Principal Stokes had finished skimming through the schedules by the time they returned to her office. She didn't have much that she thought would be useful to them-just the names of two teachers who had classes with each of the victims. One was Mrs. Baker, a sixty-four year old history teacher one year away from retirement who was reportedly well-liked by the student population. The other was Anton Papadonkus, who taught both the normal junior-level English class and AP. American literature.

That name- Papadonkus- sounded vaguely familiar, but Truman couldn't place where he had heard it. He inquired about Mr. Papadonkus' relationship with his students. "He does his job well enough," Principal Stokes said, "but I don't think that he's very popular with the kids."

"Do they complain about him?"

"Students will complain about all of their teachers for one reason or another. But Mr. Papadonkus does have a tendency to dole out the detentions at the slightest misstep." She slid the schedules into the file box, not bothering to put them back into their individual files, which was a relief because she otherwise may have spotted the one they had stolen. "I admit there have been a few occasions where I've had to intervene on a student's behalf."

"And what did you think of him personally?"

Stokes shrugged. "I don't socialize with him all that often. He's got this pretentious air about him. Like he thinks he's too good for this town. That always rubbed me the wrong way."

"Is he writing a novel, by any chance?" Sasha asked suddenly.

Stokes blinked in surprise. "Yes, he is. He never shuts up about it." She frowned at Sasha suspiciously. "How…how did you know that?"

"You said that he was a pretentious English teacher," Sasha answered, unfazed by her accusatory tone. "You don't need to be psychic to make that connection."

"Oh…right, of course. I wasn't…" She trailed off awkwardly.

"We should probably talk to these teachers," Truman said before Stokes could start stammering out apologies.

"Talking to Mrs. Baker will not be a problem, but I'm afraid that Mr. Papadonkus is away for the weekend," Principal Stokes informed them. "There's a substitute in his place."

That wasn't suspicious. Not at all.

"Why's he out?" Truman asked.

"His parents own a cabin near Piedmont," Stokes explained. "He always goes there when he gets stuck on his writing, because nature supposedly inspires him. Or that's what he says, anyway." She shook her head. "It's actually a real pain, because he always gives us short notice when he does it."

"He does this a lot?"

"Yes. I didn't mention it at first because it's something that he's been doing for years." She looked down at her hands, clasped on her desk. "The timing is…strange."

Truman nodded, taking in the new information. "Did he sound any different when he called out than he normally did?"

Stokes sighed. "I don't know. I have had a lot on my mind, and I really don't think that that conversation lasted longer than a minute." She bit her thumbnail, looking troubled. "Do you… do you think that he's got something to do with this somehow?"

It was too soon to tell. A widely disliked English teacher who had regular contact with all of the victims suddenly rushing off shortly before their arrival was certainly worth looking into. However, those things in and of themselves did not necessarily mean that Mr. Papadonkus was the culprit, and there was a chance that his absence at this time could have been a coincidence.

At the moment, all Truman could do was thank the Principal for her time and hope that they would be able to get to the bottom of it soon.

One thing that they did know was that the victims were definitely in some sort of hypnotized state, which was why Truman was trying to get in contact with the agency's hypnosis specialist.

He was having very little luck. So Agent Tzam is still in the bathroom? Although he could not actually see Agent Rossi, Truman had a feeling that she was shrugging apathetically. Katya Rossi had one of the furthest telepathic reaches in the world, and was pretty much able to communicate with any agent located on the North American continent. She also did not like to do much of anything, so the role of communications tech suited her just fine. Yep, she replied. Her monotone made Sasha Nein sound expressive. He's throwing up.

Again? Well…when he gets done, can you tell him to contact us? We might need his assistance here.

Alright.

Okay. A few seconds passed. You won't forget, right?

I won't.

