Chapter 8
Author's Note: So this one is ... heavy. If you don't want spoilers ignore this part, but there are content warnings for the following: attempted murder, implied suicide, talk of suicide, grief.
Schemer parked at the far end of the pier. The road stopped and there were only walkways now so he would have to find the place on foot. He re-read the note, checked a sign mapping out all the buildings along the pier, picked a direction and started walking. As he walked, he noticed that the buildings became increasingly industrial. Instead of finding empty stores for lease, like he expected, storage rooms and docking stations were instead filling his view.
Night had fallen completely and he wrapped his overcoat closer around his body. The winter chill was worsened by the damp sea air. A foghorn sounded in the distance and he startled with a small jump. The pier was becoming creepy in the dark. The silhouettes from all the equipment made him think of monsters from a child's nightmare.
" Focus. You're an adult, stop being such a baby, " he chastised himself. He looked up to find that the building he was looking for had appeared in front of him. He came to a stop in front of it. Looking around, he could see no one in view. He frowned as he realized that he was completely alone. His flight instincts kicked in and his brain was screaming at him to head back now but instead he moved closer to read the sign on the building.
Indian Valley Railroad Docking and Storage Unit
His heart was pounding in his chest. This couldn't be right. Why would someone have sent him here? Deciding that he didn't want to find out, he turned to leave. Or tried to, rather.
Suddenly, several large and foreboding figures stepped from the shadows of surrounding alleyways. He looked desperately back and forth for an exit but found none. They were closing in on him menacingly and he backed up slowly until his back was against the wall of the building.
A spotlight was suddenly trained on him, leaving him squinting and holding up his hands to protect his vision from the sudden brightness. As his eyes adjusted he made out three very large men standing in front of him, blocking any potential exits available to him. They didn't make any further moves towards him. He could also see the silhouette of another man standing behind the three that were blocking him in. He was shorter and slighter than the other three, but Schemer could still tell that the man was taller than him.
"Who are you and what do you want?" Schemer shouted, trying to sound braver than he felt.
The solitary man walked forward with purpose. Two of the men edged over automatically to make room for him to pass in front. Schemer suddenly recognized Paul Miller as the man walking towards him.
"Evening Schemer. What are you doing out here alone at night?" Paul asked cordially, as if there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about this situation.
Schemer blinked in disbelief. He was grateful to see a familiar face, but it didn't put him at total ease. "Paul? What's going on?" he questioned.
"Oh, that's right, I forgot. You must have received my note."
Schemer looked down at the piece of paper that was grasped tightly in his fist. He loosened his grip, feeling his fingernails cease their assault on his palms. He hadn't noticed how tightly he was clenching his fist. Looking back up to Paul, he felt even more bewildered. He didn't know that Paul had sent him the note, and he didn't know why he was behaving so strangely in secretly calling him out here. He felt suspicious and stood up straighter, attempting to look confident. "I did, but could you please explain what all this is about?" he asked, less than politely.
"Oh it's nothing really. Just wanted to chat somewhere private," Paul responded in his usual pleasant demeanor. Schemer could see that he was smiling, but unlike previous times it hardly reached his eyes. Schemer shivered as Paul looked at him, trying to stave off the cold frightened feeling sinking into his bones. It was a different smile than Schemer knew, and something about it shook him to his core. There was nothing friendly about it.
"Why here? And why did you lie about why you were calling me here? Did you come to mock me even more?" Schemer demanded, passing the note forward.
"Schemer, I need to be honest with you. I need your help," Paul explained, ignoring Schemer's questions as he took the note from him with a subtle smirk dancing on his lips, "You see, I have something of a problem, and I think you can help me solve it."
Schemer raised one eyebrow, his heart still pounding. The other three men hadn't moved a muscle and he still couldn't make out their faces. "What problem is that?" he asked cautiously, his eyes darting around to find an exit.
Paul's expression slipped into something darker. "It's simple really. I need to take over the Indian Valley Railroad and you're standing in my way."
The blood drained from Schemer's face. "What? What are you talking about? You're a stakeholder!" Schemer gestured wildly with his hands, unable to bear the tension any longer. "I'm just a lowly grunt in a station far from home!"
