tetheredl1stener

[tetheredl1stener]

Astrid offers Clementine a faint smile, nodding as the oath is spoken. She slides the cassette into the player and presses play. A low hiss gives way to the sound of a phone ringing - then her mother’s voice, young and daring. She knows this recording. Not her favorite.

The conversation begins innocently enough: small town teenage gossip, served cold. A girl from their school was pregnant, and the whispers were that the father was a teacher. Other somewhat familiar names are thrown around casually, cruelly. Astrid keeps her gaze on Clementine, not the machine, studying the subtle ticks of her expression. Clementine holds everything so close to the chest, to the point where she still remained a mystery to Astrid. Eliza, especially, is treated like a landmine: circled but never stepped on.

The voices on the tape drift into something flirtier, the awkward, overeager rhythm of teenagers testing boundaries. Compliments wrapped in bravado. A plan to meet after dark at Mill Creek Wood. Astrid winces as the subtext sharpens into something more obvious.

She lets out a dry, uncomfortable laugh.  “God... we could’ve been sisters.” She turns to Clementine, an edge of amusement and disbelief in her voice, but also something else. Memory, maybe. 

 “Oh wait,” she says slowly, “you do have a sister, don’t you? A twin.” A flicker of an old recollection resurfaces. Mei asking Old Tatcher about his girls in that casual townie way.

“Kennedy, right?” Astrid asks, as if tasting the name.

                Clementine keeps her back to Astrid as she changes. The silence that follows after Eliza’s name leaves her lips is charged— almost as if Clementine doesn’t plan to respond— but after a heavy pause, her shoulders droop with a small, weak snort. She pulls the dry shirt over her head and adjusts it, lowering her head. “Teeth, really?” There’s an edge to her tone. Not anger or indignation; there’s something just below the words, indistinct. Clementine knows how Bone Gap feels about Eliza. She’s aware— perhaps more than most people— that Eliza wasn’t ideal in any way. But she didn’t deserve half the judgement. Things should’ve been different. “Where would we get teeth?” She asks as if she’s responding to an off-hand, harmless joke, ready to move past it, and tosses her shirt onto the other end of the couch to dry. 

As Astrid leaves to another room, Clementine finishes changing and grabs the pack of beers, moving them to the center of the living room. “Well, good thing we’ve got twelve!” She calls out, frowns, counts, then corrects herself: “Uh, eleven.” Well, ten. Clementine tugs another can free and snaps it open, downing a third of it in one, long gulp before Astrid walks back holding some truly ancient technology. Clementine studies the analog radio with some curiosity as Astrid sets it up, only glancing at her when she mentions Mei. 

       “Don’t worry,” Clementine reassures her; it’s evident by her empty stare that the thought hasn’t even entered her mind. It’s the first time Clementine has heard of someone recording and keeping organized records of people’s private conversations— especially for this long— but the fact that her late father is among them sheds away any reservations she might’ve had on the matter. On the other hand, she’s a bit amused by the idea of an old woman spying on half the town.

Clementine straightens her posture and raises her hand as if to swear on record. “I, Clementine Thatcher, swear that I will not speak a word about this to anyone, nor imply that I am morally above Astrid’s grandmother. I’m sure she had valid reasons for thinking my dad was a piece of shit.” She closes her statement with another gulp of beer, revealing a drunken smile when she wipes her mouth on the back of her hand. Clementine nods, not knowing what’s waiting for her in those tapes, and trying desperately not to think about it. “Ready,” she echoes.

[tetheredl1stener]

Astrid was moving on autopilot, her hands busy folding napkins and rearranging plates, so it took her a moment to register the figure standing in front of her. By the time she looked up and saw Rory Banks, the moment had already begun and there was no backing out of it.

She wasn’t the only one caught off guard. The murmurs around the festival stall thinned into silence, attention flicking toward Rory with a mix of unease and morbid curiosity wherever she moved. Astrid recognized the look: Bone Gap’s version of sympathy, sharp-edged and watching too closely. But staying home would’ve earned Rory a different kind of scrutiny. There were no winning moves, not for her.

