Welcome to March, and to celebrate the new month, this is the longest chapter of Pokémon Peril so far. It's roughly six thousand words long, and I had an excellent time writing every character of it. There are some parts that will make you laugh, some that will make you cry, and some that might make you cringe. But it's chapters like this one that remind me why I still write.

Current music: 85 - Andy Grammer

An hour later, Brett stood in front of a very specific building downtown.

It was by no means the largest building in Cerulean City, but it was certainly one of the most imposing. It was essentially a big, hard block of concrete, which was probably meant to inspire fear of the law in the hearts of residents.

Why, exactly? Well, because this building was the law.

The young man reminded himself that he hadn't done anything illegal, so he had nothing to fear by entering the precinct. Sighing deeply, he pulled open the door and walked up the marble steps to the "front desk", which was on the second floor for some reason.

The secretary, a young-looking woman with glasses, looked up from her computer as Brett arrived. "Yes?" she asked, at which point Brett stood to his full height.

"Oh, hi. I'm here to file a report about something that happened to me today."

The secretary frowned. "If you're going to file a report, you should do that with Detective Raichu on the other end." She pointed towards the "other end" of the room, and Brett nodded. He was just about to head in that direction when he was halted by the secretary's voice.

"By the way, are you Brett Porter?"

It was an innocent enough question, but it still caught him completely off guard. He shook as though he'd just been electrocuted.

"Yes," the young man admitted. "I am, but why does it matter?"

"It matters", the woman replied, "because I was curious. I know I work for a police department, but that doesn't mean I can't be friendly."

Trying not to roll his eyes, Brett walked over to the far desk. Behind it sat a tall, rather portly Raichu with a box of donuts in front of him next to the keyboard.

"Uh, good evening," the young man said.

"There's no need to introduce yourself, Mr. Porter. I already know who you are; Pokemon have better ears than humans, so you shouldn't be surprised when I hear things you can't."

"Uh, okay."

"So what can I do for you?" Detective Raichu replied, tapping his pen against his fat chin. "Do you need to file a report? Do you just want to say hi? Or do you want to work here?"

"The first one," Brett said, tapping his foot against the floor the way he often did. "I need to file a report."

Detective Raichu rolled his eyes, smirking. "Well, well. Is this about the aliens that are going to arrive in three days? If so, don't even bother filing a report, because it's not going to happen."

"It's not," the young man replied, clenching his right hand into a fist. "At least…I don't know if it is."

"Very well, then" the Raichu responded. "In that case, what is the nature of your complaint?"

"While I was driving to work this morning, there was a weird green van tailing me. No matter how many lights I passed, it was still right behind my bumper. I eventually had to go down some back roads in order to lose it, but I was late for work as a result."

Detective Raichu grumbled a bit. "I don't care about your work. My job is to make sure everyone's safe, not that everyone gets to their job on time."

"Well, the green van's driver clearly knows where I live. This, despite the fact that their windows were completely blacked out. Nobody should be able to see through them, and yet they do, all the same."

"A likely story" the Raichu replied, his tone suggesting that he didn't find this likely at all. "Tell me, Mr. Porter, how could the driver afford insurance on such a vehicle with blacked-out windows and windshield? Don't you think it would crash pretty quickly?"

Brett's foot, which had been tapping against the floor softly, now began stomping the floor with much more ferocity.

"I don't know! That's your job to figure out what's going on with what I tell you!"

"Yes, but I need more information than that!" Detective Raichu snapped. "I need to know the license plate number, for instance. Were you able to obtain it?"

Brett, managing to calm down slightly, knew that this was probably it. The detective was unlikely to keep taking him seriously after he dropped this information.

"I wasn't," he admitted. "The van was right behind me, so I couldn't see the license plate through the rearview mirror. And I can't exactly get out of my vehicle while on the road. But how many green vans can there be in Kanto?"

"More than you'd think," Detective Raichu replied, picking up a vanilla-glazed donut and downing it in one bite. The detective chewed with his mouth open and his elbows on the table; in other words, his manners were horrendous, and Brett cringed internally.

When the detective had finished eating the donut, he continued speaking.

"If you don't know the license plate number, I can't help you. I don't even know that you're telling the truth."

"Why would I lie about this?"

"For attention, maybe. It happens more often than you might think."

Very little made Brett angrier than being accused of something he hadn't done. He wanted to scream at this detective to take him seriously, but knew that would get him nowhere. That didn't stop him from trying.

