Cassian and David stood on the grass for what felt like hours. Cassian's hands were still shaking when he finally found the willpower to move, reaching for the camera. His fingers fumbled with it, nearly dropping it again.
"O-okay," David said, his voice pitched higher than usual. "Okay, so that was... that was real, right? We both saw that? Holy shit."
"Yeah. I saw it." Cassian brushed dirt off the camera lens, checking it over. Everything looked fine. Normal. Unlike his warped perception of reality.
David pulled out his phone, thumb hovering over the screen. "I'm going to try 9-1-1 again. I mean, we have to, right? Even if..." He trailed off, apparently realizing how insane things were getting.
Cassian watched as David pressed the phone to his ear, watched his face fall again.
"Nothing. Just like before." David pulled the phone away, stared at it. "Dead air."
The two looked at each other. A bubble of laughter rose between them—slightly unhinged, edging toward hysterical. They both let it out, the sound brittle in the morning air.
"Well, that's not ominous at all," David said as the laughter faded. Despite everything, Cassian felt a small bubble of hope rise in him. At least he wasn't alone in this. "Come on. Let's go inside."
"Yeah. Yeah, good plan. Inside is good. Inside has walls and doors and absolutely no fence posts with... with our neighbors' heads on them." David was already moving toward the house, nearly tripping over his own feet.
Cassian gripped the drill hard, tucked the camera under his arm, and followed. His legs felt disconnected from his body, like he was piloting himself from a distance.
Once inside, Cassian set the camera and drill on the kitchen table and immediately went to the sink, splashing cold water on his face. The house was exactly as he'd left it.
"You got anything stronger than water?" David asked from behind him.
"Under the island. It's our interim bar until we can install a proper one. Help yourself."
He heard David rummaging around, the clink of glass, and placed two whiskey glasses on the island for him.
David poured two generous glasses of bourbon, his hands steadier now that they had something to do. Cassian silently judged him as David had grabbed one of the more expensive bottles he owned, but he took the other glass and sat down with David regardless. They settled at the kitchen table, the bottle between them like a third person in the conversation.
Cassian took a long swig, feeling the warm burn travel all the way down. "I don't know what we just saw." He wiped his mouth, opening it to continue, then staying quiet.
"Heads," David said flatly. "We saw heads. Harold and Barbara's heads." He took a sip. "And then we didn't see them. Which is, I don't know, worse? Somehow worse. Yeah, definitely worse." He took another sip.
"You think it was..." Cassian struggled for the word. "A hallucination? Something in the air, maybe? Carbon monoxide? Anthrax? I honestly have no idea what Anthrax even does."
"A shared hallucination?" David raised an eyebrow. "That's not how hallucinations work, man."
"Okay, then what?" Cassian heard his voice rising. "Ghosts? Some kind of supernatural warning? Because that's insane."
The moment he said it, his chest tightened. Yesterday's dream flooded back—the thing in his living room, the fuzzy mockery of himself. The attack at the job site, if one can call it an attack. The feeling that something was always watching him. It all came rushing to the forefront of his mind, pieces of a puzzle he didn't want to assemble. He knew this wasn't as insane as he was pretending. He felt, with growing certainty, that this was all connected.
"More insane than what we just saw?"
Cassian didn't have an answer for that. Didn't want to answer that.
They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the tick of the kitchen clock and the occasional clink of glass on wood.
"I really don't want to go home," David said quietly. He was staring into his bourbon like it might have answers. "I live alone. Single guy, two-bedroom ranch. I don't even have a basement, just a crawl space. And right now, the thought of being by myself..." He shook his head. "Is it weird if I ask to crash here tonight?"
"Not weird at all." Cassian felt a rush of relief. He didn't want to be alone either. "I'll have to check with my wife, but I'm sure she'll be fine with it. Guest room's yours. Assuming we're both still sane by the time she gets home."
"Big assumption." David managed a weak smile. "Thanks, though. Seriously."
Cassian looked at the camera sitting on the table, then back at the window where he could just see the edge of the Patterson's house. "I think we should mount this last camera and point it at the Patterson's backyard. And once all the cameras are up and running..." He paused. "We should go knock on their door again."
David's eyes went wide. "Are you nuts? Did you forget what we saw in that house? Hell, did you fucking forget what we just saw back there?" He gestured wildly toward the yard.
"I'll bring my gun. Hell, I have three. You can take one."
"Oh, great. Yeah, that makes it so much better." David took another drink. "You want to walk up to the house where we saw God knows what, where our neighbors might be dead, or worse, and your plan is to bring firearms? What are we gonna do, shoot the fucking ghosts?"
"I'll dip the bullets in holy water. Do you have a better idea?"
David opened his mouth, closed it, then took another sip. "Fuck."
Cassian stood, walked to the window. From here, he could see the Patterson house clearly. It looked perfectly normal in the morning light. The kind of house you'd see in a real estate listing with the word 'charming' in the description. The kind of 'charming' home that belongs to a murdered family of two.
"Something's wrong here," Cassian said quietly. "We both know it. And 9-1-1 isn't working. So what do we do? Just pretend we didn't see anything? Wait for someone else to check on them?"
"Or we could wait for your wife to get home. Safety in numbers and all that."
Cassian turned to face David. "Finish your glass David, we need to take initiative before what ever got the Patterson's, comes for us. Those heads were a warning, we seen too much".
David let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair. "Okay. Okay, yeah, you're right. But we mount that camera first, make sure everything's recording. Also, we need a signal. Something we say if shit goes sideways and we need to bail immediately."
"Like what?" Cassian rolled his eyes.
"I don't know, something quick. 'We're out' or 'fuck this' or whatever. You say it, I say it, we run. No questions, no hesitation."
"'Fine. Does 'Abort' work for you?"
"Yeah. Simple. I like it." David nodded. "You hear me say abort, we run. Deal?"
They stood there for a moment, two grown men planning to investigate their neighbors' house with guns and an abort signal, drinking expensive bourbon at ten in the morning. If someone had told Cassian yesterday that this is where he'd be, he would have laughed and put on a child's horror movie to make fun of the situation.
Alright," Cassian said, draining his glass. "Let's mount that camera. Then we'll figure out what the fuck to do about the Pattersons."
David nodded, finishing his own drink. "And if we see any more heads on fence posts, we abort. Automatically. No discussion."
"Deal."
They both looked toward the window again, toward the Patterson house sitting quiet in the morning sun. Waiting.
Cassian grabbed the camera and drill from the table. His hands were steadier now, the bourbon helping, though he knew it was probably a bad idea to be drinking before doing... whatever they were about to do.