Click-clack, click-clack.  The old railway of Raven Bluff, that was once the heartbeat of the ever-growing city, would regularly clamber around the city limits.  It was the breath of air that brought life into its lungs.  

It circled the city, hauling the people of Raven Bluff from one spot to another.  

It was what you would ride to your first day of school.  What teenagers took to get to their first dance.  And what most of the working class road until they retired or died.

Now, a technological hub for innovation, Raven Bluff flourishes, but its old railway has slowly fallen into a solemn slumber.  

What was once the pride and joy of the city has now found itself being treated like your drunk Uncle Bob who has over stayed his welcome:  No one really knows how to tell old Bob that he’s unwanted anymore but its become ever-so-apparent that his wife was right to throw him out.

A rash of bushes and wild trees have sprouted between the town and its proverbial drunk uncle, building an natural border between it and the main boulevard it once mirrored.  Nonetheless, the metropolis has continued to grow; buildings peaking out over the  tree line, as the rails continue to decay.  

Despite the lack of trains, the railway still called itself home to most of the city’s hooligans, juvenile delinquents, and yes, drunk uncles all the way down to Raven Bluff Junction.  

Legends of the abandoned rail-line have crept their way into the public’s consciousness, acting like a parasite and latching on to those who are willing to feed it.  From The Devil’s Grin to Twitching Tom, the folklore has only grown as time has gone by.  

And much like every other place that parents don’t want their children to go to, generation after generation of Raven Bluff children have been drawn to the thrill of the railway and its legends.  That, however, is not why Dickie Thorogood is walking the rails today.  

Dickie, with his over-sized backpack and knobby knees, is headed to Raven Bluff Junction to meet Abigail Arden: every boy in school’s dream girl.  

It was an out-of-the-blue call early this morning from Abigail that prompted young Dickie’s current journey.  She anxiously asked Dickie if he’d skip school with her to explore the abandoned station.    

Having skipped school plenty of times before to watch over his parent’s toy shop – ThoroGoods – Dickie managed to get out a coherent ‘yes’, despite his mouth’s best efforts to jumble his words.

Now every step that Dickie took, from one wooden slab to another, his stomach gargled through his high-waisted khaki shorts.  

Anxiety riddled Dickie the way it would any socially awkward nine-year-old boy.  From the moment he left his apartment, Dickie struggled with what he’d actually talk to Abigail about.  He’d thought about this moment before but never in his wildest dreams had he ever thought of what he’d actually say to her.  

When he’d often tensed at home, frozen in fear, his mother would laugh at him and call him a mo-mo.  Today he had to avoid being a mo-mo.  

He rattled back through his brain, thinking of the best way to start their conversation, and could only remember think of the obvious: ‘hi’.  

“Well, that’s a start.”  He murmured to himself, kicking at loose gravel beneath his foot.

One thing he did know quite a lot about was toy making, in particular the electronics of it all.  His father would always joke that instead of being born with a silver spoon in his mouth, Dickie was born with a copper wire in it.  Dickie, however, severely doubted a mature girl like Abigail Arden would ever be interested in talking shop.  

Maybe he could manipulate all of that tech talk into real-life conversation.  He considered the possibilities and thought about the chocolate chip cookies he had packed away, imagining offering her a piece.  

“Do you accept my cookies?”  He’d barely get out before bursting out into laughter before he remembered there was always an option to reject cookies.   

His belly rumbled at the thought of the three-day old treats.  And then gurgle and splutter called back out to him, mimicking his stomach’s desperate plea.

Dickie wavered in place, looking out through the disheveled locks that spiraled down from his head.  He nearly jumped off the tracks in reaction to the foreign noise.

After composing himself, Dickie glanced down at his pants to ensure he liquidly held himself together after the fright.  

Deterred only for a moment, the curious boy leaned forward, inspecting his surroundings.  His almond-shaped eyes closed into focus, surveying the area.  Only the distant hum of passing cars held Dickie’s attention for longer than ten-seconds and a sense of relief washed over him.

He was known to have an active imagination, maybe it was just the pressure of his…dare he say it, date.  That brought trickles of sweat to his forehead.