“Yes. Me neither, to be honest” Astrid replied flatly, her expression unreadable. “Too popular to vanish quietly. Too particular for anyone else to fill in the role.”

She reached beneath the napkins for one of the fortune plates, porcelain warm from the sun, a little chipped at the edges. A familiar unease settled over her, the kind that came when rituals lost their meaning but still had to be performed.

She held out the plate like an offering.

“Alright,” she said softly, eyes on Rory now. “Pick your future.”

she's walking through the stalls, taking in everything. she thought it'd be a good idea to try and act normal, to show everyone that she was strong. deep inside, she wasn't, and she feels self conscious whenever she feels the eyes of people on her, hears the whispers about her showing up. she hates small town gossip, she can't win either way.

speaking breaks rory's inner conflict, and she's turning to see the younger woman. she had helped out once or twice with the stand, since she was helping the church. it was almost nice to see it back up. she's hesitating, and then steps up to the stall, digging around in her purse for a dollar.

she clears her throat slightly before speaking up. "didn't think this would ever come back up," aurora says before pushing the dollar into the glass jar.

[tetheredl1stener]

Astrid held Josephine’s gaze, unblinking. She didn’t move, as if stillness alone could pass for certainty. Her eyes searched Josie’s, looking for flickers of guilt or fear, for the faintest ripple beneath the surface, as if she could take a dip into her mind and swim into her secrets.

Still, Astrid smiled. A thin, knowing curve of her mouth. Just enough to unsettle. Just enough to let Josie wonder what she knew. “Straight home,” she said, brightly. Almost too brightly. Her voice carried that rehearsed ease, the kind used to invite suspicion.

By now, the crowd’s attention had turned elsewhere. The performance was over, which meant the real games could begin. She stepped past Josephine slowly, close enough to brush shoulders but careful not to touch. Her hand found the car door. She slipped inside without another word, the click of the door behind her soft but final.

In truth, old Missus Mei has always struck a sort of discordant chord within her. She reminds her a little too much of her own grandmother, a real taskmaster, one who doesn't tolerate fools or lazybones. Sometimes, Josie feels as though the old lady can see right through her—that this little façade of hers, Madam Mayoress, the ever-gracious lady of the manor, is one made entirely of glass, thinner than the wine glass stems that she comes close to snapping every night. It scratches an itch under her skin that's not wholly unpleasant; as though there's a part of her that yearns for somebody to snatch away her mask, to catch a glimpse at the rot underneath.

But then common sense returns like a slap across the face, and she comes crashing back down to reality. Internally, at least. As far as the expression she wears is concerned, she's serene, dignified, maybe too polished given they've just left a vigil for poor Eliza, but scrapping the pretence is harder than putting it on.

"Perfect." Car keys are plucked from the depths of her handbag, jingling some as she clicks a button and a sleek, dark car by the curb seems to come to life. Golden hair shifts as she moves her head closer to Astrid's own, dropping her voice down to a murmur, "Will I drop you straight home, or do you want to stop off somewhere on the way?" Another root through my closet, is the silent addendum, even if she isn't quite brave enough to voice it just yet.

[tetheredl1stener]

attuning to a darker frequency ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Astrid sat in the dark, the room only lit by the computer screen. The whole house was quiet, save for the hum of the machine and the soft bubbling of water from the fish tank.

She adjusted her headphones, silent for now, and let her eyes drift to the desktop.

eliza.wav

She clicked. Closed her eyes.

She had listened to this so many times she knew where the hitch would come, the wet rasp, the sudden silence. Every night, the same ritual: she slowed it down, sped it up, layered filters, dragged frequencies until the voice almost seemed to bend. Sometimes she could almost convince herself she was getting closer to something. Other times, it just felt farther away.

She played it backward.

She stared at the waveform pulsing gently across the screen.

Whatever it was, it didn’t belong on any emergency call.

Astrid reached for her notebook, flipping past scribbled timestamps and half-finished thoughts. She didn’t write anything down. There was nothing new to say.

