"You do know that I wasn't on that case, right?" Truman asked as he drove down Sutton Ln. "Agent Seo was the one who found the hideout."

"I was only trying to boost the Sheriff's confidence," Sasha replied, staring out at the passing town. Blocky, brick buildings lined the street, most of them old but in good repair. "It's not as though he'll find out the truth."

Truman was not worried about the Sheriff finding out about Sasha's lie. "Anna really wouldn't like it if she found out someone else was taking credit for her work."

"She won't find out, then." Sasha turned away from the window to face him as Truman stopped at an intersection. "You think the Sheriff actually shot that deer?"

"What? Uh, probably."

"I find it quite strange that he put a dead animal in his office."

A loud banging on the window caught both of them off guard. Truman turned to see a middle-aged man in a Steelers cap standing outside the car, knocking on the window. "Hey!" he yelled, voice muffled by the glass barrier between them. "I wanna talk to you guys! Roll the window down!"

"We can't!" Truman shouted back. "The window's broke!"

"Does he expect us to talk to him in the middle of traffic? That's absurd." Sasha said dismissively. "The light's green. Just go."

The man must've seen that too, or he had ears like a bat, because he moved in front of the car before Truman could drive away. "C'mon guys! I've got important information! About the case!"

The man did not look like he was going to be moved anytime soon, at least not until he got what he wanted. Truman and Sasha had two options: they could shove him out of the way with telekinesis or they could stop and hear him out. Truman glanced around the streets, noticing a small amount of people stopping to stare at the spectacle. If he or Sasha pushed him out of the way it could frighten the spectators. And since this was a small town, word would naturally spread, perhaps to someone who might see that particular action as a threat to the town's safety. On the other hand, it wasn't like they had a whole lot of time to waste on someone's crackpot theory. But what if he does have important information? He might be acting like a crazy person because he knows something or has seen something…Or he could legitimately be a crazy person…

The car behind them honked, and Truman decided that at the very least they should get this man safely off the road. "Tell him we'll talk if he gets out of the way."

Sasha nodded, rolling down his window and relaying the message. The man grinned and gave them a double thumbs up as he walked back onto the sidewalk.

It seemed that Sasha had been under the impression that Truman had been planning on speeding off once the obstacle had been removed. "You really think that this guy knows something relevant?" he asked as Truman parallel parked in front of a small general store.

"You never know," Truman said as he maneuvered the Buick into a tight parking space. He hated parallel parking. "Besides, don't you think we should find out how he knew we were working on the case?"

"Hmm. Good point," Sasha conceded as he pressed the button for the power windows. When nothing happened, he did it again, pressing down harder the second time. "Uh, Truman…"

A drop of water hit the windshield, then another. Truman sighed in resignation as Sasha opened the glove compartment and handed him the tape.

The man in the Steeler's cap caught up to them just as Truman was getting out of the car. He held out his hand, still grinning widely. "Sure do appreciate you fellas stopping to talk!" he said loudly, as though there was still a window between them. "I know you must be mighty busy, but I got information that'll blow your case wide open!" His handshake was strong and enthusiastic, which indicated that he genuinely believed that he had something useful to tell them. "Name's Randy Ratowski!"

"I'm Agent Zanotto. And this-"

"Looks like the rain's picking up!" Randy interrupted, pointing to the building they were standing in front of. "This here's my store. We can talk inside."

"Yeah, in a minute. We gotta fix our other window." Truman felt his face heat up, embarrassed by their predicament. Did F.B.I agents have to put up with shitty cars? Or was it just something the Psychonauts had the pleasure of dealing with? "We'll meet you in there."

"You mind if I watch?"

"Watch what?"

"You fix the window. I wanna see how you guys do it."

Very confused, Truman shrugged and walked over to the passenger side, Randy Ratowski following close behind. By the time he was finished, Randy was thoroughly disappointed. "I was expecting something a little more exciting to be honest."

"Like what, exactly?"

He thought we were going to weld the window shut with pyrokinesis, Sasha thought, irritated, as he exited the Buick. He was frowning at Randy, who seemed to realize that he had put his foot in his mouth and was babbling some inane answer.

