Chapter 2
The Good Old Days
During the conversation in which Didi revealed those memories to me, I had one main question for him. I thought to myself on whether I should phrase it delicately considering it had taken years of rapport building to get him to confide this in me, but I figured being as straight-forward as I could was the most honest option I could go with. "Why didn't you tell anyone until now?"When I asked him that, his eyes dropped to the ground and he crossed his arms. Obviously, I was going to ask that, and obviously, it made him uncomfortable. But I couldn't just ignore such an important part of the story. He saw everything. He heard the man's name. His parents' killer's name. So, specifically, why didn't he tell the police when they asked him? Was he scared? Did he not have the confidence to confess these facts to them? If he were to tell them now, would the information be useless? It's still ten times more than what their investigation ever yielded but there's a good chance Marlo, the killer from his story, fled town years ago. But I just had to know. Why didn't he say anything?
"...I didn't remember."
"What do you mean, Didi?"
"...I didn't remember at first. It's taken a lot of time for me to remember all this... and a lot of effort. The little memories, the distant fragments... it hasn't been easy to recreate the picture in my head, Andy..."
It was so cruel. The truth of his past was lost to him for quite some time.
Well, that's the reason he told me at least. I have no reason not to believe him but there'd be no way to know if he was lying. I didn't want to press it past what he told me... it felt very special to me that he allowed me to know all this. Hypothetically, if he was lying, what reason would he have to? Well, like I pondered, could it be due to fear? Or maybe insecurity? Didi's always been a frail soul, an introvert at heart since I met him all those years ago. I know he's dealt with terrible anxiety and overloading nervousness in day-to-day encounters. So, through my logic, the biggest reason he'd have to willingly omit the information to the police would be because of a lack of confidence. "Maybe," perhaps he thought, "My memories are wrong." What he said next would sort-of confirm my hypothesis.
"The name of the burglar—no, the... the killer... I only recently remembered it. Within these last couple weeks."
"So," I thought. "Why dont you go to police now?" But I didn't get a chance to ask it.
"I didn't want to go to the police, because..."
It must've been a natural question, I guess. He probably knew I was thinking it.
"Well, I... a lot of the details, I'm not so sure on... it's all... it's all really fuzzy. Sometimes I remember the events a little different, sometimes I realize I was wrong about what I remembered, and... I can't even be sure that his name really was Marlo... maybe... maybe I just made it up..."
"Don't say that, Didi! You wouldn't do that! Not on purpose, at least..."
He looked up at me with a tenseness in his brow. His gaze fell back to the floor as he continued.
"You remember how I was told that they found the body of the other guy?"
"Yeah. What about it?"
"...You're the one who's always trying to figure stuff out, Andy. Think about it. He's... he's dangerous."
What did he mean by that? I started thinking about it, trying to piece together the conclusion of his mind. If his memories were accurate... they heavily implied that Marlo killed his partner in crime. Whether it was for taking an injury, finding the attempted murder of a seven-year-old unacceptable, or some other reason, he deemed it necessary to murder him. If that was the case... what if he was still in town and he came for Didi? If he was willing to put down his partner then he'd have no problem with finishing the job and taking out the last witness, even if it was years later. I see. That was why he was afraid. My face must've conveyed my realization.
"I... what if he's still out there? If I told the police now, then... they'd start investigating him, and he'd somehow hear, and... what if he came back for me? Andy, you... you have to keep this a secret." His eyes started to shine with a wet gloss over them. "I... I don't wanna see him again... I'm scared, Andy... I don't wanna di-"
I threw my hand onto his shoulder. "Didi. Don't worry." I smiled, trying to be as reassuring as I could be. "I'll keep your secret."
I understood. He was afraid that if he told the cops then the killer, who was potentially still out there, would somehow hear about it and come seek his revenge.
I was the only person he had divulged all of this to and so he begged me to promise him that I wouldn't tell anyone. He was my scared, weak, little baby brother. And I really viewed him as that. No longer was he an intruder, an invader to my life. He was my brother. How could I go against his wishes in this scenario? He truly believed his life was on the line. I could tell. The fear was palpable. And so, I promised.