Um, okay. Thanks. Bye. He severed the telepathic link. "Agent Rossi is going to let Agent Tzam know that we need him," he said to Sasha. They were sitting across from each other at the end of a long row table in the school cafeteria. It was just after one, and the cafeteria was mostly empty, with only the staff and some stragglers from the last lunch period left in the room. Two hours had passed since they'd spoken to the principal, and they'd spend most of it wandering around the school, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Aside from the victims shuffling through the halls, they'd found nothing supernatural within the school, or out on the surrounding grounds.

They'd also spoken to Mrs. Baker, spry and still passionate about her work despite her age. After speaking with her for five minutes, they could say with confidence that she had nothing to do with whatever was plaguing this town.

Truman had asked her about Mr. Papadonkus. "That feller's a real piece of work," she had said disdainfully. "He used to correct my grammar all the time, 'til I threatened to beat his damn fool head in."

The young lady substituting his class had an equally low opinion of him. "I only met him once," she had said, "and he talked down to me like I was a child."

"Tell Agent Rossi not to bother," Sasha said, inspecting a fruit cup on his tray. "I've already contacted Agent Tzam myself." He peeled the plastic cover off of the cup, having deemed its contents edible.

"You did?" Truman looked at him skeptically, watching as he telekinetically speared a peach slice with his fork. "Agent Rossi told me that he was throwing up."

"He was," Sasha replied after swallowing. "I briefed him on our findings and he told me that he would see if he could get here by tomorrow. Between dry heaves, of course."

"Oh." Truman finished the last of his milk. The food here, while not stellar by any means, had tasted better than he had expected, and the school's pizza had been a welcome distraction from the foul taste still in the back of his mouth. "That guy's always sick. I wonder if he has a stomach problem."

"He's addicted to cough syrup," Sasha said before biting into another peach slice.

"Cough syrup?" Was Sasha messing with him? "You can get addicted to that?"

Sasha nodded. "Cough syrup, when ingested in recreational doses, can produce a high similar to that of PCP."

"And that's why he's always vomiting?"

"Yes. I would wager that that man cannot keep anything down for long."

The fact that a senior agent who worked in a highly specialized field was regularly getting fucked up on a PCP equivalent while at work should have been a shocking revelation. Truman, however, was familiar enough with the work-culture of the Psychonauts to only feel mild surprise. "I hope he sorts himself out before coming down here."

Sasha gave a half-shrug before asking what their next course of action was.

"We should definitely check out this Papadonkus guy," Truman said. "Right now, he's our only potential lead. Unless we're counting Eddie Bodkin…wait…"

"What?" Sasha asked as he physically picked up his carton of milk, because apparently using telekinesis to drink was too weird even for him.

"Randy told me that Eddie had complained about a teacher that he had called 'Dickhead Donkus' within the past few months," Truman said. That must've been why the name had sounded so familiar to him earlier. "I think he was talking about Mr. Papadonkus."

Sasha put down his milk and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm. That nickname is pretty derogatory. If Mr. Papadonkus' ego is as over-inflated as we've been led to believe, I imagine that he'd highly resent being called that."

"And if all of the students hate him, then he probably gets called that a lot," Truman added.

"A name like Papadonkus is just ripe for all sorts of ridicule," Sasha said. "So let's say that he is our culprit. We have revenge against unruly students as a motive. How is he accomplishing this?"

Truman stared down at his tray, thinking. "Maybe he's secretly psychic? No, that wouldn't explain that pattern, or this weird energy we're picking up on." There were psychics who had the ability to mesmerize others, but that power was rare, and it would likely take more than one psychic to maintain a hold on twenty-seven people at once. "Shit, maybe he and the Flatwoods Monster have teamed up," Truman joked.

A loud clatter coming from the kitchen cut off whatever Sasha had been about to say next. It's not the Flatwoods Monster, Sasha thought over the commotion. But what if it was something non-human?

Like what?

I don't know. But this energy just doesn't feel like a regular psychic's. It feels…inhuman, and toxic.

Toxic was definitely a word that Truman would use to describe this energy. "The energy is coming off the victims. Maybe if we'll find more of it we figure out where some of these kids were attacked?