Why'd he think that? Truman wondered. He must've seen that our other window was taped up too.

Because he's an idiot that doesn't know shit. Out loud, Sasha asked "How did you know that we were with the Psychonauts?"

"My buddy's a deputy up at the Sheriff's office," Randy clarified as they made their way over to the store. "He called me and said that there was a skinny guy with glasses and a big guy with one hell of a beard driving around in a white Buick Century." He held the door open for them. "Didn't say anything about your accent, though. You German?"

"No," Sasha said sharply as he pushed past Randy and stalked into the store.

"Geez, sorry," Randy muttered, nudging Truman as walked past. "What's his deal, huh?"

"He's just…uh, you know how Europeans are."

"Ah, gotcha." Randy gave Truman a conspiratorial wink as he closed the door.

The store, plainly called 'Sutton Dry Goods', was typical of most Mom & Pop stores scattered throughout the American Midwest. The shelves in the front were stocked with food items like bread and potato chips. The back was lined with freezers containing milk, frozen meals, and one completely devoted to pepperoni rolls. Steelers memorabilia decorated the walls and counter. All and all, the store was nothing special, except for the barest traces of leftover psychic energy. It wasn't much- almost unnoticeable, the hint of a hint, but it was evidence enough that a psychic had been here recently.

You feel that? Truman asked.

Hmm…Someone-or something- was definitely here, but it's too faint to get a good read on it. Sasha scanned the store, looking for where the energy was most concentrated. You talk to him and I'll try to pinpoint the source.

Randy had gone behind the counter and was rifling through one of the drawers. "Mr. Ratowski, have you noticed anything strange going on around here?"

It was the stupidest question that Truman could've opened with, and all three men in the store knew it. "I- mean, uh," Truman stammered, feeling an embarrassed heat creep up the back of his neck. "Aside from…you know…"

"Did you happen to sell otter pops at any point in the last two months?" Sasha cut in, thankfully giving Truman some time to think of a question that wasn't completely idiotic.

Randy put two plastic baggies on the counter. "I stopped selling those weeks ago, when this whole mess started getting out of hand and the Sheriff asked me to pull them."

"But you did sell them."

"Yeah. Them loopy kids used to come in and buy 'em." He shuddered. "Eugh. They looked like a bunch of zombies, all shufflin' around and drooling…'cept they was covered in popsicle syrup instead of blood and guts."

Truman and Sasha looked back at the freezers. The energy could, possibly, have been coming off the teens when they had come in to buy the otter pops. Most of what little energy there is appears to be concentrated at the counter and in the candy aisle. Sasha thought.

And those teens likely haven't been in here since he stopped selling those popsicles anyway. Truman figured he'd better ask Randy about it anyway, just to have it on record. "Mr. Ratowski-"

"Listen, I didn't make a dang show of myself out in the street to tell you fellows a bunch of stuff you already know." He pointed at the baggies on the counter. "This ain't about the kids…well, it is but…look, what I got is information on a suspect. Look at these bags."

Truman and Sasha glanced at each other instead of the bags. "Mr. Ratowski, when we spoke to the Sheriff, he didn't mention anything about any suspects. In fact, he didn't believe that there was a human origin to any of this."

"That's because the Sheriff don't know about Eddie Bodkin!"

The name was unfamiliar. "Who is that, exactly?"

"He's a psychic!" Randy declared loudly.

"We weren't aware that there were any psychics living in this area," Truman said, beginning to feel uneasy.

"That's because nobody knows about it but me! And maybe the boy's parents." He paused, thinking for a moment before speaking again. "I don't actually think he's been psychic for very long, to be honest."

"Mr. Ratowski…" Truman glanced back at Sasha, who was still investigating the candy aisle. Sasha stared back at him, face unreadable. "What-"

"Y'all feel it, don't you?" Randy interrupted. "All that psychic energy, over in the candy aisle." He picked up one of the baggies, thrusting it towards Truman. It was full of change, and the coins within it jangled loudly as Randy shook the bag. "He was in here last week!"

"And?" Sasha said, coming forward to the register. His voice was restrained, and his face was its usually stoic mask, but Truman could feel the waves of agitation coming off of his partner. And though he wasn't psychic, Randy seemed to sense it too, as he shrank back a little at Sasha's approach.