But, knowing all that happened to him is why I so heavily regret how I met him. He was lacking solace, looking for one single source of comfort, and I glared at him with the irrational fury of a sun. He was injured in heart and soul, traumatized, a frightened prey animal. He had just lost his entire life. He witnessed his parents being murdered and maybe even had the misfortune to gaze upon their gore with his own eyes. No matter how tough you are, no matter how much stuff you've been through in the past, nothing can shield your heart and mind from that. That's a blow you can barely take, if you're even able to. I keep thinking of Didi with words like "weak", but... now that I think on it... he was really strong to get through his childhood as stable as he did. If I was his age and the sole survivor of the incident that took my mom and brother's life? If I was the only possible witness to that tragedy? I'm not sure my psyche would've taken it.
...But, did his psyche even take it? A strange, distant memory welled up in my mind.
It was sometime around 1:30AM. I had just awoken from a peaceful sleep with a strong need to urinate. So, I crawled out of bed and left my room, making my way down the hall... when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. It looked like there was someone downstairs, just standing in the middle of the entranceway. It was really dark and I couldn't see that well, so I had to squint and really focus to make out the figure. Once the darkness in my vision began to fade, I realized who was standing there. It was Didi.
I didn't quite understand what he was doing. He was obviously looking at something. So, I looked forward to try and see what he was staring off at... but all I saw was the wall. I looked back at him and tried to focus a little harder, honing my senses in, when I noticed two things. One, it looked like he was shaking—or shivering. Two, I could hear what sounded like a soft whimpering coming from his general direction. I leaned over the railing a bit to try and discern whether they were whimpers or sobs when the old wood creaked, causing him to sharply turn his head and look up at me. He found me immediately within this darkness and looked into my eyes. Again, it was really hard to see, but... I'm sure his eyes were full of tears.
I lightly called out to him. "Didi? Are you okay?" But he didn't respond. He just looked up at me with a really vague, fearful expression on his face. "Hold on... I'll be right there."
I tiptoed to the end of the hall and made my way to the stairs, hearing a set of two pitter-patters as I made my way down. When I reached the bottom and looked around the room... he was nowhere to be seen. I looked at his door, and my memory may be mistaken, but I swear for a split-second I saw the last moment of it closing.
Maybe it was that strange, cruel strength of youth that kept his mind shielded from all the trauma. Maybe it was the cruelness of the inability to remember that kept him safe. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't supposed to get those memories back...
Throughout the years, up until the point we're at now, he's slowly become more... distant. Though at one point we had built a rapport and had become at least a bit close, I suppose our relationship was a bit like a bell curve. At one point, I could convince him to let me hug him and we could spend the summer doing nothing together... but that was a thing of the past. And even then, it felt like there was something preventing us from growing closer. The more he remembered and the more his personality matured, the greater the expression of contempt on his face grew when he looked at me. Where once there was a tolerable apathy on his face, there was later an expression of disdain that became harder for me to deal with. The more he was able to stand on his own, the more he sought to keep me away. And to be honest, it hurt. Like I've said... I did—I do truly view him as my brother. So, why doesn't he treat me like his?
I really wish he did.
~
I've always enjoyed school. My father—while emphasizing the importance of family and the nobility attached to ours—tells me not to be a braggart, so let me just say that I've always done well academically. Along with my gifted physique, I could go anywhere I wanted in life. I could be an engineer, a business owner, a statistician... hell, I could even be an astronaut if I really wanted to. But no, the idea of those paths isn't what sets my heart ablaze. I want to be a detective.
I've always found the idea of sleuthing around, finding clues, and solving mysteries to be so romantic. I absorbed myself in mystery novels in my early teen years and would spend countless nights dreaming up ways that the fictional detective would apprehend the culprit, with his magnifying glass in hand and a list of findings ready to recite.
