SWAN 3 -Mad World-

Song Without A Name
Chapter 3
Spawned from the Head Meat of one
Lady Yate-xel
In conjunction with
3AM

*****

Stretch.

Awake again. What time was it? How many times had he woken up this morning?

8:23.

Better yet, what day was it, and did he have school today?

It was sort of funny, most high school students beg for weekends and random days off, while Edgar often hoped for extra days of school and no snow delays. He found school made him happier than home, although he wasn’t entirely sure why. All to see him? Maybe. Because life held nothing else of interest to him? Probably.

Never any definite yes’s or no’s in his life, always somewhere in between. Edgar was many shades of grey.

He sat up, legs dangling off one side of the bed, and shook his head. The phone was still lying at his side. A cordless, the battery in it was now dead, as he discovered when he tried to turn it on.

Grey.

How many definite blacks and whites did Johnny have? Memories supplied by another invisible student, who had no clues about his own identity, who had just gotten used to the face in the mirror having a name, and thoughts of Johnny’s own which may feel even less valid than any of the ones Edgar had provided. Maybe Johnny was all grey too.

Or maybe he didn’t have enough blacks and whites to make his grey yet.

“Let me go and try to make him happy.”

He had asked for that much of the inept soul caretakers in Heaven. Would something… definite make Johnny happy? A black or a white?

Shook his head again. First thing’s first.

What day is it, seriously? He was already considerably late if it was a weekday. Hopped off the bed to look for a sign of what yesterday had been. The floor was cold. He fought his way into a clean pair of pants he had thrown on the floor as he realized no one would care if he was late or not. Probably not even his former maniac. He found it sort of sad that he put so much focus on these sorts of –

God, hadn’t he bought a calendar at Christmas time? What fucking day was it? He had. He had bought one. A little Confucius Fortune Cookie Saying-A-Day sort. Had he used it? Where was it?

Threw his hair to the correct side of his head as he walked into the bathroom, and stepped in front of the mirror. He let his gaze examine all of the reflection, stopping to focus on the eyes behind the glasses.

“Edgar.”

This might take a while. Maybe they’d start calling him ‘Ed’?

Hair organized, and eyes sufficiently stared through and squinted at, he made his way downstairs to the coffee table in the living room where the calendar turned out to be sitting. It had been used, every day, in fact. He looked at it questioningly for a moment, wondering how long he had been using it mechanically, then shrugged, and tore off the top sheet, which fluttered to the floor.

Saturday. According to the now top sheet, anyway. Squinting, he picked up the little easel the calendar sat in and inspected the page. Underneath the date was the day’s fortune.

“Today, your luck will change. Lucky Numbers: 3, 4, 7, 13 and 20.”

Uh-huh. He set the calendar down, sighed, and knelt to pick up the slip of Friday he had discarded. Taking it in a fist to crumble it, he paused, and took a look at the fortune first.

“Keep in touch with old acquaintances. Lucky Numbers:...”

“Oh, hilarious. Why doesn’t it just tell me to ‘share my knowledge of my coworkers’ past lives’ too? ” Not amused, he crumbled the little paper on his way to the kitchen, and threw it in the can under the sink.

So. Saturday. He could… clean today. A quick look around the spotless abode reminded him that all his free time was spent that way, and there was nothing the house needed less. What he really wanted was to be in school again, talking to Johnny about… whatever. Maybe he would call again? Hell, how had Johnny even found the number to begin with? The phone book would be by last name, and…

Did he have one of those too? What was it? Did Johnny remember that as well? Why hadn’t Johnny told him?

He was really hoping for a call now. Again, there were so many questions that would eat him alive if left until Monday. Maybe some breakfast to think it over? The cupboard still had some Maple Instant Oatmeal if he wasn’t mistaken.

Pour contents into bowl.

Student with memories from other lives. Needs a last name. Highly fascinated by a former maniac. Likes to play keyboard. Wants to make former maniac happy so he won’t become present maniac.

Add milk or water.

Could former maniac’s other friends make former maniac happy?

Mix well.

Student with no last name, memories and former maniac fascination, can play keyboard. Can he and other friends who are fascinated with former maniac make former maniac happy?

