"A hero is somebody who voluntarily walks into the unknown." -Tom Hanks

Birds are chirping. Loudly. Quite loudly. One of them is pecking the window, even. The girl comes to a conclusion.

Birds are the spawn of hell.

I sit and stretch. It's my fifth day "home" and I've started to feel well-rested, which is a nice change of pace. Even if people keep calling me Peyton Wilson. According to "Mother" someone even announced my return on the radio, which I guess is a big deal or something. More than anything, "home" is weird and I long to walk down onto Somerset, and I don't know why. But then again, I don't really think I know anything.

"Breakfast!"

On my way downstairs, I collide with Joseph. He's the type who stays up all night and sleeps in the day. I assume he's going to take a shower. "Morning," I say. He grabs my arm. No "Morning, Peyton. Sleep well? Good dreams?"

"We have to talk."

"Do we?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. He glares at me. He glares at me in general though, so this is nothing new.

"I'm serious, Peyton." I clench my jaw. Why did he keep calling me that? Why did everyone keep calling me that? "Meet me in front of the library after breakfast, okay? It's important."

"Okay," I agree. "Fine. You're right, we do need to talk. But I'd appreciate it if you'd just answer my questions without all the secrecy. Because, this town is seriously screwed up and-"

Joseph puts a hand on my shoulder. "Library." Then he scowls at me one last time, before barging past me and walking out the front door. Apparently Joseph is too good for breakfast.

They give her eggs and toast. She doesn't want to eat the toast, and nearly gags on it.

The toast is all wrong.

When I'm done, I excuse myself to go get dressed, tell my so-called parents I'm heading out, and stroll outside. It's hot, too hot, and the sun is beating down on my back. I grin. I love the feeling of being stuck in an oven, I love the too-bright sky, I love the heat. This feels like my home.

I start humming to myself. Walking down the street is strange. It's like a path I'd almost forgotten. There are little memories of this road that I could never let go of, not in a million years, not when everything else had fallen through. I feel like a child, running down the blazing cement sidewalk. My home. My heart. My street.

The running is all wrong.

People sit out on their porches, they trim their lawns and bike up and down the road. Some of them wave to me as I jog down the road towards the library. I wave back.

Dread watches over me as I reach the stone steps of the library, but then I look up and see a white, Grecian building with a sign reading Desert Bluffs Public Library Outlet No. 2, and my heart flops weirder. I'm confused, but I don't know why. Joseph is slouching against the wall in the shadows near the door. I walk up to him, wiping sweat off my forehead.

"Hey," I say. He either nods or brushes some hair out of his eyes; I can't really tell if he's acknowledging me or not. "You said we had to talk, so... yeah. Here I am." He flips some more hair out of his eyes. I look him up and down. He's wearing a leather jacket, with tight jeans, and his hairs in need of a comb. He certainly has the badboy look down.

If I hadn't heard him get up at three in the morning and stumble into the bathroom to gel his hair, I might be impressed.

"So you are," Joseph replies, not looking at me. Bookish, thoughtful, greasy-haired badboy? Huh.

I narrow my eyes. "Then talk."

"You first, Peyton."

"There's something off about this place," I tell him, almost automatically. "I can't put my finger on it, but it's wrong."

"No it isn't," Joseph says, sounding annoyed. "It's perfect."

"Maybe to you. I like it, sure. Some of it's, you know, right, but then there's stuff like this."

"Like what?"

"The library. It's not supposed to be like this."

Joseph looks at me funny, and pulls out a box that says Marlboros. "This is an ideal city, 're just clinging to the past."

"The past I don't remember. Why don't I remember anything?"

Joseph shrugs, lights his cigarette, and sticks it in his mouth. "Because that'd be a safety hazard."

"Oh?"

"You're not trustworthy, Peyton. Experience has taught me that."

"Well, I don't see why I should trust you when you won't tell me anything." I give him a withering look. Joseph looks at me with a strange expression, and exhales a cloud of smoke.

"No," he says after a moment, more to himself than me. "No. We've done this before. It ended badly."

I stare at him, befuddled, before saying "Well, uh, um... Maybe it won't this time?"

"You always say that, Peyton." He closes his eyes and shakes his head. "Always."

When he says her name, he says it special. It's soft and sad and sweet.

She can't help but notice.

"I'm sorry," I say in my most comforting voice. "But I refuse to go about life when I know something's being kept from me. And when I know something's wrong."

He smiles, but doesn't open his eyes. "And what will you do if I don't give you the information you want?"

I frown and fold my arms. "Then I'll find it!"

"And if you don't?"

I think for a moment, before blurting out "Then I guess I can't go about life then, can I?"

Joseph opens his eyes and stares at me.

His eyes are open in a way they weren't before. His pupils are black and endless.

He's thinking something through. She can see it.

"Fine," he finally says, sighing out a cloud. "Fine. Tell me what you've figured out already and we'll go from there."

"Uh," I think for a moment. "Er... I know you're not my brother. And that the, um, people at the place that isn't my home aren't my family."

"Okay, so nothing."

I don't like it when he talks down to me.

"That's okay," Joseph shrugs, and smiles a little. "I can't very explain the entire town's history, though... hmm..."

"Just my history will do."

"No," he frowns again. "No, you and this town. You're tied together. You're a part of it, and when you're a part of this town, it's a part of you too."

"Oh."

"But," Joseph goes on. "There are... transcripts."

"Transcripts?"

"Recordings, actually. From the radio station."

I tilt my head. "What's the radio station supposed to tell me? It's just some lady named Lauren and a coworker going on and on about productivity and smiling gods and StrexCor-"

Joseph makes a weird sound, both a short little laugh and a shush. "I can see you're not fond of it. Piece of advice, don't talk that way about StrexCorp in the Greater Desert Bluffs Metropolitan Area."

"Well, I won't talk about the Greater Desert Bluffs Metropolitan Area either. The name's too long."

That time, Joseph actually does laugh, and then he grins at me.

She smiles back.

They don't speak for a moment.

"Anyways," Joseph finally says, shaking his head and continuing the conversation. "There were some people on before Lauren and Daniel."

"Who?"

"Lauren used to work with someone else, but before then it was a guy named..." he pauses, as if testing me, clearly treading carefully. "Cecil Gershwin Palmer."

"How fascinating," I say drily. "Someone else I don't know."

"He was on the air for a long time, I think you'd be interested to hear what he has to say. I can download some of his shows for you. I don't know which ones have the information you need though, so I'd have to give you a good chunk of them."

"Fine."

"That's almost fifty shows."

"Fine," I snap. Then: "... how long are they?"

"About half an hour."

"So... twenty five hours. I'll just binge-listen."

"If that's what you want to do."

"It is," I insist. Joseph could really get on my nerves.

"Well, alright then. I'll bring them to you once they're ready."

"Soon?"

"I suppose." He sticks the cigarette back in his mouth and stares up at the sky. "You should probably go home soon."

"Oh, should I?"

"Well, Mom and Dad are supposed to know where you are twenty four hours a day."

"I told them I was at the library."

"Don't take too much time," Joseph instructs me, before putting his lit cigarette in his pocket and walking away. I watch him go.

And then I look at the library windows. There are people inside. Reading. Looking for books. More people stand behind the checkout, offering help. Are they supposed to be... librarians?

No, they can't be.

"Something," I say aloud, to the presence of smoke and the heat on the ground, "is definitely off."

And then I leave for the place that isn't my home.