One of the lunch ladies began shouting, and another swore back at her. Sasha frowned and stood up. We've gathered all the information that we can in this place. Let's leave before they start slinging food at each other.

"It's not the same," Sasha said as they drove to the home of the first witness they planned on interviewing. "The eye shape is similar, but they weren't glowing red." He closed the binder and tossed it onto the backseat. "Plus, none of those articles ever mentioned the Flatwoods Monster having any sort of hypnotic ability."That had been about what Truman had expected to hear, but he figured that it couldn't hurt to check.

They arrived at the home of Christopher Sealoft a few minutes later. Chris Sealoft was, like Cheyanne, an honor roll student, who had no record of getting into any sort of trouble at school or with the law. They'd chosen to come here first because the circumstances of Chris' affliction were unique. Most of the other victims had been supposedly stricken while out on their own, outside of their homes. Chris, however, had gone to bed one night perfectly fine and had stumbled down the steps in a zombiefied stupor the next morning.

"The window was open that morning," Mr. Sealoft said as he and his wife led them to their son's bedroom. Framed photographs of the Sealoft family hung on the walls. Each family member, from Mr. Sealoft down to the youngest girl that peeked out at them warily from behind her bedroom door, was big, blond, and bespectacled. Chris himself was no exception, as indicated by the most recent school photo of him. He looked more like a football player than a proper bookworm, but according to his file, he didn't participate in any school sports programs.

His room was typical of that of a nerdy sixteen year-old boy. The room was small and a bit cramped, barely able to fit the dresser, bed, bookshelf, and writing space that took up most of the floor space. The desk, placed to immediate left of the entrance, looked like it hadn't been used recently, the chair being pushed in. The bed was unmade, with half of the quilt being on the floor. The books on the bookshelf were a mix of non-fiction and sci-fi, with a few college-prep textbooks thrown in. The top of the dresser was covered with awards and trophies, all of them related to academic achievements.

That taste was back, not quite as strong as it had been at the school, but still there, lingering in the back of his throat. "Did your son usually leave the window open at night?" Truman asked as Sasha approached the bookshelf. The window wasn't too big, but a person could squeeze through it if they tried.

"We had an Indian summer this year," Mrs. Sealoft answered. "It was a little stuffy that night."

There was only one window in this room and it was between the dresser and the bed. "And you didn't hear any fighting? Your son didn't scream?"

"No sir," Mr. Sealoft said as he pushed passed his wife and crossed over to the window. "And unless this person was Spiderman, I can't see how anyone could've even gotten up to this window." Truman looked down, examining the house's white siding. It was too flat for anyone to be able to climb up through normal means, unless the person had carried a ladder over with them, which was something that would not have gone unnoticed.

It's only two stories up, Sasha noted from the bookcase. He was thumbing through a William Gibson novel. Any psychic could easily levitate that high.

You mean like Eddie?

Maybe like Eddie. Maybe somebody else. Sasha put the book back. "Is this where your son spends most of his time?"

"He's always spent most of this time up here, either reading, studying, or writing." Mr. Sealoft moved over to the dresser and picked up a glass trophy. "My boy's one hell of a writer," he said, pride and regret lacing his tone. He handed the trophy to Truman. Inscribed in the glass were the words 'West Virginia Writer's Association: Best Short Story.' "He beat a whole bunch of adult writers. Got published in a journal too." He took back the trophy and stared at it sadly. "Of course, he don't write no more," he said, sighing as he put the trophy back in its place. "He just sits on his bed until dinnertime, and then he comes back up and sits some more."

Truman swallowed, the pressure that he had felt while talking to Diane Garcia rearing back up, even more intense than before. "D-Did your son have any enemies?" he sputtered out abruptly, struggling to stomp down the feeling of impending failure welling up within him.

Sasha frowned in his direction, but didn't say anything, observing the window instead.