Some nights, she told herself she was just chasing shadows.

Other nights, she wasn’t so sure.

[tetheredl1stener]

⁺₊⋆ no refunds from fate

location: at the town square

Astrid stood behind the folding table, arms crossed, the sun having painted her cheeks a soft, flushed red from spending the day in the sun. Her booth was modest, with a handwritten sign that read: "Fortunes $1. No Refunds from Fate." For as long as she could remember, her grandmother had run this same spot at the Summer Shine Festival, selling homemade fortune cookies with proceeds going to the church. It was ironic, really, as predicting fate through cookies wasn’t exactly holy doctrine. However, Mei had found a way to make it local: instead of vague platitudes, the fortunes came from the townspeople themselves. Weeks before the festival, she’d collect anonymous slips of paper from anyone willing to contribute. That meant tiny prophecies, sharp jabs, or inside jokes were baked into that brittle dough. Some were sincere. Others bordered on scandalous. Mei never censored a single one. 

After her death, Astrid let the tradition lapse, which stirred just enough small-town buzz to make her uncomfortable. People were knocking on her door, asking if she was alright, wondering what Mei would have wanted. Eventually, Astrid realized keeping the cookie stand alive was the best way to disappear back into the background.

“One dollar,” she called out absentmindedly, tapping the lid of the glass money jar with a lazy finger. “As always, I take no responsibility for whatever truth, or gossip, finds you.”

[tetheredl1stener]

“Betrayal, Spencer,” Astrid sighed, clicking her tongue and shaking her head with theatrical disappointment. She held up a hand near her mouth like she was about to reveal her deepest secrets, then whispered, “But between you and me, I’m not paying them anyway.”

She paused, weighing his offer. There wasn’t much she could tell him about the vigil. Like everyone else, she’d just played the role of bystander. Other things she could tell him would make her look insane. But Spencer had access. Real access. The kind she hadn’t been able to crack yet. The chief had stonewalled her during the debrief, polite but firm. She’d managed to swipe a rookie’s notepad, but the chicken scratch on it might as well have been written in code. This was her opening. 

“I accept,” she said simply, opening the driver’s side door before nodding at the passenger seat. “Hop in, princess. And buckle up tight.”

Spencer let a chuckle escape him as he nodded, knowing well just how special a driver she really was. In the years they've known one another, and there had been plenty, he had never come to see her between the lines. In all fairness, most parking spaces in town went empty on a busy day so the bad parking never bothered anyone. “  I should cuff you just for asking such a thing.  ” he went on to say, peering at her teasingly before folding the notepad back into his pockets and leaned against her vehicle. 

“  Ooooh.  ” he commented, noting the sour intonation in her words. “  But if an email had been sent, I wouldn’t be graced with your beauty.  ” Spencer gave her a small wink he hoped would lighten her irritating drive there, “ In all seriousness, someone brought up a few points during the vigil that left me kind of… questioning a few things. You got some time? I just got to drop a few things, but how about we do lunch?  ” He had thought of approaching his superior with the information, but wasn’t sure how important it could even be for the investigation. If at all. Astrid was easier to bounce thoughts off with, and he was comfortable doing so without worry. “  I got some leftover lasagna my old lady dropped off last night.  ”

[tetheredl1stener]

Astrid had always harbored a quiet reverence for Josephine. Naturally, Mei couldn’t stand her, claiming the woman walked like she was above Bone Gap, chin too high, heels too sharp. But if Astrid could’ve reshaped herself into anyone else, she would have used the mayor’s wife as the canvas. Josie moved through the world with a poise that didn’t falter, and Astrid found herself craving that kind of stillness. That was why she’d broken into the Thornburgh house more than once over the years. Other homes were for observation. Watching routines, deciphering truths from messes and half-folded laundry. But Josie’s house was for becoming. Astrid would slip into the closet like a ghost, carefully drape silk over her shoulders, mist herself with perfume, and study her reflection in the long hallway mirror. She’d practice Josie’s expressions: the calm half-smile, the lifted brow, the perfect way she never let her eyes give anything away.