"Do you really not believe me? Why would attention be more important than dignity?"

Detective Raichu shook his head. "It's just a very preposterous story. I don't see any reason why it would be true, especially since you can't provide a shred of evidence."

Brett sighed angrily, knowing now that it was no use. He turned around and stormed out of the police precinct. However, he was in the building just long enough to hear the Raichu shout, "Next time you come here, you'd better have evidence!"

Traffic was very heavy on the way home; by the time Brett arrived at his house, the sun was almost at the horizon. The stop-and-go traffic jam had him fuming even more.

Nothing went right for me today. Absolutely nothing.

Once he'd entered the house through the back door, his mother was in the kitchen, looking livid. She appeared to be holding back the urge to scream, but after a few seconds, she lost that battle.

"Brett Jonas Porter! How could you do something like that again?"

"Like what?" the young man replied.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about!" Mrs. Porter screeched, so loudly that Brett had to cover his ears. "This is the second day in a row you've been late, and the second time in a row that you didn't tell us where you were!"

"But I can't call you when I'm driving! Isn't distracted driving dangerous?"

"Well, yeah, but you can always pull over! You can always text me to say when you'll be late, or else we wouldn't worry so much. What was so important that you decided to scare us like that?"

"I was at the police station," the young man replied, narrowing his eyes into slits. "I needed to file a report."

"What kind of report? Did you see something?"

"There was a green van following me this morning," Brett said. "I think I have a stalker now."

"A green van? Aren't those creepy vans usually white?"

The young man stood his ground. "I know what I saw. If you don't believe me, that's your problem."

"I'm not saying I don't believe you", his mother responded, "but it's just so unusual. Did the police believe you?"

Brett shook his head. "Detective Raichu told me to pound sand, pretty much. I didn't get anywhere with the police."

Brett's mother put a hand over her heart. "Oh my Arceus, I'm so sorry to hear that. And I'm sorry I yelled, too; I just get worried when you're gone like that. But now I know there were other reasons to worry as well."

"It's okay, Mom," the young man replied. "We'll get to the bottom of this, with or without their help. Although it would be so much easier if they'd just believe me."

Mrs. Porter frowned. "Don't take matters into your own hands like that, Brett. You don't know what you're dealing with."

"I suppose you're right, but there's more."

"What's that?"

Brett breathed deeply before telling his mother about the name of the alien force whose invasion of Nexus was supposedly imminent. In addition, he mentioned that no human should have been able to see through that blacked-out windshield, which was another clue, in his mind, that his stalker may not have been human.

"I mean, Lucario can see via aura, but there aren't a lot of them in Kanto," his mother replied after Brett mentioned that last point.

"Don't you see, Mom?" the youth replied. "The Green Team, driving a green van. And they knew where I live, even though the interview didn't contain that information."

"You shouldn't jump to conclusions too quickly, Brett," his mother told him sternly. "There could always be a more likely explanation, which would be that they simply happened to be following you because they had somewhere to go in the same direction."

The young man frowned. "But there's still the dark windows. Are you saying I'm making it all up?"

"I don't…no! Of course not! I believe that you felt threatened by this green van, I just don't know what to think."

"Join the club."

Just then, Henry came into the room, his glasses perched on the tip of his nose. "Were you guys just talking about the green van?"

"Uh, yes," Brett replied. "How did you know?"

"My eyesight might not be the best, but my ears make up for it. Besides, I was just outside the kitchen this whole time. I heard every single word."

Mrs. Porter looked as though she was about to scold her younger son for eavesdropping, but Brett beat her to the punch.

"Henry, have you seen anything weird?" the older brother asked the younger brother.

There was a long pause, but then Henry nodded.

"Well? What was it?"

"Truth be told, hearing you guys wasn't the only reason I heard about the green van. It drove around the neighborhood for about an hour, passing by our house a few times."

Both Brett and his mother gasped. "Why didn't you tell me about it before?"

Henry frowned timidly. "I didn't think it was a big deal."

"Don't tell me what's not a big deal!" Mrs. Porter shouted. It was then that Brett noticed Liana cowering in the corner, paws covering her ears. "You could have told the police!"

"Well, yeah, but they might not believe me. I'm only fifteen, after all, and besides, I'm Brett Porter's brother. They'd probably think I'm just as loony as him."

Even though Henry probably didn't see Brett as crazy, the older boy still felt insulted by his younger brother's choice of words. He would let that slide, though, because there were more important things to worry about than syntax.