Heat for 3-4 minutes.

Could student with maniac fascination, no last name and keyboard ability make former maniac happy before other friends make former maniac happy? Is student now… rivals with friends? Will former maniac’s happiness be found in keyboard? Will friends be jealous? Will former maniac reveal last name? Will former maniac prefer other friends to keyboarder? Will other friends notice that –?

BEEEEEEP.

Shook his head. Right, oatmeal.

He took the bowl to the table and stared at it for some time. For a moment the lumps looked like Devi and he had to shove his spoon into her eye before she spoke to him. Halfway through, he determined he wasn’t terribly hungry after all, and pushed the bowl aside. Resting his head in his hands, he closed his eyes and reviewed the conversation with Johnny from the night before.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

There had been some difficulty in telling him anything, as so much of who Johnny had been was murder or insanity centered. Even while half asleep, Edgar was careful. Yes, Nny, you owned a rabbit, no…, no, Edgar couldn’t really recall how it died…

Bang.

Squeezed his eyes shut tighter. He really didn’t want to be lying to Johnny, but Johnny’s one condition regarding this rebirth had been that he didn’t want to remember any of the horrid things in his prior lives. If Edgar could prevent them from ever surfacing, allowing Johnny to live happily, Edgar would consider himself to have served his purpose.

Died for him. Live for him.

Ringing. Ringing. Ringing.

If he could just get this ringing out of his head, he could think a little easier-

Ringing.

-he could-

Ringing.

That ringing sounded like the phone.

The phone! HIM?

Springing from his place at the table, knocking over the chair he had been sitting in, Edgar clamored across the house for the telephone that hadn’t died in late night memory making. Finally he reached it after jumping over his old pink recliner, and snatched it off its base.

“Hello?”

“What day is today?” Johnny’s voice inquired.

“Uh…”Edgar blinked. “Saaaaturday…,” he ventured, lengthening the first syllable in thought.

“You know what that means?”

“… No?”

“No?” Johnny sounded genuinely confused. “Then… what are you doing?”

“I was… I was just eating some breakfast. What was I supposed to be doing?”

“Going to school, buying another grey shirt, indulging your fetish for broken headbands, balancing peas on a spoon, opening the door…”

“The door, wha-?” Edgar walked as far to the entry way as the cord on his phone would allow and looked through the window on the door to see a tan-skinned figure on a cell phone standing on his steps waving at him enthusiastically.

Perplexed, Edgar stood frozen for a moment, glancing between the phone and the person at his door before letting the phone go, the cord retracting and the receiver clattering across the floor. He opened the door, still bewildered.

“’Bout time,” Johnny said cheerfully, still into his phone.

Edgar, still, wasn’t sure what was going on. His eyes followed Johnny’s hands as he started to put the tiny phone into a book bag at his side.

“Where did you…?” Edgar started asking, only to realize that was not the question he really should have been concerned with.

“Oh, this?” Johnny said, holding up the phone. He grinned. “Found it on the sidewalk one day. Seems it belonged to some guy named Chet or something. I like telling all his relatives that he died when they call. It gets really good when all 4 of his girlfriends call, the dumb fuck.”

Giving a nervous smile, Edgar scratched his head and his smile managed to let out a quiet laugh. Part of him was still unwilling to challenge Johnny’s logic or actions. He coughed once, hoping that was sufficient enough to change the subject.

“How did you… find me? I mean, my house, and …,” he looked at the discarded phone that was now emitting a loud dial tone, “… and my number.”

Johnny laughed softly. “The invisible boy was a good student, and turned in his medical and contact information to the school nurse.” He teasingly poked Edgar’s forehead as he brushed past him into the house.

“Not entirely sure how you managed that, considering you didn’t remember your own name by the time I got to you, but there you were: Vargas, Edgar. SCHS Sophomore, Male, D.O.B.: May 5th, Eyes: Brown/Green, Hair: Dark Brown/Black. 509 Linden Drive, Phone: 448-4103,” Johnny recited the information mechanically. Much like the seventh graders Edgar has seen in the halls last week had been chanting the Preamble like glass-eyed zombies.