That was the expression Josie wore now as they locked eyes beneath the oversized umbrella. Unreadable. No twitch to betray unease. For a moment, Astrid doubted herself. Maybe there was no secret. Maybe she’d imagined it all.

“Yes, of course. After you.”

She looks out of sorts here, in the church grounds, in Bone Gap. Always destined for higher things and better places, or so she thought. It's what she thought her husband was destined for; an office far more prestigious than goddamn mayor of some backwards town in the middle of nowhere. She's far too used to people feeling entitled to know her business, desperate to dig their noses deep where they don't belong—there's a reason she got the hell out of Mount Ida while she could.

"Astrid, dear," The smile is practiced, polished: all teeth, no sincerity. It's as meaningless as all the grim niceties she had been swapping with her fellow ladies just prior. Already she finds herself wishing that she had never taken her leave of them, much preferring the vapid civility of housewives to ...well, whatever it is that Miss Zheng has to offer. She finds herself unsettled by the younger woman, something set a-crawling beneath creamy skin at the mere sight of her, what she represents.

Even still, she has a reputation to uphold. (Half the town's already heard her request by now anyhow, and it would be painfully cruel to deny the girl a ride home in this weather.) Boots sidestep puddles here and there until Josie reaches her, beckoning her under the dark and oversized golf umbrella that Matt had reached for that afternoon leaving the house: he's somewhere around here, of that she's sure. Shaking hands and guaranteeing Eliza's swift return home 'if it's the last thing he does', empty promises being the only thing he's good for these days.

"Of course I can. I'm ready to go now if you are."

[tetheredl1stener]

She tosses a tight smile in Spencer’s direction. “Don’t tease me. You know I can’t parallel park.” Her arm sweeps toward the car behind her, dotted with scuffs and chipped paint from years of questionable parking. “Or, well… park in general.” Leaning back against the car, she keeps her eyes on him. There’s something rare about Spencer. A gentle, unflinching kindness. A softness not often found in people, least of all in Bone Gap. It unsettles her sometimes, the way he looks at her without suspicion. As if he doesn’t see the shadows trailing behind her. Her gaze drops to the ripped sheet of paper in his hand. “Anyway, some of your colleagues aren’t as nice as you.” She nods at the paper. “What are the chances you make three of those magically disappear?”

“Briefing,” she says dryly. “On what to do if someone new goes missing. Straight from the big guy himself.” Her tone sours at the end, and she can’t help the small eye roll that follows. “Basically? A meeting that could’ve been an email. But I get it. Everyone’s tense after the vigil.”

𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑡 OUTSIDE THE PRECINCT ♡ 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑛 𝑓𝑜𝑟 @tetheredl1stener

༻🕯️༺ㅤ𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: spencer x astrid ༻🕯️༺ㅤ𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔: n/a

Returning to the prescient after a long and uneventful day of patrolling the streets of Bone Gap, Spencer couldn’t believe his eyes. The one place where his authority was put to use and it’d come down to one of his own fellow coworkers. Or someone close enough to the shield that she could be considered so. Shaking his head in exasperation - though not disbelief - Spencer pulled out his pad and exited his vehicle. He had waited just enough time to watch her walk out of the building before approaching the familiar sedan and started writing down its plates. 

“  One would think that, after years and years of coming to this place, you’d learn to not park in front of the building. That you’d take the extra ten yards and park in the side lot, or even just up the street.  ” he went on to say, amused by the ease with which both steps could have been taken to avoid the ticket. Instead, he ripped the piece of paper from the bunch and waved it for her. If she even took a glance at it, she’d notice the lack of information written within. “  What brings you about here today, Sweet heart?  ”

[tetheredl1stener]

“Oh, the new person in town?” Astrid echoes, voice light but distant. “Yeah, I’ve seen them around.” Her gaze drifts away as Clem changes, her mind wandering towards the bizarre sight of the teeth in the vigil. “Are we even sure it wasn’t a prank?” She asks. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but... if this had happened a month ago, I’d have put money on you and Eliza.” Her face remains expressionless. Eliza is a subject seldom touched by the two, so always carefully thread around.