The enjoyment of literature was one hobby that Didi and I both shared. Though, his taste differed from mine a bit. Where I enjoyed works by Agatha Christie and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Didi preferred authors like Mary Shelley and Robert Louis Stevenson. In fact, one of the times where I saw him at his happiest was when I got him a hardcover copy of Frankenstein for his birthday.
But those were only his conventional favorites. Didi had a bit of an... eclectic taste. He enjoyed combing through medieval encyclopedias and bestiaries as much as he did reading a thriller. There was something about the half-reality of those things that really appealed to him. An intersection between fantasy and reality. It made his eyes light up. So, I was always happy to see him indulge, even if I didn't quite understand the appeal.
But back on the topic of school... not only did the days go by really smoothly for me, I was able to play the part of a detective every now and then.
September 29th, 1980: the case of the missing sketchbook.
"Now, you said you were a member of the Acrylic Arts Club, is that right?"
"Y-yeah, I am. So what about it?"
"Well, I looked into it, and... it's true. But one thing seemed strange."
"...?"
"I went and spoke to the other members of the club and they told me that last Wednesday, the day the sketchbook went missing... you alone didn't show up to the meeting!"
"G-gyaaah!!!"
December 1st, 1982: Mr. Anderson and the yard stick.
"Mr. Anderson, believe me, I know you must be distraught, but..."
"Then why are you questioning me and not one of those stuck-up students!? Who gave you the authority anyw-"
"That's just the thing, Mr. Anderson... I did talk to your students. All of them. And through them, I was eventually led to speak with Ms. Williams, and..."
"G-gulp."
"It just so happens that she told me you borrowed her yardstick for 20 minutes on the day of the incident. Now, if we look at the timetables from our witness accounts..."
"Fine, fine! Don't embarrass me any further, you caught me..."
April 13th, 1983: Andy Ardio and the bloody nose.
"Throughout my investigation, there was one thing that didn't make sense to me... why would he accuse me of all people of punching him in the face? Then, I realized... there was only one person that would put him up to such a thing."
"Yeah? And who would that be?"
"I'm so glad you asked."
You get the picture. Throughout my investigative exploits, I got to know a lot of people and made a number of new friends as I traveled up in grade. One friend of note was my buddy Daffy Pink. He, like me, was a detective! Or, rather, a detective to-be. I played Watson to a number of his scholastic cases.
October 10th, 1981: the question of the flunked class.
"Now, Andy, tell me one thing. Do you think Mrs. Court, who prides herself on the number of students who pass her class, would teach so poorly as such that her class wouldn't be ready for this quiz?"
"Well, no, of course not. Her record shows that she's a great teacher."
"Exactly. So, Andy, what does this tell us?"
"...It tells us... that the problem was with the students?"
"Close, my friend. The problem was not with the students, but rather the test papers they turned in."
"...Oh!"
May 30th, 1983: the summer break scandal.
"...Everything points to him, but... but how could he be the culprit if the incident occurred during summer school while he was on summer vacation with his family? Dammit, Andy! I just can't figure it out..."
"Well... maybe... just because his family was on vacation doesn't mean he had to be, too..."
"No, no, it couldn't be that. His sister told us that he... that he... eureka, Andy!!"
June 2nd, 1984: the day there was almost no graduation.
"Sniff, sniff... Daffy, I... I almost wish we hadn't found the missing diplomas. I'm happy we solved it, but... I'm gonna miss you!! Who else am I gonna investigate with!?"
"Oh, Andy. Don't cry, my friend! Because as long as you're here, there'll be no unsolved mysteries in these halls. Just look at the cases you've taken on by yourself. You don't need me, Andy, you're a capable investigator by your lonesome!"
...You get the picture. I got on with him really well but all good things come to an end and he eventually graduated. Though, I heard a rumor that after graduation he joined the police department and is now an actual detective! Sweet, if true! That just means one day I'll see him again and we'll be working side by side, like the good old days.
