Chapter Text
Okay... so... why are we here?
Jesse waits for Polaris to answer her: The feeling that fills her senses, blankets her mind, spins in her vision. Her guiding star.
...Hellooooo?
No answer.
"Hello...?" Her voice carries tentatively through the motel lobby. Something tumbles in the backroom, a clumsy clunkclunkclunk, punctuated by a few distant shouts of 'sorry' and 'coming'!
A smile creeps onto her face. Her eyes sweep across the room again, noting the different stairs, doors, and exit signs. A little standee blocks off a meager counter space and scattering of tables, with a sign noting "breakfast 7-10 a.m.". All the drawers on the counter have knobs shaped like goats.
"Sorry, sorry," the voice continues, not having stopped since she first spoke up. It belongs to a little old man, barely tall enough to clear the front counter. "Do you have a reservation? I can get you checked in."
His big brown eyes look up to meet hers and his expression brightens tenfold. "Oh! Oh! Are you here for one of our tours? You know," the counter creaks as he leans forward, shirt buttons scraping the fake granite, grinning so wide his gums show. "The cryptid tour?"
O... kay. This is...
His eyebrows wiggle. "You seem like someone who has some first-hand knowledge of that. I can tell. I have a sense for these things."
Jesse can't decide what this is.
Polaris dances behind the man's head, giving him a saintly halo of blue fractals.
Infectious, actually, is what this is. She smiles.
"I guess... you could say that. Sure, I'll take the tour. Only if I can get a room after."
"Tour" is a generous name for the little shack and impassioned speech that accompanies it.
The old wood walls of the repurposed woodworking shed gleam with love and care, though the time put into polishing and repairing can't change the fact that it was, and is, an old shed.
The man guides Jesse through his museum of local legends, complete with glass cases and informational displays. There's photos, questionable taxidermy, newspaper clippings...
For an amateur run place, this is pretty neat, she muses. Polaris shimmers behind her eyes in some form of acknowledgement. Did you just want to take a tourist stop?
"But. Well..." The man comes to a sudden halt, dragging Jesse back to the present. His whole demeanor deflates, shoes squeaking on the floor, fists balled.
"Is... everything okay?" she asks. Polaris shimmers around the man erratically, and she can't parse what the entity is trying to tell her. "I've really liked it so far. The jackalope is pretty cool."
"Oh, no. Yes. No, I mean. Um. You've been really kind." Jesse has to lean forward to hear him, voice whispered and low. He fishes a keyring out of his pocket. "And I can't explain it, but I feel like you'd understand. I know a kindred spirit when I see one. I started all this because of what I've seen. What I saw."
Is this him winding me up? Part of the tour? Or...?
She follows him across the room to a roll-top desk against the wall. A small bronze key slots into the lock, and he hefts it up with some effort, unsticking it in some places. Jesse tries not to hove too closely behind him, taking in the myriad of newspapers, magazines, books, and print-outs scattered across the desk.
"This is my real work." The solemnity in his voice is equal parts pride and sorrow. Jesse turns to him, then follows his eyes to a small photo taped to the back of the desk. A little boy, no older than ten, grins back at her. He's dressed in a button-up shirt and sweater vest, hands a blur of motion as he sticks his tongue out.
"Who is...?"
"My nephew. That photo was taken 14 years ago. Before he disappeared."
Oh. Is this why you wanted to stop? "I'm... so sorry."
He reaches to the back of the desk, gingerly untaping the photo and passing it to Jesse with a sigh. "The police say he was kidnapped. My family, his family, say he was kidnapped. But I know what I saw."
He passes her a scrapbook, and she trades him the photograph back. The inside is filled with articles and excerpts about mirrors-- dream worlds, dopplegangers, scrying, alternate dimensions, astral spaces.
"It was the first summer rain," he continues wistfully. "I thought the puddle he jumped in was deeper than he thought. That he might be drowning. When I ran out to save him, it wasn't even an inch deep. But he was on the other side. In... in the puddle. He could see me. And I..."
The confession suddenly grips him, and his wild eyes look to Jesse, like he's expecting disgust.
"I'm so sorry," she repeats again. "I... I believe you."
"You'd be one of the few," he scoffs. "My family keeps asking me to drop it. They've threatened institutionalizing me. They think I'm crazy, or that I'm just trying to profit off his disappearance. I didn't even start this stuff until after," he gestures around himself broadly. "It was an excuse to get them off my back while I kept looking. And maybe meet like-minded people. Curious people. Believers. Who. Who might have answers."
Polaris floods Jesse's view again, trailing frantically toward the exit door. Hold on. Now's not the time.
"I. Look, I'm sure you might not think I understand, but I do. I lost someone too. I'm... I'm looking for my brother. He's been missing for years. And it's just me--" Polaris shimmers. "Mostly just me looking for him. It's... a really long story. And kind of unbelievable."
"It gets lonely."
"Yeah," she laughs humorlessly. "I'm... I'm sure your nephew would be glad to know you look for him still. I hope my brother would be."
The man looks to her, a faint smile across his face, but strong in his eyes.
"Thank you. Sorry, you didn't sign up for this. You wanted a tour and a room. Let's get you checked in. Maybe we can swap stories during breakfast?" He shutters the desk with a slam, locking it and turning for the door, where Polaris is still turning eagerly.
"Hey, there's no rush," she laughs. She'd almost rather continue talking to him. Maybe he has some answers that can help her. Or maybe she can help him.
"Of course not," he calls, already vanishing out the door and back into the motel proper. She has to hustle to keep up, shoes slipping in the grass. "Which is why you should get settled in first. Here," he passes her an actual, physical key for a room across the counter, with a little motel tag attached.
The Tributary. Weird name for a motel.
"And take this, too," he plops a small polished rock on the wood. It seems mostly black, with gold flecks in it, and a faint pattern that only catches in the light. Polaris spins around it contentedly. "You'll seem them everywhere if you stop in any of the shops. We used to be a mining town. Sometimes they'd find these weird rocks with gold inclusions in them. The ones sold now are fake, of course, but my nephew loved them. He was looking for them when he vanished."
The stone is cool and smooth in Jesse's palm. She watches Polaris form fractals around the man again.
"So you don't forget about him. Maybe it'll bring you some luck! Maybe you can give it to your brother, when you find him."
When. I like his enthusiasm.
"Thank you. I hope you find your nephew."
The rock in her hand almost buzzes with energy-- makes her arm feel numb, her teeth tingly, like a nine-volt battery touched to the tongue.
What is this? Do I need this? Is this what you wanted?
Polaris doesn't answer her.
"I'll see you in the morning then, I guess."