"Schemer, you don't quite understand the power that you contribute to Shining Time Station. It's funny, really, and a little ironic. But getting you out of the picture so far doesn't seem to have been enough to disrupt it."
"Paul, I have no idea what you're talking about. Seriously, not one clue. I'd like to leave now," Schemer was starting to get angry. He made to leave but the other three men tightened their ranks.
"Oh, Schemer. I can't let you leave," Paul said, with a shake of his head, feigning regret, "Get him."
One of the men stepped forward. Schemer, now anticipating some sort of attack, broke out into a sprint. He managed to slip by the outstretched arms of one of the men but couldn't move fast enough to outmanoeuvre the others. He was suddenly restrained in a powerful grip, with his arms pinned to his sides. Despite his struggles, he could not break free of the man's grip. The other two men were in front of him, one restraining his legs. Suddenly, he noticed something very disturbing about the three men. Their eyes were black. Not just the pupils, but the whites of the eyes as well. He gasped in horror, feeling like his innards were rearranging themselves.
"What's wrong with them?" he gasped, his voice quaking with fear.
Paul walked up and grabbed Schemer by the hair, yanking his head back and forcing him to look him in the eyes. "Schemer, I need you to do me a favour, okay pal?"
Schemer began to yell, and one of the black eyed men immediately clapped a hand over the lower part of his face, stifling the noise.
"I'll take that as a yes," Paul said as Schemer struggled, his breathing being partially obstructed by the man holding his mouth and nose. Paul pocketed the note Schemer had given him, and reached into his jacket pocket to retrieve a pen and another piece of paper.
"You know by now what's happening here, don't you?" he asked, as if he were a teacher quizzing a pupil on a subject. He flicked at the hand that was still clamped onto Schemer's face and the hand's owner let go.
"Don't yell again, you'll only make it worse for yourself," Paul instructed as Schemer gasped and sputtered for air.
Schemer gritted his teeth. "Why are you doing this?" he asked hoarsely.
Paul ignored the question and thrust the paper into Schemer's face. "Schemer, you're going to write me a very convincing note, to anyone of your choosing. If you don't, and if it fails to impress me, I promise you I will kill everyone you care about without a second thought. Do you understand?" he explained very slowly.
Schemer couldn't control the waiver in his voice. "And then what?" he asked, feeling numb as he considered what Paul meant by a 'note'.
Paul gestured to one of the men, beckoning him forward. Schemer couldn't see what was happening as his head was firmly held in place by Paul's grip on his hair. However, he could hear what sounded like chains, and something heavy being moved around. He stiffened as both of his legs were suddenly being handled and he could feel something binding around them. Paul snapped and the man that had been holding his torso unceremoniously dropped him to the ground, and as he twisted on the he struggled to view his new restraints. He gave a small whimper and tried to shuffle backwards but quickly found the end of the tether. His legs were wrapped painfully tight in heavy chains, which was wrapped tightly around two cinder blocks. The chain was locked in two places by large padlocks.
He started gasping in fright, lip trembling as the situation fully sunk in. He could feel the blood rushing in his ears and his gasps quickly turned to the verge of hyperventilating.
Paul kneeled down to meet him at eye level. "You see Schemer, you can't beat power. And to become even more powerful, I need Shining Time Station. Now, will you oblige me by writing your note?"
Paul dangled the paper and pen in front of Schemer, and with a trembling hand he slowly reached out to take it. He started to place the pen to paper when the tears started flowing.
"Look, do whatever you need to do to get into character, but for the love of God hurry it up!" Paul snapped, losing his temper, "I won't have you wasting my time any longer. Wax poetic to whomever you want, I don't care, but for the love of God. Write. The. Note."
Schemer began scribbling, he could barely keep the pen straight but he tried to make it as convincing as possible. When he was finished he offered it to Paul, head hung low to mask the tears streaming down his cheeks.
Paul reviewed it. "To Miss Jones? Nice, she'll enjoy reading this." He pocketed it once again. "Alright, bring him over here."