As she hears Clementine’s reason for the visit, Astrid takes a beat. The invitation she’d made, casual at the time, whispered on a night when her loneliness had slipped its leash, suddenly felt like a mistake. She hadn’t meant for Clementine to take her up on it. She forces a small nod, eyes flicking toward the adjoining room just beyond the living room. A soft blue light spills from the cracked door, casting a low glow on the wooden floor. From inside, the quiet burble of the fish tank hums like a secret being kept. The room waited, dim and strange, holding its breath.

“Of course.” Astrid swallows hard, forcing a small, tight smile. “Just... make yourself comfortable. And I’ll need a beer to get through this.” Her voice comes out thinner than she means, stretched between guilt and nerves.

Before Clementine can respond, she turns on her heel and disappears into the room. Her fingers move with practiced certainty, pulling open the cabinet at the base of the bookshelf. The old box was right where it had always been. Tucked behind a stack of blank cassette cases and a crocheted throw that still smelled faintly of mothballs and her grandmother’s perfume. Sloppily hidden, as if Mei had wanted her to find it all those years ago.

Astrid grabs the old radio player, the same one Mei used to bring outside when gardening, and rejoins Clementine in the living room, sitting cross-legged on the floor. She sets the radio on the table and the box between them, like a fragile offering.

“Please don’t judge my grandmother too harshly,” she murmurs, fingers already sifting through the tapes, all labelled with a clean and practiced handwriting. “She was... intense. A bit of a helicopter mom, sure, but she meant well. Just… don’t tell anyone about these, okay? People in this town would lose their minds if they knew they were being recorded, and really it was just my mother and… people my grandmother couldn’t stand.” A faint, crooked smirk tugs at her lips.

She lays out three tapes in front of Clementine, each one bearing her father’s name in that unmistakable cursive.

Astrid takes a long swig of beer and exhales slowly. “So... ready?” She holds up one of the tapes. “Chronological order?”

                “I could’ve called,” Clementine echoes, nodding, as Dio barges through to grace Astrid with his slobbering tongue and tufts of wet fur. She’s seen Astrid waver, unsure of how to interact with him and almost flinch as though she might get bitten. But she’s been getting used to him. Clementine smiles then puckers her lips, making kissing noises that turn Dio’s attention to her as Astrid turns around and rushes deeper into the house. He sits, and Clementine kicks mud off her boots before stepping inside. The indoor warmth soothes her, but suffocates quickly. While Astrid rummages around somewhere, Clementine sheds her coat and her flannel shirt, and when Astrid asks her to take off her shoes, she kicks her boots off, too. 

       “Oh, don’t worry. I found someone to interface with the chickens. Have you met them?” She lowers the pack of beers to the floor and throws the towel over her head, drying her hair with no regard for her tousled appearance when she reemerges. “Rolled into town on a beaten up thing and got stuck here. Aubrey. And not really good with chickens.” 

Clementine notes the bundle of dry clothes and feels a little guilty. She’s not used to being on the receiving end of such polite accommodation, of such considerations— especially when she’s drunk— but she tries to acclimate. “Oh— It’s—... A towel was enough,” Clementine lets it fall around her shoulders before she crouches down with the second one to dry Dio with it. He licks her face. Clementine elbows him a little before he lies down, and on her way to stand up, she grabs her half-empty can of beer and takes a swing. 

       “Thanks, though, I’ll… change?” Clementine steps over, self-conscious about Astrid’s gaze on her. Her words land a little flat, and Clementine nods with pursed lips. Gnarly is one way of putting it. With a sigh, she reaches out and takes the dry set. “I mean, yeah.” The silence stretches on for a while longer as she examines the fit and nearly spills her beer. She does accidentally drop the sweatpants. “Whoever left the teeth there—” her jaw clenches. She feels the knot in her stomach as she leans down to pick them up. Clementine avoids eye-contact; she’s disturbed not only on behalf of the whole... fucked up situation with Eliza, but with what she saw on her phone. That unmistakable face. “—Fuck, I don’t even know. Can you even arrest someone for that?” 