"Er…he was in here and he…" Randy swallowed, withering under Agent Nein's scrutiny. He set the baggie full of coins back on the counter before he could drop it out of nervousness.

"He bought two packages of Reese's Peanut Butter cups, each costing seventy-five cents, on Wednesday of last week." He telekinetically lifted the bag Randy had been holding off the table, effortlessly bringing it to his own hand. "The week before," he continued, lifting up the second bag in the same way he had done the first. "You found one dollar and fifty cents worth of change on the counter when you came in to open the store. But you don't know exactly what was bought." The bag slid through the air, this time to Truman. He took it, uncertain of what exactly Sasha wanted him to do. Were they playing good-cop-bad-cop? Was he the good cop? But Randy wasn't a suspect, so what was the point of all this? Sasha, what are you trying to do here? he thought, stuffing the bag into his jacket pocket. This isn't how we usually interview witnesses.

Sasha ignored Truman's questions, choosing to instead freak out the now stunned and silent Randy even more. "The last time you saw Eddie Bodkin was during his shift on July 14th, during which you saw him disappear for three seconds before re-appearing in the exact same spot. The next day you received a call from his father informing you that Eddie would be in South Carolina for the rest of the summer due to a family emergency. But you suspect that Eddie never actually left Sutton, and that his parents had been trying to keep his psychic abilities a secret, and that's he's the one who has been in your store buying candy after closing. Am I correct?"

Randy nodded slowly, his mouth dropping open in awe.

"There are traces of psychic energy in this store, I will admit that. However, we do not know if it's from this Eddie, and even if it is, that doesn't mean that he has anything to do with this town's current predicament." Sasha took a single forward toward the counter, that single step emphasizing the seriousness of what he was about to say next. "This is all the information you have. It is a potential lead at best. You have not cracked this case for us. Do not, under any circumstances, go bragging about your involvement to any of your friends at the bar. And if you choose to disregard this order and put the Bodkins in danger, my partner and I will personally make sure that you deeply regret it. Is that clear?"

"Yeah. Crystal," Randy responded, his voice soft with astonishment. He stood stock still, staring at Sasha, his pale, blue eyes wide. "Holy…Holy crap!" he exclaimed, enthusiasm and amazement bringing him quickly out of his shock. "You just read my got-dang mind! And I didn't even feel a thing!" He grinned widely. "How'd you do that?"

The reaction was clearly not one that Sasha had been expecting. "Why would you feel anything?" he grumbled, a bit taken aback.

"And that stuff with the floating bags! That's crazy!" Randy was practically radiating excitement at this point, his eyes bouncing from Truman to Sasha. "Can you do that too?" he asked, the question directed at Truman. "Or are you like, super strong or something? Man, they should make a movie about you guys!"

Though his eyes were hidden by his glasses, Truman had the feeling that Sasha was rolling them pretty hard. "I'll let you take it from here," Sasha said to Truman, his voice stiff with anger. He walked off, stopping only to take the car keys from Truman before exiting the store.

Randy watched him go, his excitement dampened by Sasha's abrupt exit. He turned to Truman, scratching his chin. "He didn't like me much, did he?" he concluded. "Was it something I said?"

If Truman had to guess, Sasha's dislike of Randy probably began seconds after they had met, when he asked to watch them tape up that stupid window because he thought it would be an interesting show. Truman did not know what sort of life Sasha had led before joining the Psychonauts, but it was clear that he did not appreciate being treated like some sort of performing animal. And it wasn't like Truman- or any other psychic for that matter- could blame him. The freak-show style fascination some people had with psychics was twice as annoying than any other reaction a non-psychic might have upon discovering a psychic in their midst. If somebody is hurling slurs and threats at you, than it is considered completely fine to tell that person to fuck off in the eyes of society, but say the same thing to someone who's trying to get you to use your powers for parlor tricks because they're 'curious' and suddenly you're being rude and are the reason why everybody hates your kind. There were certainly worse people out there than Randy Ratowski- Truman knew that from personal experience- but that didn't make his ignorance any less grating.