Schemer started to struggle. "No, please!" he begged as he was manhandled towards the water's edge. They forced him to stand at the very edge of the pier, cinder blocks dragged unceremoniously behind him, causing further pressure on his legs as the length of chain tightened under the strain.
"You're crazy," Schemer managed to choke out as he looked down at the water's edge.
"Schemer, all this could've been avoided. I want you to understand that," Paul said, condescension dripping in his voice, "If you had just known your station in life, we wouldn't have a problem here. For starters, did you really think you had a chance at becoming a member of the board? Did you really think you deserved a job under me? You're a conman who runs an arcade whose only currency is nickels for God's sake."
Schemer said nothing and stared into the inky depths, desperately hoping that someone would see them, that someone could help him.
"Did you really think you had a chance with Stacy? Where did you honestly think that story would end? Did you believe she was going to reciprocate your love? You'd get married and have children and live happily ever after?" Paul said cruelly.
Schemer lifted his head to look him in the eye, defiance spreading over his features.
"Oh my God. That is what you thought!" Paul exclaimed in disbelief. He followed with a small, careless shrug. "No matter."
He grabbed Schemer's tie and Schemer stiffened in fear, but to his surprise Paul just removed it carefully from his neck.
"I always keep a souvenir," he explained softly as he pocketed the tie. He laughed softly, as Schemer attempted to launch after him. Three pairs of strong hands held him back.
"COWARD!" he shouted at Paul's retreating back. But he was suddenly lifted in the air.
"No, NO!" he shouted as the three thugs slowly dangled him above the dock's edge. Unceremoniously, they dropped him. He immediately descended through the surface and immediately gasped in response to the clutches of the winter water's icy and unyielding grip.
He was struggling as hard as he could to no avail. He couldn't see anything, even with his eyes open. His lungs were burning, and he couldn't hold what little air remained inside them any longer. He was falling, falling down; the weight at his feet ensured he would never resurface on his own. Still, he struggled until there was no energy left to struggle. He finally expelled the remaining air in his lungs when he could hold it no longer. He felt his eyes closing and went limp. His last thoughts were of Schemee, Stacy and Billy, and the Station.
Paul crept into the Dillylick office, navigating to Schemer's desk. There were no cameras, so fortunately the time of the note's placement would never be known. He slipped it carefully inside a drawer. It would be disturbed in a short amount of time, when Paul would call the police for a wellness check after desperately trying to get a hold of his employee. The empty rental apartment, the car, the note would all be discovered relatively quickly after that. They may try to find the body, or not, but the case would be fairly open and close, nothing suspicious to note. A suicide, performed by a man anguished from losing his girlfriend and his job and having to restart in a new city, all-alone.
Conveniently, Paul also knew that the docks had no working cameras, rather he had seen to that they didn't. They worked in so far as watching Schemer drive into the area, but exiting his vehicle and the confrontation was not captured. To improve the credibility of the scene, Paul had ensured that a few key items were left in Schemer's car. Some debris from cinder blocks, bolt cutters, spare chain, and the keys to the padlocks were all present.
This one was simple, and he was experienced. He would have no issues getting away with it.
The next day…
Paul wondered how long it would take his workers to report Schemer missing. He guessed by ten in the morning someone would notify him at his Snarlyville office, however he derived a sick sense of satsifaction when noon came and went without issue. Isolated from his coworkers, Schemer had few friends here. Credibility went a long way in these scenarios. He decided it was time to look into the absence. He strode into the office, it wasn't unusual for him to pop in and out of the various locations. Even with his desire to relocate to Shining Time Station, it was always helpful to keep a good rapport with his underlings.
"Hey Jake, where's our friend Schemer?" Paul asked Schemer's neighbour as he passed their row of cubicles, concern evident in his voice. "I came here from Snarlyville, I had a meeting with him at one thirty and he didn't show."
"Sorry Mr. Miller, I haven't seen him all day. Have you seen Horace, Janet?" Jake asked the lady stationed in the cubicle on the other side.
Paul noted that Jake used his first name, another sign that they weren't friends with Schemer.
"Not since yesterday," Janet said with a shrug.
"Did he say anything to either of you?" Paul asked cautiously.