She drains the rest of her beer before crushing the can around her fingers, filling the room with a rapid series of short, metallic sounds as the aluminum bends against the pressure. Clementine exhales, then finally announces the reason for her visit: “Oh and, by the way— before you think I’m just here to fuck up your night,” she looks at Astrid. “I’m— actually, well, maybe—... but no. I remembered the tapes you mentioned once, and I thought, really, that there’s no harm in listening to them,” her words are laced with doubt. She’s not sure who she’s trying to convince. “Do you still have them?”

[tetheredl1stener]

Astrid lay sprawled on the carpeted floor of her bedroom, her laptop humming beside her, playing a show she wasn’t really watching. The knock at the front door made her flinch, but when she heard Clementine’s voice she exhaled in relief. She sprang up, padded down the stairs, and unlocked the door with more urgency than she meant to show. “You could’ve called,” she said, the words coming out with a sharper edge than intended. A judgment, but not a real one. She liked Clementine. Considered them, maybe, friends, which was still a strange and tender concept for Astrid.

Dio barreled in past Clementine’s legs, soaked and wagging. He jumped at Astrid’s knees, tongue lapping at her hands as she instinctively drew them up in defense. Her grandmother had despised animals, too chaotic, too unclean for the house, and Astrid still carried that caution in her body, even if her heart leaned otherwise. Dio was the only animal she had any real experience with, and even that came laced with a shy kind of awkwardness. She reached down and pet him gently, glancing up at Clementine with a crooked smirk. “Come in.”

The door creaked wider as she dashed off to the guest bathroom, returning seconds later with towels. She tossed two at her guest without ceremony, not stopping as she climbed the stairs again. Visits weren’t her specialty. She didn’t quite know what was expected. “I’m sorry to ask,” she called from the landing, “but can you take off your shoes?”

She returned a moment later, slightly breathless, a bundle of dry clothes folded under one arm. She dropped them over the back of the couch. “There you go. I’m running low on eggs, so making sure you don’t catch a cold is priority number one.”

Leaning against the armrest, she tried to catch her breath, brushing a damp strand of hair from her cheek. Was she being weird? Definitely a little weird. Her gaze flicked to Clementine, studying her face. She still didn’t know why she was here. The silence stretched a little too long.

“So… gnarly night, huh?” she said, attempting levity, but the weight of it all lingered just beneath the words.

A MIDNIGHT VISITOR.

✴ ˚ — closed starter, written for @tetheredl1stener  !

                The rain has been falling steady for hours, flattening the world into a grey blur of static, droning sound. It’s the kind of night that makes windows glow like lanterns, but at the edge of town, it’s mostly the long roads that gleam like black mirrors. Clementine’s boots slap wet against the pavement, the pack of beers sloshing quietly in the crook of her arm and one in her hand. Dio trots close at her heels, soaked and steaming. Stubborn dog. He would rather be at her side under this rain than to stay inside— but Clementine understands his quiet whines every time she goes somewhere without him. She was gone for most of the day. He’s just feeling a little bit lonely. 

It’s close to midnight, and she’s half-drunk. Not sloppy, not gone. Just enough to dull the edges of the night and keep her legs moving forward. The weight in her chest hasn’t left— not since the vigil, not since the offering plate, not since someone dropped teeth into that old dish and arranged animal bones on it like it was a normal thing. She couldn’t sleep. Probably wouldn’t. That face in the photo still burned in her mind. Wrong. Unfamiliar. And she remembered Astrid, offering something that was familiar, more familiar than any of this, in a sense, some weeks ago. Clementine had said no, at first. But now she finds herself seeking out those old, forgotten recordings, as if they'll offer her something. Some distraction, at least.