"Chris was a straight-A student and he was too big to bully," Mrs. Sealoft said, still standing in the doorway. She twisted the hem of her blouse anxiously.

"You fellas don't have to put up a front," Mr. Sealoft said grimly. He looked Truman dead in the eye. "Everyone in here knows that what's happening ain't natural."

There was no point in lying, so Truman nodded. Sasha walked behind him, taking off his black leather gloves.

"I got three other kids and my wife, all hold up in the living room night after night," Mr. Sealoft continued. "Me and my wife take turns staying up with the Remington. But…" he trailed off, starring out the window. Truman followed his gaze and noticed a tall tree close to the fence that separated the Sealoft's yard from their neighbor's. The tree wasn't in the Sealoft's yard, but it was close enough to the Chris' bedroom window to make it a possible witness.

"I haven't been sleeping much," Mr. Sealoft said suddenly, breaking the brief silence that had fallen. "Been reading my son's stories. He's writing this amazing book. I've never been one for much reading, but even I can tell that it's a real gem." There was a sheen of unshed tears in his eyes. "I'd really like it if he could finish it."

"Uh…" Truman and Sasha were standing outside the Buick, having collected all the of the witness testimony that they could from the Sealofts. "Before we go, can we, um…" Sasha was looking at him expectantly, his face unreadable. "This is going to sound kinda weird, but-"

"You want to interrogate that tree over there," Sasha said, his tone neither mocking nor skeptical.

Truman nodded, somewhat sheepishly.

"Alright, let's go." He started towards the neighbor's house, and Truman followed him, surprised at how willing Sasha was to go along with it. Herbaphony wasn't a common ability among psychics, and there weren't many uses for it in the field.

There weren't any cars in the driveway, which was good, because Truman wouldn't have known how to even begin explaining what they were going to do to a non-psychic. They levitated themselves over the side gate and were immediately met by no less than seven feline gazes. Apparently, the person that owned this property was a cat person. They were lounging all over the backyard, none of them too happy to have their afternoon naps interrupted by two strange humans. The leader, a big, brown Maine Coon tabby approached, ears pushed back and tail straight up and twitching.

Truman put his hands up defensively. "We don't want any trouble, pals. We're just here to talk to your…tree over there," he said.

The Maine Coon growled, unwilling to be placated with words because he was a cat and therefore unable to understand Truman's human words. The other members of his posse came toward him, just as angry and aggressive, and they quickly formed a defensive line of ferocious felines.

Sasha fired a warning shot, the psi-blast landing just in front of the Maine Coon. The cats all jumped and moved back a little, but their line didn't break and the shot only strengthened their resolve to rid themselves of the perceived threat. "You go talk to the tree," Sasha ordered, putting two fingers to his forehead and getting into a combative stance. "I'll hold them off."

Truman looked uneasily at the cat line, and then at his partner. "Please don't kill this person's pets."

Sasha stayed focused on his opponents. "I will do my best to avoid casualties," he said as a white shorthair hissed at him, "but I can make no promises."

Oh jeez. Truman hurried over to the tree, hoping that he'd be able to do this before he had to witness Sasha either commit murder or get torn to shreds.

The tree, an Ailanthus that had taken root in the back corner of this person's yard, had a pretty good view of Chris Sealoft's second story window. Although plants could not actually 'see' in the way that humans could, they still had their own way of perceiving the world around them, and there was a chance that this tree may have information relevant to this case.

The Ailanthus was about twenty feet tall, which meant that it was still young and growing by the standards of its kind. Its oval-shaped leaves were just turning from green to yellow, and the bark was light grey and appeared smooth to the touch. Truman was quickly able to form a connection. Hello, he greeted politely.

Hi! Hello! the Ailanthus greeted back, its tone one of pleasant surprise. Well I'll be! I've never spoken to a human before! Where are you from?

Upstate New York, Truman replied. Near Lake Erie.

I've got cousins up that way! The Ailanthus sounded very proud of that fact. My name's Changying.