Clearing his head, the light-footed traveler continued his journey.  

On queue, the convulsion-like noises clamored once more down past the rails and down the hill, and this time he was as sure as a television sharing the same decimal value as the square root of Pi, that he knew where the sound had rang out from.

Gripping the straps of his backpack, Dickie took a big gulp before stepping towards the strange sound.  The gravel underneath him shifting, gliding the young boy down to the grassy hill.  

Like most children, instead of walking, he ran, or more so nearly tumbled down the hill, his heavy pack just about taking his off his feet.

The worn soles of his shoes grasped at the dewy grassy, trying to find any type of grip to stop his momentum.  To Dickie’s surprise, a woman with one arm was leaning up against a tree trunk.  Moss has already began to crawl off of the bark and onto the motionless body.  

Dickie’s jaw dropped as white-liquid bubbled out of the woman’s mouth.  “You’re a Synth.”  He quietly said to the body, not expecting a response.  

Synth, of course, was how Dickie heard most people refer to the synthetic androids created by Raven Bluff’s own, Synthplicity.  

All the talk around school this past year has revolved around the company’s newest model, the Nextron, being released though most of the kids in school who did have a Synth of their own, only had one of the older models.

Now only ten feet away from the Synth, Dickie was as close as he’s ever gotten to one of the machines.  

Most of the time he’d only see the Synyths waiting outside of school to pick up their children.  Even then, it felt like only nitwits and dolts had a Synth, so it wasn’t like Dickie would ever get to see one again.  

He scowled at the thought of the Wide-Ys, a group of overweight bullies at school, barreling their way through crowds with their Synths by their side.  Billy, Tommy, Johnny, and Tony.  He really despised them all.

The closer Dickie got to the Synth, the more he could see the wear-and-tear that the droid has taken on.  Bare wire revealed itself through lacerations all across its body.  Where its left arm once was, a hollowed-out, circular bearing remained. 

Dickie knelt down beside the Synth’s body, brushing its hair out of its eyes.  “What happened to you?”  He asked the droid.

Build ups of the milky-white liquid began to form a thin-crust around the edge of her mouth.  Her jaw dropped and then pulled back up on itself, before dropping once more, loosening itself free of the ooze before saying back to Dickie.  “Huh-”  Her eyes blinked once and then twice.  “Hello.”  What remained of her clothes was an off-white jumper.

Dickie’s eyes widened at the Synth’s first word.  “Are you alright?”  Much like what he was used to being at home, he fell into caretaker mode, trying to patch up her open wounds and clean up the dried up liquid. Yet, the Synth didn’t respond, her eyes just slowly followed Dickie’s every movement.  

With a sudden jolt of remembrance, Dickie bounced back up to his feet like he just missed his bus.  “Abigail!”  He paced around, kicking himself for being so absent-minded.

“Abigail?”  The Synth asked, tilting her head in confusion.

Dickie stopped mid-stride.  “You…you speak?”  A fact that he knew to be true but couldn’t muster up anything better to say.

The Synth now straightened her back, sitting in a more proper position.  “Yes.  Yes, I do.  You asked if I go by the denomination Abigail.  I do not.  I am a Nextron Sub-Zero-Two-Eight Beta.”

The excitement seemingly pulled the overzealous boy into a crouch.  “Holy crap, you’re a Nextron?”

“Yes, I am.  Do most little humans repeat words they just heard?”

“What…oh, no, sorry, I just.”  Dickie eased his backpack to the ground while attempting to compose himself.  He recognized the feeling.  It was the same feeling kids got when it was a snow day or when they meet their childhood idol: a joy so overwhelming they couldn’t even find works to match how they were feeling.  Or, again, as Dickie’s mother would say, a mo-mo.  

He wondered how he could be so lucky to have found a Nextron.  Much like he did before an exam in school, he re-racked his brain and cleared his head.  “Sorry, I’m supposed to be meeting someone named Abigail.  But my name is Dickie, do you have a name or should I call you by your model?”  

“I was never given one…”  Her eyes drifted down to the floor.  “But I’ve always been fond of Guinevere.”

“Guinevere, like the stories?”