Johnny continued. “You failed gym every year because they can’t tell you’re there. You did do really well in cooking classes in Junior High somehow though. You-“

“Nny, stop, stop, please, I get it…” He suddenly stopped. “‘Vargas?’ I never would have… When did I fill those things out? Did I forget progressively? Did-?”

“Shut up, please,” Johnny interrupted, “before you hurt yourself.” He had taken Edgar’s distress as a chance to wander over to his couch and flop down on it, assuming the TV position: slouched in the cushions, arms draped lazily over the couch’s back and arms.

“If you think about those things too much, you’ll drive yourself insane. Just go with it. If you’re remembering things from a life or two ago, I would say not to worry about stuff from junior high. It’ll come back.” Johnny spoke as though he had quite a lot of experience in this particular field.

The dial tone still hummed over everything. Edgar went to hang the phone up, once again climbing over his old pink chair. A glance over at Johnny saw him looking curiously at his new surroundings, and then picking up Edgar’s fortune cookie calendar.

“‘Your luck will change’, huh?” Johnny studied the paper, mouthing the numbers to himself.

“Yeah, sounds pretty good, right?” Edgar was thrilled that calendar could offer some sort of conversation starter, since he, as just a person, was so bad at those. He sat down beside the couch, on the ottoman thing he had found in the basement when he dared venture into it some years ago.

Johnny raised an eyebrow. “If you say so. Sayings like this are a bit like prophecies and oracles. They’re ambiguous. It says your luck will change. Not that it will get better. Your house could burn down, and from your current state, that would be quite the change in luck. If you visit the oracle and she tells you a great force will be destroyed in the coming battle, don’t assume that force is your enemy’s.” Johnny put the calendar down, and Edgar’s momentary jubilation at having something to discuss was shot down by an oracle he hadn’t consulted.

Suddenly, something hit him.

“How did you get into the nurse’s office?”

Johnny looked at him with a bit of surprise, as though this question was not only stupid, but its answer painfully obvious. He fished around in his pocket for a moment, pulled out a few random objects, paper clips, a pocket knife (which made Edgar cringe), some gum wrappers, some scribbled lyrics, and finally, a ring of keys. He tossed the ring at Edgar, and it clanked into his lap.

Edgar picked them up and examined them. Dozens of keys, all sizes shapes and types. The glint of light on some and the dull lack of sheen on others showed which ones Johnny favored. He shook his head in disbelief and looked back up at Johnny who was sporting an amused grin.

“Nny, where did you…? Are these all for the school?” Part of Edgar wanted to stand up and report this to the principal immediately. The other part of him knew that was moronic.

“Not all from the school, but mostly. I got ‘em from the guy who lives next door to the school. He had piles and piles of keys, wears a lot of them, too. Told me he collects them for security reasons or something. I assumed he was batty, but asked if he had any to the school. He had to unlock about four of the padlocks he was wearing on his person, but he gave me this mess.” Johnny reached over, took the keys back from Edgar and continued. “I’ve figured out a bunch of them, but there’s still so many I haven’t even tried in anything yet. Some of them I added myself, as I saw them useful,” he paused, examining one particularly shiny one. He looked up at Edgar and grinned. “Have an extra house key?”

“And why would I- I mean, what would you- … Yeah, I do,” Edgar finally managed with a sigh. He wasn’t entirely sure where this was going, nor if he should be trusting Johnny with his house key.

“Here,” Johnny said, leaning over the arm of the chair and holding up one bronze colored key, “If it makes you feel any better, this one is Devi’s. And this one…” he pulled out a shiny silver one, “is Jimmy’s. I’ve got space on here for an Edgar, if you’ll give it to me. I can put you beside Devi’s weird friend and the hobo down the street before he became a hobo. Neat, huh?”

Edgar’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

“Sure, me and the hobo, ‘BFF’. I mean, it’s not like- wait, why do you have a hobo’s old house key?”

Johnny just grinned and held up the giant key collection, dangling it by Devi’s key.

“Well?”

Edgar sighed. “Hang on.”