I'm Truman.

So what can I do for you, Truman? I hope you're not here to chop me down!

Ah, no, I'm not.

Good to know! That would've been a waste of time on your part anyway!

Is that right?

Cut one of my kind down and we just grow back faster and stronger, the Ailanthus said, radiating pride. We're quite resilient, you see.

I can see that. A loud shriek came from behind him. Truman turned just in time to see an orange tabby fly through the air and land gracefully on its feet. It promptly got back into line and the standoff continued.

Oh god, Truman thought.

My cats are very protective of me, Changying said. Not that I need protection.

They're your cats?

They sharpen their claws on my trunk and they climb on me for fun. I'd say that makes them mine.

Oh. Well, the reason I'm here is because I wanted to ask you if you've noticed anything strange around here lately,' Truman thought, glancing back at Sasha. It looked like he had things under control at the moment, but Truman figured that he better move things along before a bloodbath could occur.

Okay! Go ahead and ask me!

Have you noticed anything strange around here lately?

I sure have! Been a lot of weird things going on! I've been sprouting around this place for decades and I've gotta say, this has been one of the strangest years I've experienced. And I've experienced a lot of years, in some form or another.

This was helpful to hear, but Truman needed Changying to be more a bit more specific. Can you recall sensing anything especially odd happening about…uh, three weeks ago?

Oh! Yes! That was the weirdest thing, let me tell you! This big cluster of butterflies was just flying around here!

Butterflies? What do you mean? What kind of butterflies were they?

You know, I'm not quite sure. They didn't come near me; they went into that structure next door. But they flew really close together, like they were one big butterfly.

How long were they in the structure?

Not too long, they went in and then they went out and flew off. And they had the worst stench to them! Blech, just remembering it makes me want to sprout thorns!

It seemed like Changying had actually caught sight of their culprit, although he didn't think that the tree's description of it being a rouge group of butterflies was accurate. It could be that Changying was picking up on some sort of insect-like energy and had merely mistaken what it was due to how unusual the circumstances were. So what did that mean? Was their unidentified paranormal entity some kind of giant bug?If so, why was it hypnotizing the students? Was it working with someone? You've been real helpful, Truman thought. I have one more question. Has there been anyone wandering around town that's similar to me and my partner?

I…hmm. The Ailanthus paused. I haven't sensed anybody, no. But maybe my cousins in town have. Try talking to them!

You guys are all over this place, huh?

Oh yes, we've maintained quite the roothold in this area for a long time. Had Changying been a person, they probably would've been puffing their chest out proudly. I'll send a message out to the others and let them know you guys will be dropping by. They'll get a real kick out of actually talking to a human!

Thanks, I'd really appreciate that. He looked back at Sasha again to find that the cats were now approaching him in unison, trying to intimidate him into backing up against the fence. Sasha, however, was determined to stand his ground. I have to go. But thanks so much for your help! It's been nice talking to you.

You're welcome, friend! Tell my cousins up north that I said hi!

Will do! Truman thought as he rushed away, reaching Sasha just as the Maine Coon pounced.

"How exactly does a tree perceive sight?" Sasha asked five minutes later when they were back in the Buick after successfully fleeing the cat gang. They'd escaped relatively unharmed, although the sleeve of Truman's jacket had sustained some minor damage.

"Um…" Truman had just finished relaying the information that Changying had given him, and though he hadn't been aware of how his partner would react to the outlandish story, he certainly hadn't expected the first question out of the man's mouth to relate to botanical science. "They don't see like we do. But they do have sight. Basic sight, like, they can tell red and blue apart and stuff like that."

"I would think that they'd also be sensitive to light as well," Sasha added thoughtfully.

"Yeah, that too."

"I used clairvoyance on you while you were communicating with that tree," Sasha continued. "I wasn't able to hear a lot, but it sounded as though you were speaking to a person native to this town. How is that possible?"

