Young Writers Society

In that moment, a great, powerful gust of wind picked up from behind the fiddler and threw him into the motel room. The door slammed shut and locked behind him. For four solid seconds, there was complete darkness.

Then there was light.

Burning, bright, and harsh, the light came from three circular light fixtures on the ceiling. The room's walls were all a stark white, and the carpet, though once wet and red, was suddenly clean. The smell was gone, along with any signs of its existence apart from the bloodstains on their shoes.

Kazimir's ears started ringing, and his groaned and pinched his eyes shut as the sudden light blinded him. He opened them slowly, as slits, but his eyes started to tear up. He'd adjusted to the darkness, and the dim light of the outdoors. But this? This was a painful contrast, and his eyes were not ready for it.

He didn't make out what the rectangle on the wall was through his bleary, barely-opened eyes, but he swore he saw the flicker of the shadow man appear and disappear.

Kazimir squinted, stumbling forward towards the dark space on the white wall to try and figure out what it was. It was the only thing in this room now, apart from the blood, that was gone. It had to be important. It had to have significance.

His eyes finally started to focus.

As soon as he touched it, he realized it was neither a T.V., nor a frame.

It was a bulletin board.

Pinned all across it were pictures. Pictures of everyone in the room. There were pictures of himself with Megan. Him holding Bo, as a baby. Him with Marcus and Bo, watching Bo open a present.

Pictures he hadn't seen in years. Moments he'd forgotten.

All of that, mixed in with everyone else's memories.

His eyes had already been teary from the light, but the pictures didn't help.

There were pictures everywhere.

There was a sepia-toned one of Anna, his beautiful mother and him when he was about five. They both were happy.

There was a black and white one from May 1944, when he was ten and they went to the Grand Canyon. The memory brought Jay a momentary twinge of happiness before he he remembered who had taken the picture that day. Richard, his stepfather.

From age ten to age twenty there were no pictures, except for a black and white mugshot. It was dated June 7th, 1949. That was because that was when he was put in juvenile hall the first time. He didn't get out until the summer after he turned eighteen, and that was when he met... Sarah.

God, she was beautiful, even then. Photos of the two of them. At a dance hall. At their wedding. In front of the house that he'd saved up for years to buy. With Adam, with Susan, and then. Blank again.

He was older, and had a beard and long hair. He was wearing prison blues. Staring dead at the camera. He appeared to be in a courtroom. Beside that picture was one that appeared to be taken in the same courtroom. There were three people. One with long blonde hair. Alexandra. Like the Danish princess. The one that had loved him. The girl with dark hair. That was Sasha. She was beautiful and loved him too but had always been a bit flightier. Still, she was loyal. And Blake. The ex-football star. All in prison blues.

Beside that was a third picture. One of Michelle, the beautiful middle-eastern girl who had betrayed all of them. She was on the witness stand. Wearing a nice dress she seemed uncomfortable in. While she was betraying him under oath.

Beside all of those pictures was a magazine cover. It was Time, but it looked different. There were three adults sitting in a living room. In the corner was a black and white mugshot of Jay and beside it an old picture of a young woman who looked an awful lot like Alexandra. The other three adults in the living room, he intuitively knew. One was Adam, all grown up. The second was Amy, the daughter by Claire she'd never even let him meet. And the third was Deborah's daughter. Tara, who looked more like him than her.

And beside that was a color photo of Jay. He looked old and tired and sick.

That was everything. Jay took a deep breath, wishing he had a place to sit down.

It took Charlie's eyes a moment to adjust to the sudden change in light. He knew that had probably been intentional on the shadow's part. But thoughts of the shadow faded as soon as his eyes focused and he saw what the strange rectangle had been.

It was a bulletin board.

With photographs.

Charlie took a hesitant step forward, staring at all of the photos displayed on the board. It was a combination of his own and photos that must have belonged to the others. He saw pictures of him with his swimming goggles pushed up into his hair, yellow hoodie around his waist and arm slung around James's shoulder. He saw a picture from a family picnic - he was playing in the background with Lila and Jack. There was a Polaroid picture of Charlie next to Alex; it should have burned up in the fire with her.

Charlie had felt an overwhelming grief before, but now all he felt was...distant. Like all of the emotions he had felt earlier were too much for him to handle now; his body had decided it was easier to shut down than face how many people he had lost.

His gaze traveled to the other photos.

Apollo was alone in all of his. Kaz was with his family. And Jay's was a collection of different places and times - a black and white picture, a mugshot, and a magazine cover with a man who looked like Jay but wasn't quite him-

Wait, mugshot?

Charlie's gaze shifted back to the mugshot. Once he picked up on that, it wasn't that hard to find the picture taken in the court room - and the pictures of the man and women wearing the same blue jumpsuits.

