BATIM: Memory's Twisted Lane

Chapter 5

I open my eyes and sit up. I've been sleeping in a room with two beds. Well, one's actually a bed, the other's just a hammock hanging over a trunk. On the wall at the foot of my bed is a Boris poster. On the wall next to the door is a Bendy clock.

I open the door to a hallway. There's a drying rack holding laundry at the end of the hall, and a door to the bathroom on the left side of the hall. The bathroom is slightly flooded with what I guess is ink. It better be. The thought of having to tread through waste to use the bathroom makes me want to skip going there altogether.

I go further down the hallway until I reach the end and turn right. Here, I enter the main room. Boris is sitting at the table at the far side of the room. There's a stove to the right. To the left, there's a bunch of shelves and boxes along the wall.

I limp across the room and take a seat at the table with Boris.

"Morning, Buddy," I say, "Sleep well?"

Boris nods contently. During the past few days, I've only asked him yes or no questions. It doesn't seem like he can speak. Boris is probably like those characters that are mute, like those classic cartoons about a cat trying to catch a mouse. They only make gestures to one another but they never actually speak.

During my stay, Boris has me sit at the table from time to time while he looks at my injured ankle. I don't know what he gives me, but somehow, his hospitality has helped me a lot. My leg feels much better now. It's still sore, but the pain is bearable. To pass the time, Boris has had me play card games with him. Go Fish, Poker, we used slips of paper as chips, I think we've just about played every card game in existence.

I look at a sheet of paper where we've kept score of the wins. Boris has fifteen wins, and I only have seven. Card games have never been my area of expertise.

I feel Boris tap my shoulder. I look up and see him holding my phone. He must be using the camera. He points to the phone in confusion.

"That's a phone. People use it to call people. You can do a lot more than that though. You can take pictures, write notes, play games.. It's like a pocket-sized computer."

Boris seems to find delight in the treasure as he holds it in front of himself, smiling at it. Eventually, he places the phone on the table and points to one of the posters. He's pointing at the one with his name. Then he points at me.

"What?" I ask him, "Do you want to know who I am?"

Boris nods.

"Well," I sigh, "My name's Heather. Heather Stein."

Boris' expression shifts to a type of negative emotion. He must have recognised the surname. Maybe he knows what happened to my dad. I notice that my phone is still recording, so I push the camera button on the screen.

As Boris prepares a bowl of Bacon Soup, I sit on a barrel in the corner, looking at a mess of papers taped to the wall. All the papers have parts of the characters' bodies arranged to make a distorted body of some sort. Strangely, I recognise this look. I looks similar to an elven girl I had drawn. The girl I've drawn has a brown hood and a white vest over a black shirt. She has brown skirt over leggings

A couple months before the studio closed down for good, I had participated in a contest where many children would send drawings of fan-made characters to Joey through the mail. One lucky winner would have their character featured in the next production. Unfortunately, I never got to see who won. The studio closed down before they could release any more productions. I guess I was that lucky winner. At least I know who won.

I see a calendar next to the door to the safehouse. It's set on June. Though none of the days are marked off, I can see the year 1988 on it. That's the year my dad went missing.