"Fair enough," their mother replied. "But next time you see something like that, at least tell me. Did you see the license plate number, either of you?"

Both boys shook their heads. Brett, realizing he'd neglected to mention that this was one reason he hadn't been believed by Detective Raichu, brought that point up.

"Well then. I'm afraid we don't have a very good case then. Of course, we can still tell the police everything we know, and I will do that. But there's only so much the detectives can do with that information."

The trio sat down to dinner, which was a rather subdued affair. Nobody felt much like talking as they waited for Mr. Porter to return from a late day at the office.

As he was chewing on a bite of steak, an awful thought occurred to Brett.

What if the green van is after Dad? What if he never arrives home from work, and he gets kidnapped by the aliens, or whoever else is driving it?

Needless to say, the steak didn't taste nearly as scrumptious after that. If something happened to his father by virtue of his association with Brett, the 19-year-old didn't think he'd ever be able to live with himself again.

But I had to go public. I couldn't just sit on the news, because if I did, the Green Team would have their conquest. Then again, what's been done about it, exactly?

Fortunately, in this case, the result was not as catastrophic as it could have been. As the two boys were doing the dishes, the door could be heard unlocking, and Mr. Porter stepped into the house.

"We were so worried" Henry all but cried. "We thought you were missing!"

"Why would I be missing?" Mr. Porter replied, furrowing his brow in confusion. "I thought I was considered a dependable husband and father around here."

A small pit of dread formed inside Brett's stomach. Here we go again, the young man thought bitterly.

After Brett explained to his father that he'd tried to file a report at the police station, the older man scratched his chin. It seemed as though Mr. Porter couldn't believe his ears.

That in itself was a red flag. If his own parents didn't take his story about the green van seriously, then neither would the rest of the world. And if the public at large found Brett's claims ridiculous, that meant they wouldn't do what was necessary to save the world. But then again, what could they do?

Day four at the ranch.

Brett woke up that morning, at first feeling rejuvenated. It was as though he had his mojo back, ironic since he was still rather drowsy.

But as the sleep began to fade from his eyes and brain, he realized that today wasn't going to be all sunshine and roses. Indeed, there were plenty of things to worry about; the unpredictable nature of his boss was only one item on the list.

He ate breakfast quickly, barely coming up for air from each bite of cereal. It's not as though the cereal was anything special to begin with, but it was particularly tasteless today. He barely noticed his stomach getting full, nor did he feel the coldness of the milk in the bowl.

He left for the ranch early that morning, and he did this for two reasons. One, the green van would be less likely to follow him if they didn't expect him to be leaving his house so early. Two, if the van did follow him, Brett would have plenty of time to spare after spending some of it trying to lose his pursuers.

The whole time he was behind the wheel, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Every so often, when there was a lull in the traffic, or perhaps he was stopped at a light, he would glance in the mirror once more.

Luckily, his stalker didn't seem to be present today. Perhaps they had moved on to other targets, or maybe they just needed a break from crime. Either way, Brett wasn't exactly going to complain about it.

Instead, he was stopped on one of the country roads by a group of Deerling crossing said road. The youth breathed heavily as he waited for the herd to pass, but it turned out to be nothing more than a mild inconvenience. The green van just wasn't a threat today.

Once he arrived at the Happy Valley Ranch and parked his vehicle in its usual spot, Brett was greeted by Mr. McCormick, who was sitting on his side porch, with a glass of lemonade.

"Thanks," Brett said, accepting the drink gladly. It wasn't the hottest part of the day yet, not even close, but lemonade was practically his kryptonite. He would never turn it down; for some people, it was alcohol that loosened their lips, but for Brett, it was lemonade.

"You're welcome, Mr. Porter" the rancher replied. "So what brings you here an hour early?"

"A few things," Brett replied. "Let's just leave it at that."

Fortunately, Mr. McCormick seemed to accept that answer. He nodded, tipping his red cap with the letter M on it.

Phew. I don't think he needs to know about my new hypothesis. He'd probably think that the green van being associated with the aliens is a crazy conspiracy theory.

While it was a relief to see his boss be lenient with him today, it was also rather jarring. Kenneth McCormick was the type of person with whom interacting was akin to navigating one's way through a minefield: One wrong step and they'd be scraping bits of you off the ground.

After about fifteen minutes of relative silence, Brett asked his boss what they would be doing today.