Still, Truman wasn't going to bother explaining any of this to Randy. He needed to stay focused on the case, and having that particular discussion right now wasn't going to aid in solving the mystery. Not to mention the fact that he was already behind schedule, and couldn't afford to eat up more time on this detour than he already had. Moving on was the best course of action. "Agent Nein just doesn't want to waste time. There's a lot of ground that we need to cover and-"

"His name is Agent Nein?" Randy blurted out, interrupting Truman yet again. "Like seriously, that's his name?"

Truman sighed. "Yes, that's what we call him."

"Is it spelled like the number? Or is it N-E-I-N?"

"Mr. Ratowski-"

"'Cuz if it's spelled that way, don't that mean his name is 'Sasha No' in his home country? That's weird, man. Unless it's like a code name? You guys do that sort of thing? But your name doesn't seem fake…"

Oh boy. This stop was beginning to look more pointless the more Randy rambled on with this nonsense. He really should walk out of here right now…but there was still Eddie Bodkin to deal with. If there was a young, scared psychic hiding out somewhere in town, it would be worth it to find him, even if it turned out that he had nothing to do with the town's zombified teens. There weren't many resources for young psychics in a place like West Virginia, and there was probably nobody in this town that Eddie could turn to for help. Truman had been lucky enough to live his entire life surrounded by psychics, but he'd heard some pretty awful stories from other agents that hadn't shared that privilege. Being a lone psychic out on the streets was rough, and for all he knew, Eddie could be in danger at this very second. Or, maybe he actually was the mastermind behind these bizarre attacks. There was also the chance Randy was mistaken, and that Eddie actually was in South Carolina as his parents had claimed, and the psychic energy was coming from something else.

There was only one way to find out. "Tell me about Eddie Bodkin," Truman said, cutting off Randy's inane musings on the usefulness of code names. "You said he was one of your employees?"

"Technically Agent Nein said that."

Truman took a deep breath, doing his best to keep his frustration at bay. "Mr. Ratowski," he said, using every last bit of his patience to keep his voice stern and steady. "This is a serious matter we're discussing here. Twenty-seven lives are at stake, and that number could go up at any minute. So please, when I ask you a question, I need you to just answer it to the best of your ability, because this information could be what helps us solve this. Do you understand?"

Randy nodded, appearing to be properly chastised. "Right, I get that sir, yeah. It's just that nothin' like this has ever happened before. This town's usually real quiet…"he trailed off, and swallowed, realizing that he was rambling again. "Yes, Eddie worked here during the summer. Mostly he'd just stock the shelves and clean up the place."

"How well did he get along with his peers?" Sutton Dry Goods was one of the few places within easy traveling distance for most of the teens in this town, so Randy would probably have some insight into this.

"I reckon he got on alright with them," Randy responded. "I mean, he's always been the kind of fellow what keeps to himself, but most of the kids would say hi to him if they saw him."

"Eddie was a loner?"

"Uh…I dunno if I would call him a loner." Randy slid his fingers under his cap to scratch his head. "He was kinda quiet. Didn't speak unless spoken to. But he didn't have trouble talking to people. And he wasn't shy. Does that make sense?"

Truman understood what Randy was getting at, but all of this information made it less likely that Eddie had anything to do with this case. If Eddie got along well with the other teens, why would he try to hurt them? There had to be something more to this. "Eddie goes to Braxton County High like the victims, right? Is he a junior?"

"Nope. Sophomore this year."

That ruled him out as a potential victim, unless whoever or whatever was doing this decided to deviate from their current pattern. "Did he ever mention to you about having problems at home? Or at school?"

"No, I actually think he got along great with his family. His pa's a plumber who works up the street, and they usually walked home together," Randy recalled. He looked out the storefront windows, as though he thought the two of them might walk by. "As for school, well, the only thing that comes to mind is this one time he complained about getting detention once for not having a hall pass." Randy chuckled. "He called the guy that gave it to him 'Dickhead-Donkus'".

So no trouble with peers, no trouble at home, and no trouble at school, aside from one asshole teacher. Eddie Bodkin seemed like an ordinary teenager, and Truman was certain that he would not be having this conversation if it weren't for the boy's alleged psychic abilities. Truman decided that he would ask one more question, and then he would thank Randy politely and hope that he and Sasha would be able to make-up for any lost time. "Can you think of any reason that Eddie would want to hurt any of the victims? Because from what I'm hearing, it doesn't seem like Eddie would have any reason to be involved in this."