Edgar actually had about three extra keys. He kept one under a rock outside, of course, just in case, but the other two he had shoved in a drawer. He wasn’t sure why the ‘Operation Reincarnation’ people thought he needed so many, unless they thought his lack of companionship humorous. He took one out of the desk, sighed once, and closed the drawer. He walked back into the living room where Johnny was spinning a few keys around the ring intently. Edgar stood beside him and held out the key.

“Here,” he said quickly, “take it before I question myself to insanity again.”

“Ha, I win,” Johnny laughed as he snatched the key, “I promise I won’t steal all your food in the middle of the night. I also can be fairly sure I won’t blow your house up.”

Edgar resigned himself to sitting on the other side of Johnny on the couch.

“Well, at least I have that. Speaking of house, how do you find your own house key on that thing?” Edgar asked, pointing to Johnny’s massive key ring.

Johnny blinked at him, almost smiling. “I don’t have one,” he said with a tone that sounded more like he thought he was reminding Edgar than telling him something new.

Edgar held his hands up, putting an imaginary halt on the conversation. “Wait, wait, wait. You’ve got the keys to the home of a now HOBO, but you don’t have the key to your own home?”

Johnny shook his head. “No, I have a key to my home… I just don’t have a house.”

Pausing for a moment, mid gesture, Edgar had his hand on his forehead as though trying to pull some comprehension of this conversation out. “Then, wh-“

“Didn’t you know?” Johnny asked honestly. “I live in the choir room at the school. So, I have lots of keys to my home, just no house. Careful, Edgar, those words aren’t interchangeable.”

Edgar’s eyes widened and he let his hand fall down to his lap. There he was, the soul the Heavenly Morons had sent to make Johnny happy, living in a beautifully comfortable house, and Johnny, the one who needed the happy, was living in a choir room. Suddenly, giving that house key didn’t feel so completely insane.

“I’m sorry,” he started,” I didn’t realize… I mean, when I saw you in there all the time, I thought… I don’t know what I thought, but I apologize.” He realized it sounded pretty lame, but would rather it be honest than sound pretty.

Johnny looked at him, and tilted his head to one side. “Don’t assume I’m unhappy there, too. You’ve got a bad habit of assuming things. Might want to work on that.”

Edgar sighed. Foiled again. He looked at the keys in Johnny’s hands and watched the glint of the light as long, thin fingers absent mindedly fiddled with them. He saw his own house key go whizzing by on the ring as Johnny spun it in his hands. Before he entirely understood what he was doing, Edgar reached out and grabbed the ring, making Johnny jump at the sudden movement.

He fished through the keys for his own, (right beside the key labeled ‘Hobo Bob’ with a piece of duct tape) and held it up, showing it to Johnny.

“Whenever you want to,” Edgar said firmly, “you can use this. Remember what it looks like, because I don’t care what time of night it is, or what time in the morning; you’re more than welcome here.”

Johnny blinked at the key, then blinked at Edgar. He reached up slowly and took the keys back by Edgar’s key.

“You know,” Johnny began, as he took hold of the small copper key, “you’re the only one who offered me this key willingly, or at least, the way I wanted. I practically had to wrestle one off of Devi, and Jimmy wouldn’t stop trying to make me take his. I have Devi’s friend’s key because Devi gave it to me to shut me up the first time. Every time I told Jimmy ‘no’ he tried to sneak one in my bag. I took it eventually, and Devi doesn’t mind me having hers now, but still…”

He trailed off for a moment, and Edgar thought maybe he was going to cry or something. Instead, he grinned.

“Then, I’m taking you up on the offer for the weekend, while they use my bedroom to get ready for Monday’s fundraiser.”

*****

Edgar stood in the kitchen, making omelettes for lunch while Johnny unpacked everything he owned in the living room. How this had happened, exactly, he wasn’t sure. But Edgar had gone from wondering what day it was, to letting a slightly mental reincarnation of a murderer take up residence on his couch.

He finished the eggs, and brought them out to the living room, setting them on the coffee table. Johnny had since made himself at home as evidenced by the contents of his book bag that were spilled across the room. Edgar’s floor was now covered in various papers, CDs, batteries, a sky blue lucky rabbit’s foot, pencils and folders full of doodles. It seemed the bag still contained clothing, and some other bits of general stuff.