In a very child-like way Guinevere smiled from ear-to-ear.  “Yes!  The round table and all of the knights.  Guinevere was such an admirable character to me.”

“And look at you now!”  Dickie was now talking rather loudly.  He tended to do that when he got excited.  “From a sword in the stone to Synth in the sapling!”

Dickie stuck out his hand as the two shared a laugh.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you Guinevere.”  Her touch was cold compared to Dickie’s sweaty little palm but he managed to pull her up to her feet all the same. 

And now came the question he feared the most.  “Do you remember your owner’s name so we can get you back home?” 

“Home?”  Guinevere inquired.  “Do you mean who made me?”

“No, I mean do you live with anyone…after you were made.  Like someone who took you home after you were made.”  Dickie pantomimed himself walking happily along the way.

A sincere look occupied itself on to Guinevere’s face.  “Oh, no.  Synthplicity Beta models are never sold to the public.  I was relieved of my duties.”

“So they just?”  Dickie made the international hand-gesture of shooing someone away.  

Guinevere shrugged a one-armed shrug.  “Couldn’t say.  I went off-line one day and woke up here.”  Her eyes flickered, looking down at her missing arm.  “Oh, and missing one arm.”

Squishing his eyebrows together, Dickie offered.  “I can help you with that if you’d like.  I just need to go down to the old train station first.”  He smiled up at the Synth.  “I’m Dickie by the way.”

Stumbling forward, Guinevere grinned back at the boy and nodded.  “Our fortunes are now tied together then, Dickie.  Lead the way.”

The twosome rattled their way further down the train tracks, continuing towards Raven Bluff Junction.  

“Tell me again who this Abigail is?  She is your sister?”

“What?” The blood rushed to Dickie’s face.  “No…yuck, no.  Abigail is a…friend.”  The last word unnaturally twisting out of his mouth.

“You know, I knew an Abigail once…I think.”  Guinevere paused.  “Or maybe it wasn’t Abigail.”

Dickie struggled to keep up with his new long-legged friend.  “So what were you specializing in anyway, when, you know, you were still a beta-bot? Were you a Wellbot or a Rontech or…” He began counting on his fingers.

“My primary function was running the newly developed operating system and helping to catch any…” Her eyelids rapidly flickered.  “Bugs.”

“You know, one day I’m going to turn my parent’s shop into Synthplicity’s biggest competitor!  And we won’t use Synths to their ends-wit to clean up code.” Dickie said with pride.

Guinevere imagined Dickie standing tall over his high-tech kingdom, like Arthur reigning over England.  “You have quite the dreams young Richard.”

Dickie nodded.  “We’ve made some pretty neat things but with Synthplicity in town it’s tough to make ends meat.”  He kicked at the gravel along the rails and groaned underneath his breath.  “At least I have you now to help. ” He glowed admirably at the Synth.

A transportation shuttle hissed to a stop on the other end of the tree line, drawing both of their attention back towards the city.

“What of your parents?” Guinevere inquired.  “Don’t they help you?”

“They used to help, but then got too sick to do much of anything.” The young boy kept his eyes beyond the Synth towards the city.  

A family of three frolicked out of the shuttle, laughing in harmony.  Dickie silently watched through the thick trunks.  

“Too bad they’re not here, they would have been ecstatic to meet you.”  He forced a smile. “They’ve taught me everything that I know.  That’s why I’m sure I can help you, with you know.”  He darted his eyes to her missing arm.

Guinevere considered what Dickie had said.  The groaning of the shuttle moving on to its next stop filled the in-between silences.  “It will be a great honor to work along side you.”  She finally said, and it was true.  She didn’t remember much from her days as a beta-bot at Synthplicity, but looking down at herself she can tell that the young boy beside was a worthy partner.

The tracks seemed to go on forever, fading away into a blurry end.  The clouds overheard started to creep their way across the sky in a race to catch the sun.  

Guinevere rubbed the hole where her left arm once was.  “You really think you can replace my arm?”  She didn’t doubt the boy’s tenacity, she just wanted to be realistic about the situation.  After all, she’d never been out of the testing labs before.

“I know I can.”  He said with certainty.  “I’ve already got some limbs built out.  They’re a little rough around the edges but still.” 