Truman honestly had no idea. While he was pretty adept at using his herbaphony when needed, the actual science behind it was not something that was well understood even among dedicated researchers. He shrugged weakly in response to Sasha's question. "It's just something that I can do. I don't really know much about how it works," he said, embarrassed about his lack of knowledge. "Sorry."

"Stop apologizing. You said that Changying was going to send out a message to their cousins in town, right?"

"Yeah, it's a pheromone signal thing."

"Perhaps herbaphonists are able to translate these pheromone signals into an understandable language," Sasha theorized, looking back at Changying. "It's similar to how animal telepathists can communicate with beings that have no concept of a human language." He turned back towards Truman. "Herbaphony would have to be a bit more complex, considering as plants do not have any sort of brain structure."

"I…um, wow, that's…" Truman was honestly shocked that at how much that made sense. "That's probably exactly how it works." Man, Sasha was really smart. Truman had been using herbaphony for nearly his entire life and he'd never even considered any of that.

"It's just a hypothesis for now," Sasha said, though he sounded pleased that Truman seemed to think that his idea had merit. "I'd have to observe the ability in use more often before I come to any definite conclusions."

Did…did that mean that Sasha was going to be observing him? Oh God. Truman did not know how to feel about that. "You're…uh, you're really interested in this," he said as he fumbled with the keys.

"I've never met anybody who could speak to plants," Sasha said. "It's quite a fascinating skill."

Truman put turned the keys in the ignition and the Buick sputtered to life. "You really think so?" he asked, glancing at Sasha.

"Plants are more foreign to us than animals. Even the simplest fish has a rudimentary mind that can be read and explored. Can you even use clairvoyance on a plant?"

"I don't think so, but I've never tried."

"Hmm. Try it next time and let me know if it works."

Truman did not really think that he'd be able to do it (after all, a plant did not have a brain for him to transfer his conscious into), but he agreed to try anyway, if only because Sasha really seemed to want to understand his power better. It was strange- nobody else had ever said they'd found his herbaphony fascinating before. He'd been asked about it casually, yes, and once in a while someone would ask him for advice about their own gardening problems, but Sasha was the first person to show a real, genuine interest in it.

Was there a chance that Sasha was only pretending to care in order to get close to Truman, and by extension, his father? It had happened before, but he really didn't think it was the case this time. Sasha was too…well; he'd only known Sasha for a short time admittedly, and some people were good at hiding their true intentions, but Sasha seemed like the sort of person who wouldn't have the patience for that sort of long-term deception. Sasha wasn't always honest, but he was blunt, and he didn't like to waste time on things that weren't relevant to his interests.

But who knew? Maybe Truman was wrong and all this was just him projecting his desires onto a guy he'd met last week.

"Do you think that it would be possible for you to teach that skill to another psychic?" Sasha asked.

Yet another question that Truman could not give a good answer to. "It's a genetic thing, I think, so I don't really know."

Sasha rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You inherited it from your mother's side of the family." It was a statement, not a question, but Truman gave an affirmative answer anyway. "A shame. A power like that would be very useful for my own studies."

Truman looked away, feeling heat creep up the back of his neck. "I've always been told that it wasn't very useful outside of a garden."

If Sasha noticed the blush, he didn't say anything about it. "Whoever told you that was both incorrect and close-minded. Your herbaphony has allowed us to confirm that there is a U.P.E lurking around and attacking the students. It's our best lead right now."

Lead? Oh right, they were on a mission that they really needed to get back to work on. "What did you think of Changying's story?"

"It's obviously not a group of normal butterflies," Sasha said as he telekinetically grabbed the file that they had smuggled out of the school behind the Principal's back. "However, an enormous bug-like creature makes sense." He opened the file, reading its contents as he spoke. "There were scratches on the window in Chris' bedroom. I attempted to use psychometry on them to see if I could find out what made them."

"Did you?"