Even though I'm hopeful we'll see each other again someday, there's one thing about him that always pissed me off... his name is so much better than mine! At least in terms of what sounds detective-y. Like, "Andy Ardio" has the alliteration factor, but... the mouthfeel of Sherlock Holmes thrives on the fact that the beginning letters sound different. Daffy Pink—now that's a good name for a detective. That's just the kind of name you could see having a whole book series for. "Andy Ardio and the mysterious interloper" or "Daffy Pink and the golden spoon"... there's just something about it that sounds more natural. Well, I don't dislike my name one bit. My father gave it to me with a lot of pride in his heart and I appreciate it. I just wish it had more of a gumshoe feel to it!
But I wonder if our paths really will align again. I definitely want to be a detective, but... I like the idea of being a private investigator more than being a detective with a badge. Of course, I'd have to work hand in hand with the police department either way, but I don't think being a cop-type detective is my destiny. I wanna be the kind of guy the cops call up when they have no other options—when the case has gone so cold that the chief's fingers are frostbit.
Aside from Daffy, I got along well with lots of people in school. Everyone, really. If you had to split up people into the stereotypical social groups, I suppose I'd be a "jock"... but I wasn't a bully or anything, really. Like I said before, I was academically gifted, too. So, I got on with the nerds as well. I just had a... natural charisma, I suppose, that helped me get along with loads of different people. Charisma, smarts, and the physique... well, you know what my father said about being a braggart. Possessing all three of those, I received a certain kind of attention from my more feminine counterparts.
But I was never interested in girls. Not that I'm gay—not that there's anything wrong with that. I liked the idea of having a wife eventually... but I never really had the desire for a girlfriend. It was a "one day when I'm older" kind of thing. I don't know. The idea of having one just never appealed to me that much. Listen, even though I was naturally gifted in many academic aspects, it didn't mean I didn't have to work to balance everything. School's hard even if you're really good at it! If I had a girlfriend, then... well, I'm the type who loves really strongly. If I love you, it's gonna be hard for me to think about anything else other than the fact that I love you. And if I'm too busy thinking about my girlfriend while I'm busy investigating, that'd be a problem.
When it came to friendships, though, I didn't discriminate. Like I said, I was friends with all types of people—everybody! Even girls. One of my best friends is a girl by the name of Tana Bedroque. To be honest, I think she had a crush on me for a while, but once she picked up on the fact that I wasn't interested, we started getting along like yin and yang. She, like me, gets along with pretty much everybody. It feels nice to be a socialite roaming the halls with another socialite. I mean, if you're the type of guy who likes to keep to himself, then it might not be for you, but I personally like seeing all the people I'm friends with go "Hey!" and "How's it goin'?" And for all the people I wasn't friends with, they'd hit Tana with a "Yo!" or a "Wanna hang?"
It was nice. It really was nice... I thought these days would last forever. But, that goes to show my naivete. Because Tana would tell me something that'd end up changing my world forever.
~
To keep your body well maintained, you've got to... well, maintain it. And I wasn't the type of guy to hit the gym or go out of my way to work out. Instead, I found an activity that I enjoyed a lot that served as my workout. One day, I started playing soccer.
I don't know if it was gentlemanly or just manly to appreciate sports, but being both a gentleman and a man, I found them riveting. I mean, for me, watching from the stands was no Hound of the Baskervilles, but I still thoroughly enjoyed it. This was amplified greatly when I was actually on the field. And I was a damn good center forward, too.
But my playing soccer wasn't "officially" endorsed by the school. This isn't to say they opposed it, no, there just wasn't an official team. I was a member of one of the school's soccer clubs—we had multiple as to allow matches. But the thing about clubs at our school was... anyone could start a club! You didn't need a minimum member count or an approved subject, you could just start a club. And that's what a lot of people did! There were tons of clubs for various different hobbies and interests. The Gardening Club, The Cooking Club, Dance, The Fencing Club, The Afterschool Studies Club, The Fourth Block Red Comets Soccer Club (woo!), The Third Hall Blue Moon Soccer Club (boo!), The Quick-kids Speed Demon Soccer Club (they weren't that good.), The Insect Taxidermy Club, The Japanese Animation Club... yeah, there were a lot of clubs.