“You have arms and legs from others like me?” Guinevere didn’t mean to sound alarmed, but how can you not when limbs were at stake.  She only had three more left.

Dickie’s shaggy hair flopped around as he ferociously shook his head.  “No, no, no.  I don’t really have the money to buy a new Synth, so I was attempting to build my own.”  He punctuated his thought with a shoulder shrug.

“Curious.” Guinevere was sure there were no nine-year-olds working on her in the lab.

“We’ll be at the station soon, see.”  Dickie pointed out to the horizon.  “See that tall building over there?”  Just up ahead a skyscraper cut through the clouds, its peak unseen.  “That’s your old home, Synthplicity’s headquarters.   Raven Bluff Junction is right across from it.  Actually…”  Dickie squinted.  “Yeah, there it is.”  He pointed again, this time towards a blurry little square building straight ahead.

A dot shuffled back and forth in front of the ever-growing square.  “Is that your Abigail?”

Dickie squinted even harder as if it’d help focus on the moving dot. “No, I don’t think she has a hunch like that.”

And in fact, the closer they got, and the more the person came into focus, it was clear that it was not Abigail at all.  A hunched, elderly man hobbled around the entrance of the railway.  He wore a green jumpsuit and pushed around a rolling bin with a broom popping out of it.  He’d pick up a piece of trash here and there, tossed it in the bin, and then scratch his balding head.  

Following the tracks, they lead themselves right up to a black abyss gated off by metal bars.  “The Devil’s Grin…” Dickie whispered over to Guinevere.  “They say beyond the gate is an entrance straight to hell.”

Guinevere raised an eyebrow.  “And that’s where we’re headed?”

“No, let’s wait for that old man to pass by and we’ll sneak in the – “

“Oh my!” The old man’s voice squeaked.  “Miss, you’re missing an arm!”  

Dickie and Guinevere froze in place, realizing the old man now stood just a few feet from them, broom in hand.

Guinevere turned towards the wrinkled man, leaning in to show the bare metal.  “It’s an old wound.”

Creases formed throughout the old man’s face as a ghoulish grin crept onto his face.  “Good…good.”  His dark eyes darted over to Dickie.  “Shouldn’t you be in school young man?”  His gaunt cheek stretched out as he chewed on air.  

“Well…I…”  Dickie stumbled over his own words.  He was never good at public speaking, and certainly didn’t thrive in confrontations.  

The old man’s face contorted as one eye widened in Dickie’s direction.  “Be careful what you do and what you say.  I too skipped school when I was a young man and look at me now.”  His yellow teeth peaked out from behind his chapped lips and a short cackle burst out.  “Don’t throw your future away.”

Dickie, now frightened, took a step back, nearly tripping on the rail.

“I think we should go.”  Guinevere said, striding forward.

“Yes, yes, you should.”  The old man nodded his head.  His head tilted towards Dickie, eyes peering over his hunched shoulder.  “Someone’s waiting for you down there anyway.”  He pointed the broom stick towards The Devil’s Grin.

“Abigail.” Dickie gasped and treaded towards the gated entrance.

“Beware.”  The old man cackled.  “Keep your friend nearby. She is your sword and your shield.”

At the edge of the darkness, Dickie peaked over his shoulder, nervous to still see the old man, but he was no where to be seen.

“Good.”  He muttered and peered off into the black abyss.  His breath became heavy and the nerves wobbled his chicken legs.

Guinevere grabbed hold of his bony shoulder.  “It’s okay to be afraid, Dickie, that means we’re doing the right thing.”

The young boy took a big gulp and nodded, grabbing hold of the rusted, metal bars in front of him.

A plume of dust wafted in the air as Dickie plopped his backpack down to the ground. 

“I think I can fit.” Dickie strained his voice as he ducked his shoulder in between two metal bars.  

He was halfway through the gate when he looked back.  Guinevere waited, unsure of herself.  “I don’t think I’ll fit through.” She said as she eyed the gap between the bars.  

Dickie wiggled his way through, gazing off into never-ending void behind him.  “It’s alright…I’ll be alright.”  He hesitated to say.  “I’m sure Abigail isn’t too far off.” He paused, reconsidering what he just proposed.  “But, if you wanted to, you can walk around to the front and meet me inside?”