"I didn't think so at first," he said, his eyes still scanning a sheet of paper in the file. "I had this vision of a blurry, almost mosaic-like image. I thought that perhaps too much time had gone by for me to be able to pick up on anything clearly. But I now realize that I had caught a glimpse of the world through our culprit's eyes." Finished with the sheet he was reading, he flipped it over and started on the next. "It has compound vision, whatever it is."

"That does line up with the butterfly thing," Truman said as he pulled out of the parking spot outside the Sealoft's house. "So we got us a U.P.E that has a good chance of being some sort of insect-like life form. Why is it doing this?"

"It's working with somebody," Sasha said. He sounded so certain that Truman had to wonder if he'd missed some key piece of evidence. Sasha was thankfully quick to let him know that he was just theorizing. "The victims are all from a very specific population. If this U.P.E is hypnotizing people, what reason does it have to go after the juniors at Braxton County High? Wouldn't it just attack anybody unfortunate enough to cross its path?"

Their U.P.E may not have had any reason to target the Class of 2000 specifically, but Truman could think of one person that might. "Mr. Papadonkus' students hate him, and from what we've heard the feeling is mutual." He frowned as he stopped at an intersection. "But how would an ordinary English teacher be able to control a creature that can easily subdue twenty-seven people?"

Sasha closed Eddie's file. "Perhaps he has a middleman working for him," he said, pointing at the file in his hand.

Truman hit the gas pedal, a sinking feeling in his gut. He had been hoping that Eddie wouldn't be involved in this, if only because his situation was difficult enough as it was. "Why do you think that?"

"A psychic's mental defenses are much stronger than that of a non-psychic's. Even a newly awakened psychic like Eddie would have some resistance to whatever hypnotic power this U.P.E has." He tossed the file into the back seat.

"But why would he help Mr. Papadonkus? He doesn't like the guy at all, and it didn't sound like he hated his peers, if what Randy told me about him was accurate."

"Blackmail," Sasha answered simply. "Randy Ratowski may not have been the only one to catch Eddie using his powers."

Jesus. Randy had said that he thought that Eddie was being forced to go along with an evil plot, but Truman hadn't actually thought that it could be true. He felt a new wave of pity for the teenager. "This is all just more theorizing, right? We don't actually have any evidence that this is what's happening."

"No, not yet. But I think that the only way to find out is to visit Anton Papadonkus' residence," Sasha said as he looked out the window. "So you're going to need to turn around at some point, because he lives on the other side of town."

Truman almost asked how Sasha knew where Mr. Papadonkus lived, but then stopped himself when he remembered that Sasha was a skilled telepath who had little regard for the mental privacy of others. He must've gotten the address by digging through Principal Stokes' mind. "The Principal said that he was out of town," he said instead, as he looked for a good place to make a u-turn.

"We're not going to talk to him. You're going to talk to the foliage in his yard," Sasha replied.

There was an empty driveway up ahead that Truman could pull into. "Oh. That's a good idea." He should've thought of it himself, really, but it still felt kind of weird to use his herbaphony out in the field. "We were supposed to talk to more witnesses though. They might be expecting us."

Sasha waved Truman's concern away. "Those witnesses have already reported everything they know to everyone who investigated before us. What new information could they possibly have? Our best option right now is to track down the U.P.E We find it, we find out what's really going on." He rested his chin on his hand, his gaze out the window. "Plus, while it's obvious that this creature has made an effort to remain undetected by humans, it's unlikely that it would try to remain hidden from plants."

Truman pulled into the driveway, thinking as he slowly backed out. Sasha was definitely right about that- herbaphony wasn't a common ability, and it was unlikely that anyone, be it U.P. E or human collaborator, would take measures to defend against it. "If we do this," Truman said as pulled back out onto the road, "I'm thinking we should probably stick to interviewing the trees. They have a better sight range, and if this thing is a bug, it's probably perched on one at some point."

Sasha nodded. "Can testimony from a tree be used in court?" he asked as they headed back down the road.

"I've never heard of it happening before," Truman replied. "But I kind of doubt it."