"Oh, Eddie's not the suspect."

What.

Truman stared at Randy in disbelief, now at the absolute limit of his patience. If Eddie wasn't the suspect, than why were they here? Why did Randy risk getting run over just to tell them a lot of bullshit about some kid who can maybe turn invisible? "Now, hang on, don't look at me like that!" Randy said defensively, putting his hands up. "He's involved yes, but I don't think it's his fault! The suspect I have information on is forcing Eddie to work for him." Randy opened another drawer and pulled out a slim binder.

Truman looked down at the black three-ring binder, not exactly eager to find out what gibberish was contained within. Easy now, he thought to himself. Ford always says that you gotta look under every single stone in a situation like this. One had to wonder how many stones that sounded as nutty as Randy Ratowski Ford had had to deal with during his long career. "Okay," Truman said calmly, taking the binder and tucking it under his arm. "Who is the suspect, and what does Eddie Bodkin have to do with any of it?"

Randy grinned, as though he'd been anticipating this very question from the beginning. "We got us a legend round these parts. You ever heard of the Flatwoods Monster?"

"I fucked that up, didn't I?" Sasha said immediately upon Truman's return to the car.

"What?" Truman replied absently as he handed the binder to Sasha and buckled his seatbelt. The binder, full of information on the Flatwoods Monster that Randy had printed off the internet, was tossed onto the back seat a mere second after it touched Sasha's hands. At this moment, Truman was more concerned with getting out of this parking space without colliding into any of the cars that surrounded them. "Who the hell invented parallel parking? Why'd they have so much hate in their heart?" he muttered as he turned the keys in the ignition.

The German wasn't looking at him, instead facing the window, though it was unlikely that he was admiring the scenery outside. His cheek was resting on his hand. "Please just answer the question," he said, a tiny hint of anxiety in his voice.

"Um." Truman put the car in reverse, praying to Jesus that he'd be able to get out of this tight parking space. "What did you ask?"

Sasha's head snapped to face him, his mouth a tight, grim line. "H-hang on a sec," Truman stammered as the car inched backward. "Don't glare at me right now. This is, uh, a delicate process." Sasha did not stop glaring, but Truman somehow managed to get the Buick onto to Sutton Ln safely. "Yes!" he exclaimed, glad to finally have a victory of sorts in a day so far comprised of mechanical failures and embarrassing conversations.

"Truman!"

"What?"

"Did I fuck up back there?" He sounded pretty upset. Why?

"Yeah, kinda," Truman said honestly. Sasha Nein did not seem like the sort of person who would appreciate any sugar-coating of his errors. "I mean, using telepathy is fine but…you shouldn't let them know you're doing it. That really freaks the non-psychics out, and they usually stop co-operating right then and there." Truman stopped at a red light, keeping an eye out for Braxton County High School, their original destination before Randy had distracted them. "Although I don't think it really hurt that much in the end."

Sasha muttered something that was probably a curse word in German, running a hand through his short dark hair. His jaw was clenched. "Everyone makes mistakes, man," Truman reassured. The light turned green so he moved forward. "God knows you're gonna see me making a lot of them." He may have just made one right now. Was he supposed to make a left at that light?

"It's the next left. No light, just a stop sign," Sasha said, replying to a question Truman hadn't verbally asked. "What I did back there is basically what they tell you not to do when interrogating a witness."

Truman couldn't remember ever hearing that during his training. "They say that in telepathy class?"

"Yes. It is literally one of the first things."

Truman wouldn't know. The Zanottos were notoriously bad at any sort of mind-reading, their main skill set being more physical abilities like marksmanship and telekinesis. Dr. Boole had once joked that it was because they were too full of themselves to care about what other people thought about anything. Truman's father had not found the remark funny and had almost challenged the doctor to a duel over it.

"I was angry at the way that man gawked at us. He thought we were going to do tricks for him like a couple of circus performers." His tone was bitter- this was clearly a sore subject for him. "That is not an excuse. I apologize. It will not happen again."