       Mei's old house is perched at the edge of Bone Gap, much like Thatcher’s farm. Astrid's bedroom light is still on. Clementine had hoped it would be. She climbs the porch steps, Dio giving one good shake that sends droplets flying like bullets. The beers clink together as she adjusts her grip and knocks— three soft taps, then a clumsy fourth. And then, feeling self-conscious about showing up this late, Clementine calls out, just to reassure Astrid that it’s someone she knows. “I brought beers!” She says, breathless. Dio gets excited at her voice and throws in a bark of his own. “And Dio,” she adds, more quietly. 

[tetheredl1stener]

⁺₊⋆ closed starter for @thornburghs, outside first assembly baptist church (after eliza's vigil)

Astrid pressed herself against the cold stone wall of the church, the overhang above her offering little shelter. Summer rain tore from the sky, soaking her clothes and turning her hair into damp, curling strands that clung to her face. The vigil had abruptly ended. Most of the townsfolk had fled quickly, coats clutched tight, and Astrid might’ve done the same if the storm hadn’t made the walk home feel like a punishment.

Just ahead of her, a cluster of women huddled together under large dark umbrellas, their voices low and dire. Astrid’s gaze fixed on one particular figure in the center, poised and framed by golden hair. Josephine Thornburgh. 

Astrid’s lip curled into a half-smile. She shouldn’t. Really. But that itch again, the one that came whenever a mystery hovered just beyond reach, was stronger than sense. Before she could talk herself out of it, she saw the figure stepping away, offering parting words to the circle of women.

“Mrs. Thornburgh!” Astrid’s voice rang out, too loud against the quiet drum of rain on stone.

Heads turned. Astrid was already moving, two long strides into the downpour, rain instantly plastering her hair to her skull. She raised her arm against it, ineffectively, like a child caught in the wrong season. “I’m so sorry to ask,” she said, voice steady despite the twist of nerves in her gut, “but could you drop me off at home? I didn’t expect the rain to fall this hard.”

She knew how she looked: half-drowned and harmless. She was sure the other woman would see right through it. All eyes on her, she waited for Josie’s answer.

[tetheredl1stener]

" She felt it under her skin, in the marrow of her bones. That hunger to piece things together. "

Astrid Zheng ✦ 27 ✦ The Audient ✦ She/Her ✦ Emergency dispatch officer

001. Astrid’s grandmother was the kind of woman whispered about in Bone Gap. Mei carried a storm in her voice. Low, resonant, the kind that made grown men stumble over their apologies. Her eyes, sharp as broken glass, seemed to see straight through skin and bone, into whatever truth a person tried to bury. Most kept their distance, afraid of what secrets she might speak aloud. But at home, away from the eyes of the town, Mei was someone else entirely. She was warmth in a worn cardigan, and the scent of jasmine and old books, her hand resting gently on Astrid’s back as she bent over schoolwork. Astrid’s mother had vanished from Bone Gap before memory could properly root her face. Mei was the only home she’d ever known, and in Mei’s eyes, Astrid was the world. 

002. Because of Mei, Astrid grew up as the kind of child other parents whispered about and warned their kids to avoid. It stung, but Astrid never blamed her grandmother. How could she? Even as a girl, Astrid was already becoming a mirror of Mei. Sharp-eyed, clear-spoken, and a little too knowing. Besides, her childhood was soaked in the warmth of dumplings made from scratch, the hum of telephone wires of the switchboard, long walks where Mei pointed out every plant and every liar in town, and afternoons spent scattering salt - not for curses, but to kill the gardens of people Mei couldn’t stand. Whatever the world saw, Astrid saw only love.

003. As Astrid slipped into her teenage years, the shadow of her missing mother began to stretch longer across her thoughts. Whenever Astrid asked, Mei would stiffen, change the subject, or grow uncharacteristically quiet. So Astrid stopped asking. Instead, she began her own quiet excavation. Late at night, while the house creaked with sleep, she combed through the catalog of old switchboard tapes. Mei had kept them all meticulously labelled and dated, and though the ones marked with her mother’s name were tucked behind boxes, the hiding was almost lazy, as if Mei had wanted Astrid to find them eventually. Through crackling voices and static-laced laughter, a portrait began to form: a girl with wildfire in her veins, always pushing against the boundaries of Bone Gap. A girl who dared too much, loved too hard, and left without goodbye. In those tapes, Astrid learned who her father might have been. She learned where her mother had run to. But more than that, she began to understand the ache that lived in the spaces Mei wouldn’t speak about.

