This won't work, that won't work—so what should they do?
Ignoring the email entirely, treating it like spam or a scam, would be the simplest and most effective move. But King for a Day's current situation was riddled with too many struggles. They had to cling to any shred of hope, even one so absurd it bordered on laughable, praying it might turn into a lifeline.
People in desperate straits don't get the luxury of options.
Alice realized her thinking had holes too. She furrowed her brow, searching for a flawless fix.
Watching her scrunched-up face, Ronan shook his head lightly. Perfect solutions didn't exist in this world. People always hesitated, chasing perfection, only to miss the scenery along the way. Once you've decided, you've got to act boldly.
A truth from his past life stuck with him: regretting a missed chance stings worse than regretting a rash move. Life's too short, too fleeting, to wallow in past mistakes. They had to keep looking forward.
"Alright, let's leave the payphone number," Ronan said decisively. "We'll head down and wait it out. Who knows? Maybe a pie'll fall from the sky." Seeing Alice's hesitation, he pressed on. "The email's format, the signature—it all looks legit. No obvious red flags. Why not take a gamble?"
He winked at her. "We've got nothing to lose anyway."
Alice felt a pang of sadness. He wasn't wrong—they were at rock bottom.
Ronan picked up on it, but he didn't dwell. Instead, he clapped her shoulder with a grin. "Come on, set up the camera. Let's drag those three clowns in here and catch their real reactions. It'll be hilarious."
Alice pictured it and couldn't help but smirk, her mood lifting again.
Once the camera was rolling, with Alice behind the lens, Ronan shot her a wink. Then he let out an earth-shattering scream toward the door:
"Ahh!"
One second. Two seconds.
Bang bang bang!
Ollie burst in first, Maxim hot on his heels, Cliff bringing up the rear. The trio piled into the room, wide-eyed and frantic, scanning for trouble. "What's wrong?" "Ronan!" "Alice, spare him!" "Run, Ronan!" "We're here to save you!" Their voices overlapped in a chaotic mess, loud enough to wake the dead.
But they quickly clocked Ronan standing behind Alice, perfectly fine, shaking his head at them nonstop. His right hand sliced across his throat—a warning, maybe?
A second later, they saw Alice's face emerge from behind the camera, beaming with a smile. She didn't say a word, but her eyes said it all: So this is how you see me. Despite the grin lighting up her face, the three of them froze, chills running down their spines.
Help!
---
Slap!
"Ahh!"
Under the yellow streetlamp, swarms of tiny black bugs danced in the air. Flies, mosquitoes, and moths threw their late-night party, flitting high and low. They landed lightly on overgrown weeds, while clouds of mosquitoes buzzed over shallow puddles. Grasshoppers and crickets lurked in the grass, their hum weaving a summer night symphony. The hot, dry air made it impossible to relax.
Slap!
"Ah! Maxim!"
Ollie took another hard smack from Maxim and finally snapped, roaring in protest. Maxim's face twitched as he stammered, "I was swatting a mosquito, I swear! Didn't you see it? Look, right here…" He held up his palm to prove it, only to crack up mid-sentence, his stifled laughter bursting out.
Thwack!
This time, Ollie struck first, landing a heavy slap on Maxim's back. The sound was so loud it echoed—like a dull, distant thud from his chest. Both of them froze, startled, exchanging a quick look before…
Pfft.
Ollie scrambled to his feet, bolting off in a clumsy tumble. Maxim, nearly coughing up a lung, lagged half a beat before lurching after him, hands and feet flailing. Their shrieks spiraled into the night sky above the motel. Guests, restless from the heat, stepped onto the walkway to watch the show, buzzing with amusement.
Crouched by the phone booth, Cliff stared in disbelief, his face screaming I don't know these guys. "Are they sure they're adults?"
"Haven't you heard? Men are boys forever," Ronan teased, barely holding back a laugh.
Cliff let out a dry "Heh heh," then fell silent. The air stilled again. Ollie and Maxim darted past, chasing each other with exaggerated Matrix-style moves—awkward, ridiculous acrobatics that were honestly pretty funny.
Cliff hesitated, glancing at Ronan, but looked away before Ronan could catch his eye. Whatever he wanted to say, he swallowed it.
"What's up?" Ronan asked with a smile. "Holding something in? That's not like you."
Cliff had been mulling it over. New Orleans had left a trail of bad vibes, and these past three months on the road were the most carefree the band had been in years. He didn't want to ruin it. But meeting Ronan's warm, laughing gaze, he couldn't hold back.
"Are we just gonna wait around forever like this?" Cliff had a million thoughts, but they boiled down to that one line.
Earlier, the band had crammed into the room. Ronan shared the email news, sparking a flurry of gasps and skepticism. He pitched his plan—Cliff and the others were wary, half-convinced it was a scam. They didn't want to get their hopes up just to crash harder. Still, they went along with it.
So, they replied to the email. Now, here they were, huddled by the public phone, waiting.
Alice stood across from them, camera in hand, filming the whole "Waiting for Godot" scene—
Waiting for hope, waiting for disappointment, waiting for an outcome that might never come, waiting for a future they couldn't even pin down.