Truman turned the left blinker on and slowed down to a stop. Sasha had sounded so serious- had it really been bothering him that much? "I believe you, man," he said, turning to smile at his partner. "You don't seem like the type to make a mistake twice."

Though he didn't smile back, Truman could sense the relief coming off of him. He couldn't have possibly thought that Truman would really care that much about this, could he? Perhaps he had just needed to vent his frustration at himself. "Regardless," he said, his voice back to its usual emotionless tone. "I think you should do the talking from now on. You're good at it."

Truman laughed. "You're joking, right? I'm a mess."

"When you think too hard, perhaps. But I was listening in on your conversation with Randy after I left," Sasha said as they made the left onto Jerry Burton Drive. "You have more patience than most. I cannot think of anyone else at the agency who would've tolerated that man for as long as you did."

The school was right up ahead, a tall, three-story brick building. The recent rain had turned the bricks a dark, rusty red. Truman scratched his beard, reflecting on Sasha's words. He was generally a laid-back person, and was slow to really get angry at anyone. But he didn't think that one trait made up for all of his other social and professional faults. "It's nice of you to say that. Thanks."

"You don't believe me," Sasha stated bluntly as they pulled into the school's parking lot.

"My-the high-ups always say that I'm weak and inefficient." Too slow, too soft. That mother of yours coddled you too much.

"They're wrong and I'm right. I've only known you for a week and I can tell that you're someone people easily trust."

Wow. Sasha really thought that about him? He certainly sounded sincere but… "I wish I had your confidence."

"Than be confident," Sasha said simply. As though it were that easy.

Maybe it was for him. He was so sure and direct about everything he said and did. Even when he made a mistake he just acknowledged it and moved on instead of worrying about whether he'd make it again. It was a quality that Truman both envied and found incredibly attractive in a person.

Wait.

Oh God.

Truman slammed the brakes, the jarring stop thrusting him and Sasha forward roughly. Why the hell had he thought that? Had Sasha heard? He glanced at Sasha, his beet red face thankfully obscured by his beard. Sasha merely looked annoyed by the sudden stop, which was good, because if he had heard what Truman had just thought, he definitely would be reacting with something more akin to horror and embarrassment. "Is there something wrong with the brakes now?" he asked, oblivious to Truman's mental gaffe.

"I sure hope not!" Truman said quickly. He peeked out the window and, realizing that he was taking up two parking spaces, moved up a bit. "So…" he began, hoping to change the subject before he had another stupid thought that the telepath might overhear. "What did you think about Randy's theory?"

"His theory about how Eddie Bodkin is being forced to aid the Flatwoods Monster in its quest to zombify the class of 2000 for some unknown purpose?" Sasha shook his head. "It's garbage."

"Yeah, I figured you'd say that."

"The Flatwoods Monster is a myth. Our planet has not yet made meaningful contact with extraterrestrial life."

"You don't believe in aliens?"

"Oh, there's definitely life out there," Sasha stated firmly as he unbuckled his seatbelt. "I've seen it for myself."

Truman's eyes widened. "You…you mean, like, psychically?" He knew that Sasha was a skilled telepath, but this…"You contacted an alien? On another planet?"

"To say I contacted them would be stretching it. I merely saw one."

"That's…wow. That's amazing. How did you manage that?"

"I…hmm," Sasha muttered, his hand on the door handle. "You believe me? It doesn't seem insane to you?"

"I can talk to plants, dude. I don't think that you seeing an alien in a vision is that much weirder."

Sasha looked at him for a long second before reaching out psychically and entering Truman's mind. Truman allowed it, wanting Sasha to see that his interest was legitimate. He withdrew after a few moments of scanning and said "We should probably get going."

"Oh." Truman shook off his disappointment and exited the vehicle alongside Sasha. His partner was right. They needed to stay focused on the mission. But God knew that he was more curious than ever about Sasha Nein.

They were halfway across the parking lot when he felt Sasha's hand on his shoulder. "I'll tell you about it after the mission, alright?" he said, before withdrawing his hand and moving on ahead at quick pace. Truman followed close behind, feeling as though he just passed a test he hadn't known he'd been taking.