004. The thrill of unraveling a mystery sank its hooks into Astrid. It began with her mother, but once that trail grew quiet, she turned her attention elsewhere. She had time. Endless time. Her grandmother, once sharp and quick-tongued, was beginning to slow with age. Friends had never come easily to Astrid. She was too strange, too quiet, too much like Mei. And so she filled the silence with secrets. She started with those who had known her mother: old friends, past lovers, anyone with a whisper of connection. She mapped their lives like a puzzle. Who they married, where they worked, which of their children were her classmates. She’d spot them in town and study their faces from a distance, unnoticed. She learned quickly that people reveal far more when they don’t think they’re being seen. Soon, her notebooks filled with tidy handwriting and quiet accusations. Who hated whom. Who was sleeping with someone they shouldn’t. Whose child didn’t quite resemble their supposed father. The secrets of Bone Gap became her private archive, each revelation giving her a strange sense of control. But curiosity has a way of deepening into obsession. Eventually, peering through windows wasn’t enough. She began slipping through unlocked doors, moving with the lightness of someone half-forgotten. She usually never took anything. She never left a trace. Mostly she just observed. Her favorite place, by far, was her father’s house. She’d let herself in while the family was out, curl into the couch like she belonged there, and watch TV in the hush of the evening. Sometimes she’d fix herself a cup of tea in his kitchen, pretending he’d made it for her. For those quiet, stolen hours, she let herself believe in a version of life where her mother had stayed, and where Astrid had been wanted. And when the fantasy grew too hard to hold, she slipped out again, unnoticed.

005. Her obsession with how people moved through the world, what they revealed, what they hid, eventually gave her purpose. Psychology felt like the natural path, a sanctioned way to keep studying human behavior without the need for locked doors or notebooks hidden under floorboards. She moved to the city alone, folding herself into a quieter life. For a while, things almost felt normal. She made friends. She stopped sneaking around. She even found her mother. Older, wearier, but unmistakably the same restless soul who had fled Bone Gap decades ago. Their eyes met across a crowded street. Her mother froze, recognition flashing like lightning. Astrid held her gaze a moment longer, then turned and walked away, heart pounding but face unreadable. Then one day the call came. A nurse with a soft voice told her that Mei had fallen. Badly. A broken hip. Bedridden. Slipping. Astrid left everything and came home. For months, she lived in limbo, watching the woman who had raised her fade slowly and stubbornly. When Mei finally passed, the town barely blinked. A handful of old neighbors came to the funeral. A few more lingered at the edge of the cemetery, murmuring as if afraid her ghost might still be listening. Astrid buried her alone in the cold. The town returned to silence.

006. Grief sealed Astrid off from the world in a quiet, suffocating cocoon. For years, she drifted through life with the volume turned low. Her morbid fascination didn’t leave her, it merely dulled. She still catalogued the calls that filtered through town like whispered confessions, still slipped into empty houses to study the shape of people’s lives. But the thrill was gone. Everything felt clinical. Hollow. Most days bled into each other with the  of answering desperate, tangled calls from anxious neighbors, then numbing herself with endless true crime documentaries. Real tragedy, at least, came with a structure. A motive. An ending. But when Eliza Grant vanished, something stirred. The itch returned. She felt it under her skin, in the marrow of her bones. That hunger to piece things together. To know. She found herself looking at people differently again, listening harder. She even began thinking about old classmates, flickers of memory surfacing like forgotten photographs. The son of the Fat Cat’s owner, he’d vanished too, nearly twenty years ago. A strange coincidence, or a buried thread waiting to be pulled? Astrid wasn’t sure yet. But the silence inside her had shifted. And she was listening again.

[tetheredl1stener]

Havana Rose Liu photographed by Valheria Rocha for The Sky is Everywhere, February 2022.