But, one day as I was looking at the list, there was one club that stood out to me that I somehow never noticed before. The Preternatural Investigations Club. I wasn't exactly sure what preternatural meant, but, the investigations club..? Did that mean..? This was a detective's club!? I had to learn more about it as soon as possible. So, I decided to ask the one person who would've known about the things in school that I didn't. Tana.
Towards the end of my free period, I checked my watch and saw that I had about 20 minutes remaining. That'll be more than enough time. I spent it searching the halls for my friend. Like a bat using echolocation, I listened out for the greater quantity of greetings people were giving out and eventually found her. Standing there was a tall girl, almost as tall as me—and I'm nearly 6'2". Sitting atop her straight snow-white hair were three green forward-facing hairpins, something that served as a way to pick her out from any crowd. With her stylish jeans, satin green tank top, and yellow vest, she turned to look at me and waved with a big smile, her dark colored eyes almost as black as her tribal-like tattoos that trailed her hands and wrists.
"Hey, mullet!"
"Shuddup. How's it going?"
"Fine, fine. Just tending to my denizens." She said with an exaggerated, ornate bow.
"Yeah, yeah. What've you been up to?"
"Nothing much, really. I convinced Mrs. Wright to let me take my math test early and aced it in like 5 minutes, so I'm skipping class right now."
"Whoa, okay there, bad stuff."
"Naaah, she's fine with it. It's just one less person she doesn't need to teach. 'Cause I already know everything."
"Yeah right." I put my fingers to my chin. "What's the cosine of pi squared?"
She looked down at her fingers and started counting, faking a bubbly expression. "Uuuhh..." She paused for a moment, tracing her palm. "Two."
I dramatically crossed my arms into an X shape. "Bzzzztt!!"
We both shared a grin. "Damn!" She exclaimed, knowing we both knew that she knew the correct answer.
"Anyway, I had something I wanted to ask you."
"Ask, then."
"I was looking at the list of clubs earlier and there was one I didn't recognize. I mean, there's so many, but I like to think I've at least heard of most of them."
"Yeah, well. Not everybody can know everything. Which one was it?"
"It was called the uh, the predtor- the preeter, the preternatural investigations club."
She looked at me blankly and then scratched her head, elbow raised to the air. "Oh yeah. That one. It's been around for a while now."
Really? I had genuinely never heard of it until now... I usually don't miss things like that... and I'm sure I would've been one of the first people to hear that a detective's club was formed.
"Yeah, bull! How would you know about it when I don't?"
She replied without taking a second to think. "'Cause I'm a member of it."
My eyes opened up wide and the surprise shot itself out of my throat. "What!? How did I not know that? How have you never spoken about it!?"
She looked off to the side, feigning carelessness. "Well, you never asked, I guess..."
"But I'm not the only member!!" She blurted out, interrupting herself.
I looked at her, my head turned a bit. "Who else is in it?"
"Well, there's a couple members. You know Endo Bel Canto?"
I thought for a second. "Yeah, I know him." He's that Italian exchange student, the black kid. Real nice guy, selfless guy, he might get along with people even better than I do.
"He's the leader of the club."
Oh, really? I looked down in contemplation. I would've never pegged him for the type of guy who's into detective stuff. Maybe I'll have to ask him about his favorite novels.
"We do have a third member, too."
I looked back up at her. "Yeah? Who's that?"
One thing about Tana is that she almost always has this mischievous grin resting on her face. More than once, she's pre-moved entire conversations, predicting exactly what the other person is going to say. That grin on her face almost goes to show the enjoyment she gets from being in control of conversations like that. But when I asked that question, the grin dropped and she looked oddly stoic for a moment. I don't think it was because she didn't see that question coming, I think it's because she knew it was. But after a second or two passed, the grin passively returned. Her eyes met mine as she opened her mouth to speak.
"Andi Ardio."
Published Nov 22, 2025
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