They shook their heads simultaneously. Paul thanked them for their time and decided to call Schemer's phone. He stayed close enough to his workers' desks so that they were within earshot. When the phone, unsurprisingly went to voicemail, he put on a thoughtful look and walked to his office, keeping the door open.
In ten minutes he tried again, this time leaving a message. "Hey Schemer, it's Paul, could you please call me back. Just wondering where you are."
Another ten minutes and he tried one last time. "Okay Schemer, just worried because we haven't seen you at work today. I'm going to try calling a few more people but if I don't hear back within an hour I'll be making a wellness check."
Next he called Shining Time Station. "Shining Time Station, Stacy Jones speaking." Stacy's cheerful voice greeted him.
"Stacy, it's Paul. How are you?" he asked pleasantly.
"Oh, Mr. Miller, I'm fine. How can I help you?" she responded, keeping her voice professional, but he could still hear notes of unhappiness seeping through her facade. Likely from the weekend's events.
"Well I'm hoping you might have heard from Schemer, I'm trying to get in contact with him." he explained, his voice sounding hopeful.
A pause from her end. "He didn't come into work today?" she asked. Now the concern was evident. "No, I haven't seen or heard from him. Let me ask Billy."
Again, a pause, she placed the phone on the desk. It didn't take long for her to return.
"Neither of us have heard from him," she confirmed.
Paul could picture the scene, she was surely standing at her desk, twirling the cord nervously around her finger as she bit her lip. "Well, thank you for checking. I'm sure he's fine, but I'll keep looking. Good bye."
Now for Mr. King. His tone would surely be less positive, as Mr. King was very intolerant to any job performance issues from Schemer due to current events.
"Schemer didn't come in? Paul, I hope you know that I'm expecting no leniency in this situation," Mr. King said grumpily.
"I agree sir, but I'd like to make sure he's okay first," Paul confirmed.
He called Schemer one last time, pacing the row of cubicles for good measure. When, yet again, there was no answer. He stood at Schemer's desk and paused, looking concerned.
"Haven't heard anything yet?" Jake asked curiously.
"No, I haven't," Paul said, shaking his head with worry, "Looks like I'll have to call for a wellness check."
He went to his office again, this time shutting the door. He called the non-emergency police number and confirmed that he had an employee who didn't show up to work, and that he had tried several places he might be but nothing had turned up. They confirmed they would go to his apartment and look into it.
By three in the afternoon, two uniformed officers entered the Station to speak to Paul. They were sure no one was at his apartment, and the landlord had allowed them into the unit to verify. They had checked with his uncle, who was watching Schemer's nephew, and he hadn't been there since the weekend. However, they did find his car on the section of pier that was rented by the Indian Valley Railroad.
"We have reason to believe that an investigation is in order," one officer said.
Paul looked distraught. "Please, if I can be of any assistance, let me know," he said gravely.
They asked a few questions of his coworkers, who were able to provide only minimal information. He was relatively new, and they didn't know much about him. He was quiet and a little strange, reclusive by the looks of it. Didn't really talk to anyone. By the time they made it to Paul they asked that anyone seated near the cubicle could be sent home or to work elsewhere, to which Paul obliged. They began collecting pieces off his desk, putting them in evidence bags. Finally, they reached the drawer.
Paul watched from his office as the officer retrieved the innocuous and slightly crumpled note. He watched as the officer called his colleague over. They looked it over once, immediately placed it into an evidence bag, and began to pack their kits.
Paul rushed out of his office. "Is there anything? I'm just wondering what I can tell my staff, or the president."
The officers exchanged glances. "We have to process some information and continue our investigation, but thank you for your help and patience. We will notify you once the appropriate parties have been informed," the first one said, offering Paul some contact information, "If anything else comes up, please let me know."
Paul thanked him and said he would certainly let him know anything. As soon as they left, he began to lock up his office. He was cautious, and moved slowly. There was no point in hurrying, but he still was steadfast with his time keeping. Any activities that were remotely suspicious would stick out like a sore thumb to any lingering police officers.