“Hey! Omelettes!”

Johnny jumped off the place on the floor where he’d been sitting cross-legged, scribbling in a little book, and grabbed a plate from the coffee table not seconds after Edgar put it down. He was already several bites into it, before Edgar could manage to ask him if he needed anything else.

“Oh,” Johnny said, as though suddenly realizing he was eating, “… do you have any hot sauce?”

Edgar meandered back into his kitchen, and opened the fridge. Señor Diablo’s Pepper Hot Sauce. After visiting Heaven, Señor Diablo sort of gave him the chills. Yeah, it was only on some hot sauce but still…the image brought on the thought, brought on the… Gah. He shrugged, grabbed some random cherry drinks from the lower rack, and went back out to the living room where he could now hear TV noises.

“Your ‘Señor Diablo,’” Edgar muttered, handing Johnny the bottle. Johnny took it without giving Edgar a glance, thoroughly engrossed in the infomercial on the television. Edgar laughed to himself, and took a seat on the other side of the couch.

“What are we watching?” he asked, setting down the cherry drinks.

“QRB,” Johnny said between bites, emphasizing random words with a swing of his fork, “It’s this weird stuff for taking off paint. They even take it off with paper later. It’s insane. This one’s my favorite infomercial. I was just going to watch the commercials on the cartoon channel, but I like this better.”

Edgar cocked his head to one side, watching the man on the infomercial talk excitedly about getting paint off of ‘this stunning 19th century cabinet set.’ The imagery was pretty strange. The layers and layers of ugly paint just peeled away, to reveal wood that was, of course, beautiful. Somehow the paint remover stuff also polished the wood.

“Fantastic,” the television proclaimed.

While Edgar contemplated some deeper philosophical meaning behind watching this particular infomercial, Johnny started up again.

“I really like when they do half the dresser in the stuff and then leave the other half to – HEY. You brought cherry! I love cherry, this is my favor-”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Oh. Right.”

Johnny paused for a long time, looking at his eggs. He looked up for a moment when the announcer said something to the effect of, “Wouldja lookit that!?” but didn’t say anything. Finally, just before Edgar was able to act on his impulse to fill the silence…

“Tell me something I don’t know about myself. Tell me something I don’t remember. Tell me something I should know.” He spoke in the direction of the television, but spoke to Edgar.

Edgar stopped mid fork-to-mouth movement, and just held the eggs there. After several failed attempts at opening his mouth to speak and not stuff it with omelette, he set the fork down, and stared over the rim of the plate.

“Alright,” he began, trying to collect thoughts, “let me think of what I haven’t already told you…” He clicked his tongue and tapped in his thigh a few times, trying to come up with something.

“Your neighbor! Did I tell you about Squee?”

“Something about me, Edgar.”

“Right. Ok… Ok, here goes then. I’ll just go with anything here… You loved going to the movies alone, you spent hours up on this big cliff near the city with your car… I think you stared at the stars. Pop-rocks and-”

“CHERRY SODA. Those are good fun. I once told this little kid it would make his face explode! His friends actually held his mouth open to try to get both the rocks and the drink in there. Can you believe it? All bets off when there’s violence involved. All people seem to be like those kids. Still, it’s fun to experiment with those at the same time… It does neat stuff to your nose…” He stopped, and played with what was left of the egg on his plate, poking at it with a fork. “Am I the same as before?” he asked, letting his fork clink against his plate, and, finally, looking over at Edgar.

“No,” Edgar replied quickly, “There’s something that you’re missing, or maybe it’s gained, that’s quite different from how you were before. Before you… well, you were a little dangerous. I really can’t pinpoint it to much more than that.”

Johnny cracked a smile that frightened Edgar. The familiar look in Johnny’s eyes, younger eyes though they might be, was enough to make him want to crawl away.

“Do you think I’m completely harmless, Edgar? You know, people who are invisible have the potential to get away with so much… Enough attacks by something that seems like it isn’t there is enough to get a woman to refuse to come back to work on claims of ghosts. To refuse to come back to her job at a local high school. To refuse to continue the choir program. To give an invisible boy and his friends a place to live…” Johnny slowed and stopped talking altogether for a while, possibly reflecting on the entire incident, then continued.

