how much he remembers, though. I can't tell if he's hiding it, or what. Hell.” Rai practically slammed the photo down. It showed Desmond standing among a group of children. Wiping his hands, he checked his phone again, his scowl so deep his eyes looked like dark craters. “Still no response.”

“There's a station nearby, isn’t there?”

“I’m reporting directly to HQ. There’s something that bothers me here. Aside from the obvious.” Rai shot an acidic glare around the room. “If detectives were interested at all in what happened to Desmond, they would have checked this place out at some point. And they would have noticed that little dungeon for sure. But what are peoples’ impression of Mr. D to this day?”

“A... decent guy. Helpful. Better than the rest.”

“It doesn’t add up - unless they’re all protecting him.” Rai began grinding at another photo, Sao thought, just for something to do. “Judging by the state of the house, the cops shirked on investigation. Complacency, bribes, or fear of being blamed for what they might find, and really have to put time and effort to cover up. And I mean, even if kids breaking in found something, what could they do about it? The Joys’ house - did you notice the sheets, the smell?”

“Yes.” Sao closed his eyes, wishing he could shut his nose as easily. “The kids were older ones, so it's unusual, but not unheard of. Although bed wetting can mean...”

“Desmond probably wasn’t - isn’t - the only deviant.” Rai slapped the photo back on the shelf without looking at it. “Whatever the specifics are, this place is a creepshow. Unfortunately, Judgment district is owned by the military. The military also owns the police. Knowing kids were being abused by one of their own - not just with overcrowded houses and lack of reading material - wouldn’t make good optics for the benevolent overlords.”

“God, do they even have to worry about that?”

“The residents of Judgment obviously do, if they can't afford to live elsewhere. As for reputation, the military would be drastically less powerful if they couldn’t pull people in. And advertising yourself as a haven for pederasts probably isn’t what most recruits are looking for.” Rai, to his credit, looked more sympathetic than Sao had ever seen him manage to be. With his natural intensity funneled into such an uncharacteristic expression, it was almost eyewatering. “Sorry to drag you into this.”

“You didn’t. You were telling me to go home half the time.” Sao heaved himself away from the wall he was leaning on and inspected the last photo Rai had cleared. It pictured Desmond and a squad of fellow Central Army recruits. Many had rifles on their shoulders or held below the waist, but Desmond was unarmed and appeared to be holding a mangled jump rope. Sao took down the photo. “Did anybody say what kind of magic Desmond used?”

“Don’t know.”

“His squad, though...”

“I remember that part: torture squad, the old guys said. Whatever that means.”

“Something that didn’t require him to be physically combat-ready.” Sao turned the frame for Rai to see the item draped over Desmond’s hands. “So - what do you make of this?"

Rai’s eyes widened. “The Bells? I didn't recognize them in that lighting but it definitely looks like them - 4 rocks on a rope. What - so they were Desmond’s? This picture was taken way before that camping trip where Sigma found them. Where they went dormant -- though looking at this, I doubt that’s the truth.”

“Most of these soldiers have guns. But there are a few exceptions. This woman’s holding some kind of wooden stick. It looks too thin to be practical in physical combat - but it made me remember.” Sao mustered a smile, tired, but infectious enough to make Rai stop and smirk back. “You talked about Charmion perhaps having an unusual magic wand. A wooden axe, for casting spells. I thought it was ridiculous, but here’s a soldier holding something very much like a wooden wand. So if Desmond here is holding the Bells….”

“Some kind of magic implement. Of course! If synthetic powder can be catalysts and axes can be wands, these Bells, or whatever they are-” Rai jabbed the photo, a blue flash slicing over the glass, “could have been weapons.”

Sao set the photo down noiselessly. “And what chance would a child have against a weapon of the military?”

“But Sigma has them now.” Rai’s smile snapped off, abrupt as a trap. “Which means he’s now able to inflict whatever Desmond did to him on others. But what exactly are they?”

“It might be too outlandish of a theory...”

“More than spacemen taking the form of rocks?”

“I was thinking of the bell on the therapist’s desk. Is hypnosis via magic possible?”

“I - it shouldn’t be.” But Rai folded his arms and chewed on the thought for a moment. “Mind control was always impractical, or you can bet the entire population would have been reduced to brainless drones long ago. There was an ethical uproar a few years ago when the military enacted certain studies, so they released all related reports for audit. Take it with a grain of salt, but from the leaks I read, just a simple close-range telepathic transmission required A) hours of incantation, B) three or more perfectly syncronized specialists per target, and C) willingness on the target’s behalf. If the Bells could force all that on the fly, to the point where he can just tell a person to kill themselves, it would be a disaster.”

“But hypnosis isn’t exactly mind control. It’s a suggestive state. And that can be achieved even without magic. Hypnosis via therapist might have clashed with Sigma’s mental connection with the Bells; maybe even nudging something deeper set by Desmond…” A dull ache resurfaced in his forehead. “I’m theorizing. I suppose we need an expert. Is there even anybody on the force who’d know about the business of this squadron and magical - god help us - military torture?”

“Yeah, but this won’t be easy. Look at the uniform patch.” Rai tapped the man in the picture furthest left. “Desmond’s squad, whatever the official name was, must have been a subset of the special ops. We both know a guy who was involved in that.”

“We do?”

“The chief.” Rai’s grimace was stony. “I don’t know if he has the balls to face the military, but he stands a better chance than we do. All the more reason to hope Charm picks the goddamn phone up soon. C’mon...”

As Rai resumed pacing, Sao went over the living room’s shelves again. The chief was a blur to him, not like the ghostly child, but a very real stranger he’d just never seen up close. They hadn't spoken, but he’d heard the chief give a muffled speech one year at an HQ-organized recruiting event. He couldn’t quite picture the man's features, but remembered that he looked rather large, even from a distance. 

Wading through mental fog after another imaginary figure seemed a bad idea at the moment. Sao ran his eyes instead over the all-too-clear photos set before him.

The churning feeling had vanished, as if his energy had finally run out. Sao was numb; his throat was sealed and his stomach had settled in a permanent state of stiffness. Yet somehow, the calcification of mind and body made browsing the photos easier. It made him feel inhuman, better equipped to face, or at least be unaffected by, the inhumane.

He wondered at the word, and wondered at Sigma’s story from that fateful dinner three years ago. What right did he have to declare humanity above stomach aches and viciousness against one another? It was short-sighted to think you’d seen it all.

Sao took down the final undusted photo and wiped it against the side of the sofa. Behind the grimy glass, a college-aged and thoroughly human-looking Desmond looked out at him with limp smile, a mortarboard hat tipping off his head, body obscured by a graduation gown. 

Above and around him, against a sky of obscene blue, loomed a colonnade of flowering camellia trees.