He collected his belongings, including the carefully packaged tie he had snatched from Schemer last night. He gently placed it in his briefcase and headed out the door. Perhaps one day he would be able to wear it. There was no point in collecting trophies if you couldn't show them off. But at this point it would be far too obvious, he couldn't draw any attention to himself.
After checking his watch, he decided enough time had passed to make his way to Shining Time Station. This was the part that was left up to chance; whether or not he could see the reactions resulting from his actions. It seldom worked out, however when it did there was no denying the satisfaction it delivered. Rarely was he able to see the immediate aftermath. However, he had a feeling that this time it would land correctly.
"Dad, could you please let us know what's going on?" Stacy pleaded with her father.
Mason Jones, the sheriff of the Indian Valley, was currently seated across Billy's desk. His face, usually warmed by a smile that reached the crinkles of his outer eyes, was marked with a heavy burden. Two officers were standing by in the Station.
"Stacy, love, we need to ask you and Billy some questions. It's about your friend Schemer," he said gravely.
"What about him?" Billy asked. His deep voice was heavy with worry.
"One of the higher-ups in the Indian Valley Railroad called here today, asking if we had seen him," Stacy explained, confusion and concern evident on her face, "Is he okay?"
He sighed and slouched forward, rubbing his eyes. "He is currently presumed missing. There is a search and rescue operation happening in a few key locations. Stacy, Billy, it doesn't look good." He was limited by what details he could share at this point, but saw no reason to hide the truth. It didn't look good, not one bit.
Stacy wobbled slightly and used the desk to steady herself. "Missing?" she whispered.
"There's an investigation currently taking place near Dillylick. I can't share all the details until I've heard anything further. I do need to ask you both, when did you last have contact with Horace Schemer?" Mason probed cautiously.
The silence that befell the room was deafening. Stacy's mind was racing, Billy looked stunned.
"Take your time," Mason said kindly.
"It was a few days ago. On Saturday," Stacy explained in a low voice.
"And how was he? What was his mood like?" he probed gently.
"I don't see what his mood has to do with anything," she stopped and made eye contact with her father. Realization struck her suddenly, "Oh. Oh no. No, no, no."
She stood up straight, smoothing her skirt and walked with purpose towards the door.
"Where are you going?" Mason asked worriedly.
"I'll find him. I know I will. What you're saying… What you're asking… It's not true," she stammered, opening the door and re-entering the main atrium of the Station.
"Stacy please, we don't have to talk right now, it's okay," Mason's voice was soothing, and he took a step towards her, "Why don't you please come back and sit down."
Her breathing started to hitch as she scrambled back towards her desk, grasping for the phone's receiver. "I'll call him, he'll answer me," she said as she tried to enter his number, her hands shaking with each spin of the dial.
Mason came over, kneeling beside her as he grasped her hand gently but firmly. "Stacy, please look at me."
She met his eyes once more and the corners of her mouth furled downwards. "Daddy, please tell me what's happened," she pleaded.
Billy walked out of his office, looking highly upset and deeply shaken. He looked towards the pair, but turned to watch the entrance of another officer.
"Sheriff? Could you please come outside for a moment?" the officer asked, her professional police voice gave nothing away.
He stood carefully and squeezed Stacy on the shoulder. She watched his back as he left and then turned to Billy, quickly standing and closing the gap between them.
"Billy. He was so upset when he left on Saturday. But I swear, he would never…" she trailed off, wringing her hands.
He nodded painfully. "Whatever happened, please listen to me when I say that nothing was your fault."
She looked up at him in horror. "Not you too. You can't honestly believe this, can you?"
He was spared from answering by the re-entrance of Mason. His face was dark, and his mouth a grim line beneath his moustache.
"Did you find him?" she blurted out.
Mason crossed the floor and stood in front of them. "There was a call from the Dillylick police. They've called off the search," he confessed, motioning for them to sit down.
"Mr. King and Mr. Miller are onsite now. They're being briefed as well. I'm very sorry to tell you both that this has turned into a recovery operation at this time. Horace Schemer is presumed dead."
Stacy shook her head as her face crumpled into tears. Billy turned away and stared at his hands.
"I know you were all close, I'm so sorry," he whispered, grief present in his own voice.
"How did it happen?" she gasped through her tears.