“I haven’t done anything like that since, though. When I chased her the first time, things would start talking to me when I would try to sleep at night. Chasing is not so pleasant that I’d want to go through the walls talking to me again.”

The story terrified Edgar more than Johnny would have imagined. It seemed as though Johnny was already on his way to insanity, and if Edgar didn’t stop it, Johnny would relive everything, perhaps right up to killing Edgar. And then injuring Devi, and killing Jimmy. All over again. Edgar had sworn he’d find some way for this to never happen again, and it looked as though he was already behind. Johnny’s little indications in his other life said that he might have gone mad from losing something related to his art. If Edgar could keep that alive somehow…

As if on cue, Johnny, whose attention had been torn from the television burst out loudly with Edgar’s name.

“Gah, what?” Edgar looked around expecting something horrible involving the Hot Sauce to have happened. Instead, Johnny was looking at Edgar’s keyboard.

“Edgar. Edgar, do you play?” Johnny asked, excitement making him twitch a little.

Edgar stood up, swallowed nothing, and nodded.

“Yes…”

Johnny jumped a little, then ran back to the spot on the floor where he had dumped his life. He fished through papers and gadgets, and pulled out some CDs. After checking the track listings on a few, he picked one up, and looked back at Edgar.

“Will you play something for me?” he asked quietly.

“I… yeah, sure…I… what do you… want?” Something about Johnny was drastically affecting Edgar’s sentence forming abilities.

Johnny grabbed the CD from its case, and clicked it into his CD player. He walked over to Edgar, holding the player as though it contained God. He took the headphones in one hand, and held them to Edgar’s cheek.

“Here,” he urged.

Edgar put the headphones on, and waited. First nothing. Then some beeps as Johnny found the track he wanted Edgar to hear so badly. Finally, he heard the beginning strains of a melancholy piano. And then a voice. He knew this song, actually. It might be difficult to just play it out of nowhere, but he’d try. The singer mentioned dying, and Edgar took the headphones off. Johnny still looked up at him, eyes wide.

“I know that song,” Edgar said slowly. “I might be able to play it for you.”

He sat down, and looked at the keys. It wouldn’t be as nice as Johnny’s CD, as Edgar's keyboard wasn’t the greatest, but he had resolved to do everything he could at this point. He’d do anything he could to keep the only thing that he could tie to Johnny’s sanity a strong force in his existence.

Poking a few keys, Edgar attempted to find the right notes, the right feeling, the right echo effect on his keyboard. When he thought he had it, he started playing. A little shaky at first, but very much the song. Johnny seemed to agree, as soon Edgar heard him humming along.

Not long after, as soon as Edgar’s playing began to falter, Johnny sang the words softly. His eyes were closed every time Edgar shot a glance at him. He seemed to feel strongly for the lyrics…

"Hide my head I wanna drown my sorrow
No tomorrow
No tomorrow
And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles its a very very
Mad world"

It was the same look as when he was in his headphones, that same lost look of euphoria. The more Johnny sang, the more Edgar played, and the more Edgar played the more Johnny sang for him. Edgar tried to will the song to go on as long as he could, but it had to go somewhere. He sat, when the last note sounded, listening the echo, staring at the keys, then up at Johnny.

Johnny opened his eyes a few agonizing seconds later, and stared down at Edgar. He had pulled over the entire old pink recliner sometime during the song and was sitting on the arm.

“Play another one,” he half whispered.

So he played the song from the night before, the song he couldn’t stop hearing in the background of Johnny’s constant requests for more random information. Johnny hummed that one, and after some time, Edgar did too. The vocal had been female, so he supposed Johnny didn’t want to attempt it without Devi, and despite repeats the night before, Edgar didn’t really know the words.

That song ended far too soon as well. Edgar looked up at Johnny the moment it was over, unsure what he wanted from him, but sure it was something none the less. Johnny stepped off the recliner’s arm, boot clicking once on the floor. He ran his fingers across a few buttons on the keyboard, concentrating and focusing on them for a small eternity.

“Edgar,” he said slowly, turning to look him in the eye, “how do you feel about getting noticed?”