"Oh, you know, just looking over some surveying data. Help map out where to cut down trees for Ponyta grazing, figure out where to sell land here once my wife and I retire…that sort of thing."

"You'll be retiring?" Brett blurted out.

"One day, yes. I'm already in my forties, and I'm not going to live forever. One day, we'll have to hang it up, and we'll need to figure out what this land is worth. Important job."

The young man nodded, but he was really only paying lip service. Mr. McCormick knew he wouldn't live forever; nobody does. But what McCormick didn't know, or refused to accept, was that unless something drastically changed, he wouldn't live much longer at all.

The day after tomorrow would be the day of reckoning.

Of course, judging by the way Mr. McCormick was acting, it did not seem that way. The two men sipped their lemonade slowly until Libby and Michael eventually arrived, almost at the same time.

Libby's eye was still black from the Ponyta's kick, but Michael's eyes were the opposite. They were lit up like the Grand Christmas Tree in Saffron City.

"Lemonade? I love lemonade!" Michael exclaimed, running up to the porch and looking at Mr. McCormick with pleading eyes.

"Sorry, Mr. Cambria, it's all gone. Maybe next time you could arrive here earlier."

"Oh" Michael replied, his face falling faster than a freight elevator whose chains had been cut. "Well…how long have you been here, Brett?"

"Almost an hour," the older boy replied.

The younger boy was clearly fighting back what some would call "tears of immaturity." He didn't end up whining, but that's clearly the way Michael was feeling, to the point that Brett almost felt guilty.

After it was firmly established that there would be no more lemonade to go around, Mr. McCormick set the trio to work in the attic on each drawing a map of part of the ranch. It had to be done to the most accurate dimensions possible, the boss told them. He wouldn't listen to any of Libby's complaints that they hadn't explored the farm thoroughly enough to succeed at such a task; he just didn't take no for an answer.

And so Brett found himself seated at a desk in the dusty old attic, poring over a blank piece of parchment that was also covered in a fine layer of dust. He didn't know where to begin.

The only sounds in the room, besides the occasional scratching of pencil against parchment (a rather ugly sound, for the record), were the occasional sneezes coming from the three employees. It was nearly impossible to keep them in check when the attic was like this, and Brett's eyes started itching too.

Not only were his allergies getting the better of him, but the attic also became increasingly stuffy as the outside air grew warmer and warmer. The rest of the house was well-insulated, but that insulation did not extend up here.

Before long, Brett's eyelids felt heavy. He'd made basically no progress on his map other than drawing a few lines that were probably incorrect; essentially, he'd made negative progress.

When this frustration was coupled with the increasing drowsiness, the young man found it harder and harder to stay focused on the map. He leaned in closer and closer, but it just wasn't going to happen; every whiff of the dust resulted in an enormous sneeze.

Eventually, Brett simply leaned over his desk and rested his eyes. If he gave himself just one short minute to rest, one short minute during which he didn't have to focus, then he'd be rejuvenated for the remainder of the task.

Of course, "one short minute" turned into a much longer length of time as he drifted off, unwittingly using the parchment as a pillow.

Brett's slumber was not dreamless.

A giant alien mothership, one shaped just like a planet with rings, floated along in the cold, dark emptiness of space. Dozens of much smaller spacecraft, escape pods, were attached to the side of the mothership, though none of them were in operation.

Inside the mothership, a giant Octogoom, a Pokemon species of the Extraterrestrial type, sat in the red-velvet throne room. When he stood to his full height, he would have been taller than virtually any human on Nexus. As he pondered this, he smiled at the thought of conquering those puny humans and terrestrial Pokemon.

Suddenly, the door to the throne room opened, and in walked a handful of smaller Octogoom. They were all chanting "Let's go Brandon!" in near-unison, their navy blue bodies with yellow polka dots swaying side to side.

King Brandon chuckled as he heard his subjects cheering for him. He took his crown off and set it to the side.

"Now, there's no need to chant my name. The service y'all provide me is more than enough, and honestly means far more to me than a silly chant."

One of the Octogoom, the one in the front, frowned. "But we mean well, King Brandon."

"I don't doubt that, y'all. But service matters more than ceremony. Anyway, what's the latest update, Mindanao?"

Mindanao, the one who had just spoken, said the following: "It appears that the terrestrial authorities have not grasped that we are about to attack."

"Invade, not attack" King Brandon replied, picking up his orange drink and taking a sip. "There is a difference; we don't want to destroy their planet, just remake it in our homeworld's image."