He paused with a deep sigh, "There's reason to believe that he took his own life."
With that, he procured a note and offered it to Stacy, who accepted it with one shaking hand.
"I'm very disappointed in you Schemee."
Schemee stood about four feet away from his Uncle. The landscape was indiscernible. Schemee tried to run to him but he seemed to float backwards, always out of his reach.
"No, NO! I'm sorry! Don't go! DON'T GO!" He cried out as Schemer floated into the background, disappearing suddenly in a smoky wisp. "COME BACK! COME BACK!" He repeated over and over again, but he never did.
Schemee awoke in a cold sweat, gasping for air. He was confused for a scant second, until his heart gave a painful clench. His face felt wet and he reached one clammy hand up to test it. He found he had tears running down his face.
He squeezed his eyes shut, hard. His uncle, his guardian, his best friend, his... father-figure, was gone. He would never see him again, never hear his voice again, never see any of his antics. None of that would happen ever again. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach, he managed to stagger to the bathroom where he was promptly sick. He walked to his room and lay flat on his back, unable to get back to sleep. The cops had arrived earlier that day, Allcott had answered the door while Schemee looked on from the living room. He knew. He knew immediately. He couldn't hear the cops but he could read it in their eyes, he could see it in Allcott's facial expression and body language. His uncle was gone, and they were coming to tell them.
He had been there once before, except his uncle had immediately come to his side. Not now, though. There was no one left to save him. His uncle couldn't save himself, how could he save Schemee.
He heard a gentle knock at the door, it broke him from his dark reverie.
"Come in," he said, noting how ragged his voice sounded.
Allcott entered the room. "I heard you get up, are you alright?" he asked sadly.
Schemee gave a humourless, breathy laugh. His heart gave another painful clench as what floated to his ears sounded like a ghost of his late uncle's laugh. "No," he said truthfully.
"Physically, then? Are you feeling ill?"
"I'm fine," Schemee lied.
Both were quiet for a moment. "Who has to go clean out my uncle's house?" Schemee asked.
"I'm not sure, likely it will fall to us. Undoubtedly the police have spoken to my brother, so I will give him a call in the morning to coordinate. Likely he won't have any need or want to go there, but he may have some familial rights that we should abide by," Allcott explained.
Schemee frowned. "Your brother?" he asked wearily, not really understanding.
"My twin brother, your uncle's father. Your grandfather to be precise," Allcott explained.
Schemee froze. His uncle's father? He never pictured his uncle even having a father, let alone a living father. It was a stupid thought to think, but he had never heard even a whisper of his name. He always assumed that his grandfather had passed away a long time ago. He suddenly wondered why he never bothered to ask. He wondered why he had never bothered to ask his uncle a lot of things.
"Where is he?" Schemee asked.
Jasper shook his head slowly. "I don't know, honestly. I'll have to get his contact information from the police."
"You don't talk to him?" Schemee asked. His grandfather would be Allcott's brother after all. Why wouldn't they have contact? And besides, surely Schemer would have had some contact with him if he were alive.
"No, I haven't spoken with him in nearly fifteen years. Longer than that for your Uncle," he added, while looking into the distance wistfully. "They're quite estranged. Actually, Jasper, that's his name, is estranged from practically everybody who knew him. Even me, his twin brother."
Schemee shook his head. "Why didn't he ever tell me anything about this?"
Allcott shook his head and gave Schemee's shoulder a squeeze. "I believe it was to protect you from his past. Some things are just too much of a burden for a child," he explained gently.
Schemee's eyes started to burn and he could feel his throat tightening. "Too much burden… Is that why he -," Schemee couldn't finish the question. He could barely picture the words in his head, let alone say them out loud. The thought of his uncle, who had been so loud and colourful and full of life, finding that he had no option but to take his own life left Schemee destroyed. He felt like the pieces of a puzzle that had rearranged, only to find that all the pieces had been broken apart. Worst of all, he had no idea how to put the pieces of himself back together again. He was irrevocably changed.