Guinevere paused in apprehension, and then, trusting her new companion she grabbed hold of his backpack and strode towards the front of the run-down building.  

The shadows consumed Dickie the further he walked in.  It reminded him of being home alone at night, cautiously walking down the stairs to get a glass of milk before bed.  Much like those nights, any faint sound jolted Dickie nearly out of his shoes every time.

Monsters and vampires and ghosts are certainly scary, but what scared Dickie most was what he faced now: the unknown.  The unknown of what’s ahead of him.  The unknown of his parent’s health.  The unknown of being left alone.  But it was that untapped courage that most children carried within themselves to march on in the face of danger, and so he kept his head down and marched on, knowing it was only his imagination…or at least he hoped it was.

Soon the gravel started to flatten itself out and a faint light flickered in the distance.  A monolith of a concrete platform loomed over Dickie as he entered the station proper.  The walls scaled up for what seemed like forever until they arched to join together at its pinnacle.  The remnants of gold filigree outlined the ceiling in what one could only describe as angelic decay.  

On the far-side of the cavernous chamber, the track continued on, down into a narrow tunnel.  Dickie shook his.  “Oh, no, not that way.”  He muttered to himself. 

Standing up on his tippy-toes, Dickie surveyed the platform.  He hoped he’d see Abigail’s sun-kissed hair flowing down the stairs any moment now, but to his chagrin he didn’t.  

“Abigail?” He called out, just barely keeping his head above the platform.  His voice echoed, bouncing off every stone surface. 

Deciding it may be safer to be on the high ground, with all of his might, he struggled to pull himself up – his thin arms straining.  

First, he got his one leg up, and then the other when his arms finally gave way, his face skidding on to the ground.  

“Dickie? Is that you?” A soft voice answered.  It was as delicate as a rose’s petal and as sweet as a harp’s strum.  It was Abigail.

The young boy scrambled to his feet, brushing off any dirt that may have caked itself onto his face.  He looked through the fence that separated the platform from the staircase up to the station, but still no sign of Abigail.  

“I’m right here.” Footsteps began to tread down towards him.  “Come unlock the gate for me.”

Eager, Dickie skipped over to the gated door in three long jumps.  He traced his hands along the edge of the frame, looking for any type of lock, but found none.  The footsteps finally stopped and Dickie’s heart shot up into his throat.  A stout grown man stood on the other side of the gate.  The man’s mouth moved, but it was Abigail’s voice that came out.  The same voice he has been hearing.  “Dickie, is that you?”  

Dickie froze in place, now realizing that the man wore a plain white jumpsuit with Synthplicity’s classic black ‘S’ on the chest pocket.  He was a Synth.  Most likely belonging to someone who liked to remind the Synth of exactly what he was.

“Abigail?”

“Abigail?”

“Abigail?”

Different falsetto voices called out from behind Dickie, mocking his pre-pubescent voice, and all of them breaking out into laughter.  

A fourth, raspy voice broke through.  “Did you really think you’d have a chance with Abigail Arden?”

Dickie knew that voice, it was Billy Boyden, the self proclaimed leader of the Wide-Ys.  Dickie cringed, not wanting to look back over towards the track, but he did and there they stood, Billy, Tommy, Johnny, and Tony.  

Billy, the widest of the Ys snickered.  “Hello Dickie.”  His arms rested on his belly in an attempt to cross.

Without wasting another second, Dickie spun back around, shaking the gated door, hoping it would unlock.

“The door is locked.”  The Synth said matter-of-factly, still using Abigail’s voice.  “The only way out is back where you came from.”

Dickie’s heart pounded up against his chest, faster and faster.  He looked up, closing his eyes, hoping this was all a dream and he’d wake up any minute now.

“Too bad your parents were too poor to buy you a Synth.”  Tommy, the most round of the Wide-Ys jested.  “Heck, they could barely look after you and your second-hand clothes.”

One after another, each Wide-Y rolled up on top of the platform to face Dickie.  