"Whatever" Mindanao responded nonchalantly. "The point is, there's only one person on Nexus who's blowing the whistle, so to speak, and nobody else believes him. I think our job will be even easier than you thought."

This was no surprise once Mindanao had mentioned the infighting on Nexus. If you were going to invade a country, let alone an entire planet, it helped if the residents of said area didn't get along with one another. The more internal division, the better.

"Indeed it will be" King Brandon said, setting his drink down. "The depraved citizens of Nexus are in for a rude awakening if they think they can get away with the way they've been living for so long. Never lose sight of this fact: We have taken it upon ourselves to save Nexus from themselves."

The king, unlike a stereotypical alien leader, did not cackle maliciously upon finishing his statement. He simply sat there with a grave expression, as though what he'd just said was an unfortunate truth, but one that could not be denied.

"Yes, sir" Mindanao responded, bowing in front of the team's leader.

"The plan must remain the same as it has always been. We'll move in on Northern Kanto the day after tomorrow, and we'll occupy that region, capturing our targets. We'll slowly move in on Saffron City, the largest city on Planet Nexus; once we've taken Saffron, it shouldn't be that difficult to expand our reach to the rest of the planet."

The group of Octogoom nodded as though this plan made all the sense in the world. Of course, there were plenty of things that could go wrong, but there was always a Plan B, a Plan C, all the way to Plan Z and beyond. There weren't nearly enough letters in the alphabet to describe how well-prepared the Green Team was.

"Who will be the leader?" another Octogoom, whose name was Luzon, piped up from the back of the crowd. "Will it be that washed-up rock star?"

King Brandon scoffed. "If you're talking about Teddy Nickelback, the answer is hell no! That's H-E-double hockey sticks, NO! The stars and moon will collide before he becomes President of Kanto!"

The group of Octogoom had a good laugh about how stupid Teddy Nickelback was. It was completely ludicrous for him to believe that he'd get a place in the leadership of Nexus' most populous continent when he'd been complicit in ruining the planet.

"And remember, we have plans B, C, D, and so on all the way up to X, Y, and Z. But we'd rather not need them, so let's do our best to ensure Plan A is successful."

All of a sudden, Brett was shaken awake from his nap by Mr. McCormick. Blinking, he realized that he'd fallen asleep in the middle of his job, which was generally a big no-no when you were doing something important.

"Brett! Wake up!" the rancher exclaimed with a hint of irritation in his voice.

The young man opened his eyes fully to find himself still in the hot, dusty attic of the ranch house. He was still sitting at his desk, and the mostly-blank map was still set out before him, though it was now wet in several spots, probably due to either snot or drool.

As Brett started to come back to the waking world a bit more, he was all too aware of Michael and Libby turning to stare at him. The other two workers both scowled at him; perhaps they resented their colleague for making Mr. McCormick startle them away from their work.

"Sorry about that" Brett said sheepishly, feeling his stomach turn sour and his face grow warm. "I was just tired, that's all."

"Well, you're supposed to get your sleep before work, not during it!" Mr. McCormick replied mockingly. "When there's a job that needs to be done, you just do it, even if you're tired."

Brett nodded to show that he understood. He fully expected to be walking on a burning tightrope for the rest of the day, if not the rest of the summer.

That is, assuming the Happy Valley Ranch still exists at the end of the summer.

It was then that the youth realized that his vision of the aliens had been a dream. He hadn't actually been there, but it sure felt that way while he'd been experiencing it.

As he got back to work on the map, feeling no more energetic than he had before going to sleep, Brett pondered what his next move would be.

Should I go to the police again? Yeah, I know they didn't believe me yesterday, but perhaps this time will be different. Maybe the extra conviction I display is going to make the difference. I'll say it so well, they'll have no choice but to believe me.

Of course, that was wishful thinking more than anything. There was no good reason to think the cops would take Brett any more seriously than they had the previous day. If anything, it would reinforce their belief that he was just looking for attention.

After a rational consideration of the best course of action, Brett decided that he wouldn't go to the police unless he had a new reason. Given how eventful the last few days had been, he very well might have a new reason before long. Still, he was hesitant.

As it would turn out, circumstances beyond his control would force his hand.

The long shift in the attic, interrupted by a short break for a largely tasteless lunch, had ended at last.

As Brett stood up from his desk, wiping sweat off of his forehead, he thought about how grateful he was for his shift to be over. He wouldn't need to return until tomorrow, and then the day after tomorrow would be his last at the ranch, for better or worse.