Allcott suddenly looked much older than he was. "I know this is incredibly hard for you, and we may never know his reasoning, but this is something that will be very important to talk about. We can take it at your own pace, for however long it takes Schemee," Allcott explained, using Schemee instead of Jonathan for once.
Schemee broke down into sobs. "Was it my fault? It was, wasn't it. I didn't want to see him after the last time he was here." He could barely breathe, and took great gulps of air to stop.
"It wasn't your fault. I need you to know and understand that," Allcott insisted kindly.
"How do you know that?" How?!" Schemee felt his anger rising, "Did anyone know him? Did I even know him?" He relapsed into sobs once more.
"I'll tell you what I know of your uncle," Allcott said sadly, "He had a tough early life, and eventually found happiness in his job, and then you. He loved you very much. Come to my study and we'll have a seat and can talk further."
A few days had passed. Stacy was seated at her desk. She blinked and stared ahead, saying nothing. Eventually, she lowered her head and walked over to where the arcade once stood. Now, only marks on the floor gave any indication that anything had ever been there. Even then, construction was taking place at an alarming rate and she knew she wouldn't see the floor for much longer. She placed both hands on the banister and then placed her forehead on top of them. She was too shocked to cry again, despite that being her main activity for the past several days. Now she would never know what could've been. There was no longer any chance of her even reconciling with him. He was gone forever, all because she had been too afraid to lose her job and the Station. They could've walked out together, waiting to see what the future had in store. Instead, her best friend had been violently taken out of her life.
For once in her life, she hated Shining Time Station. For the longest time it had been the only thing she had focused on. She was more concerned about some stupid building when she should have been concerned about her relationships with real people. In their relationship Schemer had shown her nothing but kindness and caring, in ways she never thought possible from him because she had never given him a chance. Why hadn't she noticed him sooner? And why, once she did share something with him, did she choose a train station over him?
A hand was placed on her shoulder. "Stacy, I'm sorry. This is... I don't even have the words to describe how terrible it is," Billy said quietly and wiped a few stray tears away. He must've walked up behind her at some point, she hardly noticed anything these days.
"It's all my fault Billy. I... I threw it all away," she said with a shake of her head.
"It's not your fault, and we'll have to deal with this somehow, together. But I think we should go see Schemee, see if there's anything we can do to help," he suggested kindly.
Stacy nodded, her heart breaking at the prospect. "Yes, we should," she agreed, "Could you drive? I don't think I could manage."
He nodded. "Of course, we'll shut down a bit early for the day. There's no more trains, and I think we need a break. Why don't you get the signs up and I'll go bring the car around the front."
The car ride went too fast for either of them. Neither wanted to go ahead with what was about to happen. Schemee had already lost his father before he was born, his mother when he was a young child, and now his last remaining guardian was gone too. They were so close and even though Stacy was devastated, she knew that this would surely destroy Schemee. She wondered what would happen to him, and thought of what little she knew about Schemer's own foray into foster care. She could scarcely imagine him leaving Schemee to do this same. But she would do whatever it would take to prevent it, and even when he turned eighteen, which was only in two short years, she wanted him to know that she would be there for him. Schemer would have wanted it, she was sure. But, again, why did he have to go?
She looked out the window, mournfully remembering all the times she had been driving with Schemer in the last few months. Sneaking off to dates across the Valley. Why had they been so secretive? It felt like a distant memory and she scarcely knew anymore.
They made it to Allcott's house where Schemee was staying, and introduced themselves to Schemer's uncle. He was kind, but they could see the pain in his face as well. He directed them out to a field where Schemee had gone walking not too long before.
It didn't take them long to spot him over the flat grounds, and he stopped when he noticed them walking over to him. The wind swirled Stacy's hair around her face as she took in the lost look on Schemee's face. It broke her heart and she struggled to create words, instead letting out a small whimper. Schemee noticed the mutual expressions of sorrow on their faces as well. He felt he was in good company, those who knew Schemer before all this had happened. The before times.
Schemee let Stacy embrace him. "I'm so sorry," Stacy whispered. The two stood like that for a moment that felt like an eternity, yet when they released he felt like he was missing something important.
His mouth twitched for an instant before he stared up at the sky. "I'd never felt like an orphan, not while I had him."