He glanced over at Jay.

...That explained a lot.

The boy stared at the pictures. A bright series of pictures - so, so many pictures where none could have possibly be painted - depicting glorious scene after beautiful picture. He was on mountain tops where he remembered the wind biting his skin, in hidden springs where the fish swarmed around him, and so many other places, all with a precious memory attached. Centuries of memories, summarized in a very large number of images pinned to a board with the others.

They all had barely any pictures in comparison, but theirs told much more detailed stories. Or, he thought they might. The only familiar aspects of most of them were the faces of his group, their surroundings and the situations they were in were all completely foreign.

"That shadowy fellow sure knows a lot about us all," the boy said absently.

Kazimir was consumed by the photos on the board. He stared intently at each one, his eyes studying the details. Recalling the memories.

There were so many little moments captured between him and Bo when Bo was just a boy. He followed the pictures, watching as Bo grew into a strong young man, eventually shooting up past him in height. In one photo, Bo was about an inch taller than him and lean, but filling out a little. Kazimir knew that Bo was 17 at that time. Bo was giving Kazimir “bunny ears” with two fingers behind Kazimir’s head. They were smiling.

And then the pictures with Bo in them stopped.

Kazimir stared at his mugshot. He looked smug, but he had no right to be. He knew he kind of just looked like that, but still. It was not a happy memory.

The only photo after that was one of Kazimir holding who he knew to be his granddaughter. She was beautiful, with dark curly hair and a big smile. Mel, Bo’s wife was in the background, smiling as well. He could see the resemblance.

He hadn’t gotten to go to their wedding, but he had gotten to meet his granddaughter. He guessed that counted for something.

The pain of his own memories drove him to look at the others’ pictures. Charlie had some happy memories, which was good. He’d died young. Kazimir was glad he had some nice moments. Fiddler seemed to have traveled a lot, with many picturesque photos, though no one was really in them but himself. It looked lonely.

Then there was Jay. Kazimir quickly found the mugshot, and couldn’t help but compare. Jay was so skinny and tired looking. Kazimir was far more photogenic in his... not that it mattered, but it made a small part of him feel better.

It also made more sense of Jay. Kazimir felt like he could’ve met Jay in prison, not that he had words for it until now.

Fiddler boy’s comment slowly pulled him out of the picture mess.

“Yeah...” he said, grabbing a photo of him and Bo, and putting it in his pocket. Bo was probably five, and had painted all over Kazimir’s face (and the floor, and himself). It was cute. He wanted it. He was taking it.

“The guy really did his research. Seems a bit obsessive to me.”

Then he looked to Jay, pointing to Jay’s mugshot. “What’d you do?”

Jay took a deep breath. "Well, I did what I had to do for my wife and our child," he said. "And she threw it up in my face. And then..."

He trailed off.

"Well, I saved a dozen girls from the lies and cruelty of this world. I fought for what I believed in."

Then he turned to Kaz.

"What did you do?"

Saved a bunch of girls from the lies of this world sounded like a really fancy, self-righteous way of putting something that was worth getting put in prison over, but it was too flowery for Kazimir to know what exactly he meant by it. He narrowed his eyes as the skinny twig of a man.

He took a step closer to Jay, getting right up in his face.

“Take a wild guess,” he said with a growing grin.

"I killed a man with my bare hands," Jay replied. "They could never prove it, though. So try me."

Kazimir’s eyes lit up and his grin spread into a wide, menacing smile as he locked eyes with Jay. He leaned in just a little closer.

“Oh, that’s real cute,” Kazimir said lowly. “They could never prove all the crimes I’d done either. It’s funny, how fate works like that. You flirt with a bunch of girls and get put in prison, but not because you killed one man. Sounds like it balances out.”

"Ha," Jay replied. "What does it matter? It's true, I've only ever killed one man."

He smiled thinking of it, of Alexandra, of Blake and of Sasha, how they just did what we said that night and didn't question it. That was real power. He doubted that Kazimir ever had that kind of power in his life.

Jay could tell Kaz wanted to fight, and Jay tried to say to say as stoic as he possibly could. He knew the man would beat him physically.

Kazimir tilted his head to the side, glancing over at the pictures on the board before meeting Jay's eyes again.

"Why'd you kill 'im then?"

Jay smirked, thinking of Simon and his smug face. "He was threatening me. I had no choice."

You always had a choice. That sounded like an excuse.

“Threatened you with what?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"He threatened to take the woman I loved away from me. I wasn't about to let him to do that."

Kazimir blinked, his mischievous grin fading.

“Oh.” He paused. “Your wife, right?”