As for the day after that, all bets were off.

Brett bade his pair of colleagues goodbye; judging by the way they no longer glared at him with wild eyes, they seemed to have largely forgiven him for having dozed off on the job. At a minimum, they weren't quite as upset, and that would make the next two days a lot less awkward.

One must not be under any illusion that things were perfect. After all, the Green Team would still probably be invading in two days; if anything, the young man's dream was further proof of that. It seemed that if Arceus were concocting this plot to make him look insane, this was just too much trouble.

No, the aliens were coming; there was little doubt about that.

Speaking of making the youth look insane, that's exactly what his interview with Mrs. Clarion at OKNN had done. Thanks to his decision to answer her questions, he'd become a global laughingstock, right up there with Teddy Nickelback and the UFO grifters.

Finally, the green van, while it did not follow him home that day, still loomed over him like a dark rain cloud. One of these days, Brett found himself convinced, the van would return, and, to use the cloud metaphor, it would rain.

On the whole, however, the young man was inclined to count his blessings as he drove home that afternoon. No matter how bad things might be in some respects, there were still plenty of ways it could get worse. Brett could only be thankful that this hadn't happened…yet.

Once he arrived home, however, his newfound slight optimism was thoroughly dashed.

Normally, even during the day, the lights of the Porter residence were on when someone was home. Brett knew his father was at work, and his mother might indeed be in the office today as well. Perhaps Henry had gone out with his friends.

Brett was still in "concern mode" rather than "panic mode." He didn't think anything was wrong, but there was a small seed of doubt in his heart that could very well turn into a forest of doubt.

He located the spare key under the welcome mat and unlocked the back door. Stepping inside, he found that, not surprisingly, the lights were off. Moreover, the 19-year-old was met with near-total silence, other than the gentle snoring of Liana the Fennekin.

Henry must be out on the town with his friends, it's not usually this quiet here. Which is fine, he's got a right to enjoy himself. But he could have texted me or something first! Did he?

Brett, who had carried his smartphone inside from the car, turned it on. It took him three tries to unlock it; his fingers were shaking so hard it was difficult to type in the correct passcode.

Going to his messages, he found that Henry hadn't texted him in several days. Of course, the brothers didn't normally use this method of communication with one another, but it still would have been nice for Henry to reach out, to let Brett know where he'd be.

I'm not my brother's keeper, to put it one way, the young man thought to himself. Maybe he texted Mom and Dad; in that case, I should call them.

Brett punched in his mother's phone number; this time, he managed to do it successfully on the first go. After a few rings, Mrs. Porter's exasperated voice came on.

"Brett, I'm at work now. This had gotta be fucking important."

"It is," the young man replied breathlessly, trying to keep his tone measured. "I need to know if Henry texted you."

While he couldn't see his mother's face, he pictured her curving her eyebrows in confusion. "Why would he text me?"

I'll take that as a no.

"To say if he's hanging out with his friends. The house is eerily quiet, and all the lights were off when I got home a few minutes ago. Did he tell you where he'd be?"

"No," his mother responded. "He didn't text me at all, which makes me think he might be in bed. But Henry's pretty vocal about naps being for little kids, so maybe he's sick."

"He was perfectly fine last night. And, while I didn't see him this morning, didn't you?"

"Well, these things can come on pretty quickly. But it's summer, so he probably doesn't have the flu. Either way, I don't know where he is, though you could check his room."

"Thanks. I'll do that."

After that, Brett's mother hung up without officially saying goodbye. Brett felt a twinge of annoyance from that, but he didn't let that occupy his mind for more than a few seconds.

Instead, he put his phone down and stomped up the staircase, making his way to Henry's bedroom. The door was shut, and other than the sound of Brett's pounding steps, there was near-total silence.

If he's sleeping, if he's sick, I don't want to wake him. I also don't want to catch whatever he has.

It would be very much unlike Henry to sleep in the late afternoon. Regardless, Brett found himself hoping this was the case, if only because the alternative was unthinkable.

He opened the creaking door slowly, trying to minimize the sound it made. It still squeaked on its hinges, but if it woke Henry up, that wasn't the end of the world.

"Henry?" Brett asked. "Henry! HENRY!"

The youth announced his younger brother's name thrice, each time louder than the last. No sound, however, came from the lump of blankets on the bed.

As Brett took a moment to process this, the phone on Henry's nightstand rang.