“Yeah, if that Arden girl is going to date anyone it’d be one of us.”  Johnny added, his shit-eating-grin accentuating his double chin.  “Don’t you know who her father is?  She has no time for a Not-So-Thorogood.” 

The quartet cackled and Dickie stepped back into the gate, the metal rattling behind him.

“Where are you trying to go?  Don’t want to dance?”  Tony asked.  Having been left behind in school multiple times, he was nearly a foot taller than Dickie and was truly the scariest of the four.

That was a good question.  Dickie had never been in a fight and wanted to keep it that way.  Nor did he know how to fight or what the logistical first steps would be to initiate a fight.

“He ain’t got no math equation to get him out of this one, eh, Tony?” Billy said, elbowing the larger boy.  

Dickie wished he did have one to help him, but didn’t.  Of course he didn’t, he thought.  Mathematics and science deal with truth and what can realistically be done.  He wasn’t going to inject himself with a serum and become some sort of super soldier.  

Tommy, with his meaty fist, made the first move.  The punch slammed into the fence, as Dickie ducked, and Tommy cursed out.  

Billy’s sausage fingers caught Dickie’s shoulder as he tried to slip past the Wide-Ys. “Where do you think you’re going?” He punctuated the sentence with a punch to the gut.

The breath rushed out of Dickie’s lungs and he dropped to the cold ground, gasping for air.  Dickie started to think of the last time his parents were able to take him to the park.  He could remember that day like it was just yesterday.  The air was crisp and it was the last time Dickie could remember the sky being clear.  They laid, shoulder to shoulder, in the grass, giggling at one another.  It was the day Dickie’s dad pulled out his old pair of roller skates.  After his third fall, the three of them couldn’t stop laughing.  

A kick to the side brought Dickie back to reality.  He hadn’t noticed before, but tears were welling up in his eyes, curling down his cheek.  “Please…” He managed to mutter.  “No…”

The monstrosity of a child, Tony laughed.  “Look at him! He’s crying!”  He ruefully said.  “Do you want your mommy?” And then, in what might be the worst performance ever performed, he dramatically shot his eyebrows up as if he’d just thought of something he’d forgotten.  “Oh wait, she can’t do anything anyway cause she was too poor to even pay for a doctor!” He spatted.

Dickie stared up at the fluorescent lights.  It reminded him of the lights over the hospital beds, when his parents were still in the emergency room of the hospital.  The irritating prattling of the Wide-Ys melded into one constant hum of annoyance. 

It might be a better alternative, joining his parents in a peaceful bliss, Dickie thought.  He wouldn’t have to worry about the Wide-Ys or speaking with girls or getting homework done on time, but he wanted so much more.  He wanted to revolutionize the tech world.  He wanted to make Synths available to everyone, not just the toad-faced rich snobs, just like he said he would to Guinevere…

Guinevere? Dickie stumbled to his knees to look up but was immediately greeted by the sole of a shoe to the ribs.

“Stay down!”  One of the fatties blubbered.  

Dickie clenched his teeth, preparing for the next hit, but it never came.  Instead, a new set of footsteps echoed down the far staircase.  Everyone’s eyes bolted up at the Synth on the other side of the gate who in turn nervously peered at the adjacent steps.

“What’s going on down there?” A stern, deep voice asked.  “Whoever you are, you are trespassing on city owned property.”

The steps continued.  “If you’re still down there by the time I get to the platform you’re all under arrest.”

The Wide-Ys all looked at one another, unsure what to do until Billy nodded up the other set of steps and away from the white-clad Synth.

With a farewell thump into his chest, Tony spit out.  “Until next time, twerp.”

Dickie watched as the Wide-Ys not-so-gracefully tumbled back down onto the track and ran into the darkness of the tunnel.  He considered running after them and getting away from whoever was coming down to the platform, but decided against it.  Whatever…whoever it was, was a better alternative than having to deal with those four again.  

As the stranger made their final approach, Dickie brushed himself off, leaning up against the gate.  The steps slowed, as if trying to hear if anyone had dared to stay behind.  Finally, a familiar one-armed silhouette appeared from the darkness.

“Guinevere!” Dickie instantly felt rejuvenated.  

The Synth smiled, and in the deep, gruff voice said.  “I see it worked.”  Dickie’s canvas bag was slung around her right shoulder.  

Dickie gazed up at the Synth, impressed and proud of her quick wit.

“Oh my!” A third voice gasped and Dickie tensed at its sound.

Abigail Arden came running up to the gated fence, close to tears as she got a closer look at Dickie’s wounds.  She had on her freshly pressed school uniform – something she took pride in – and her hair was tied up in a ponytail.  

She pushed her fingers through to the other side where Dickie stood stunned.  “Are you alright?”

“I…but…”  Dickie stammered through.  That, in fact, was the extent of everything Dickie Thorogood had ever said to Abigail up until this point and struggled to even say his rehearsed ‘hi’.  

Guinevere, still smiling, seemed happy to oblige.  “You see, I knew the name Abigail sounded familiar.”  She started.  “And when I went around to the front, passing the Synthplicity building, I remembered the sweetest little girl who would pass by my lab every morning on her way to school.” She nodded over towards the tearful girl.  “I knew you were in trouble when I saw the same girl leaving the building, late for school.”

Dickie’s eyes nearly turned cross in confusion as he looked between the two.  “But…you live at Synthplicity?  That doesn’t make sense.”  Dickie tried to add one plus one but kept getting three.

Abigail snorted.  Dickie figured it was because she thought he was an imbecile, but who knew for sure. “Well, my father does own the building.”  She said it just loud enough to hear and then turned towards Guinevere.  

“Really?”  Dickie sounded genuinely surprised.  “He…he owns the…the…”  His brain couldn’t process someone being rich enough to own an entire building like the Synthplicity building.

She seemed surprised Dickie hadn’t known this before.  “Uh, yes, he owns the company, of course he owns the building.”  She kept her eyes down.  “Isn’t that why you like me?  That seems like the only reason boys want to talk to me.”  She swept one foot around in a circle, creating an outline of a circle in the dirt.  

Dickie took a step towards where Abigail still had her fingers protruding out.  “How would I know.”  He shrugged.  “I don’t have anyone to talk to who would have said that to me…or say anything for that matter.”

Now both of their heads were slinking down in pre-pubescent existentialism.  

“Here.”  Guinevere promptly said.  “Let me get this.”  With a swift jab, the locked door was no longer locked as it squealed open. 

An uncontrollable urge swelled up inside Dickie and he ran to give Guinevere a hug.  Pressing his face into her chest he could hear Abigail say, “I’m sorry about your parents by the way.”  She sighed.  “I wanted to say that sooner, I just…don’t know, couldn’t find the right time to say it…”

Dickie didn’t want to let go of Guinevere’s embrace, it’d been nearly two months now since he’d hugged his parents and he didn’t want to lose the feeling again.  He could see Abigail approaching from the corner of his eye.  She’d grown over the summer; she now stood taller than him.  Her uniform, though, did remind him of something.  “We’re late for school.”  He said half-heartedly.  

Abigail shrugged.  She never really seemed too interested in school from what Dickie could tell.  That’s not to say she didn’t get good grades.  She just showed up, did the work, and went home like it was a part-time job for her.  “Why don’t we play hooky and I can take you on a tour of the labs next door.  Guinevere mentioned you want to start your own company one day.  One to rival Synthplicity.”  She playfully raised an eyebrow.  

Turning towards Guinevere she added, “And I will find out why this,” She held out her hands.  “Happened to you, Guinevere.”

“Well, I…”  Dickie could feel Guinevere pushing him towards the young girl.

“Come on.” Abigail insisted. 

The nervous boy inched his way closer to Abigail.

“Besides, you came all this way to see me, so here’s your chance.”  She reached her hand out to Dickie.  He could feel the sweat building up on his palm already.

Dickie remembered what Guinevere said about being afraid before he went through The Devil’s Grin and how you knew you were doing the right thing, so he wiped his hand against the side of his pants and then reached out to grab Abigail’s hand.  

For the first time in months he could genuinely say he was happy as he let Abigail lead him and Guinevere up the steps on to the next chapter of his life.  

Copyright William Meier Jr. 2022 ©