BEYOND THE ARCHIVES

When rain fell, the flat seemed chillier somehow. Storms left streaks on the panes, misty and thick. My mother never wanted those windows cracked - dampness unsettled her, she claimed. For me, though, everything beyond looked gentler through soaked glass. Noctis appeared quieter then. Muffled. Faint. Flickering neon signs painted streaks on wet glass as sirens drifted up from darkened streets beneath us. Open on the countertop, my laptop hummed next to a coffee cup long turned cold - over sixty minutes gone since it steamed. Through earphones, broken sounds hissed, looping one shaky seven-second fragment again, then once more, maybe twenty times now since evening fell. There was something hidden underneath the static. Every time I played it back, that sound showed up again. Hidden well - most wouldn’t catch it. Yet there, under the fuzz and noise, something moved. Not quite random. More like a slow inhale, then pause. Or even whispering. Out of nowhere, Mom spoke up near the doorway, "You didn’t answer when I called," her worn-out words slicing through the noise so hard I twitched. Down went the headphones, sliding to my neck just as I lifted my eyes toward her. Still dressed in those hospital scrubs under a baggy gray sweater - tiredness hung heavy on her expression, enough to dull my irritation into something quieter and more humble. The damp trail along her sleeves told of rain during her walk back, each soaked patch tracing steps taken too many times before. Clutched in one fist, her keys stayed gripped tight, as if letting go meant admitting she could rest now. “I was busy,” I said, closing the music app without thinking, a move we both understood meant nothing at all. A sound slipped out of her - short, without warmth - as she pulled her arms closer. “Two in the morning?” Her eyes stayed locked on mine. “Six calls”, she said. “Kira, I reached out that many times” The dim numbers on the clock caught my eye near the edge of the laptop display. 2:14AM. Well then. Perhaps it came out more harsh than intended. My voice dropped low as I rubbed my eye, heavy with fatigue. "I forgot.," came out slow, almost a whisper. “You forgot?” my mother said again, barely above a whisper, her eyes down as if holding something back. Her head moved sideways, slow, like she was counting seconds inside her mind. Silence sat between us before she asked, “How do you think I feel when you’re gone so long - no word, nothing?” “I didn’t vanish”, I said, shifting a little behind the counter. “I was right here the whole time” “That’s not the point and you know it.” Outside, rain whispered on glass while the laptop's breath wheezed under stillness. A pipe sighed somewhere below, muffled by plaster and distance. I realised right away that this conversation would only go one way. Every time, it wound up back to that one topic. “You’ve been doing this every night again,” my mother continued while looking toward the open tabs scattered across my screen. “You stay awake until morning reading conspiracy theories and replaying disturbing videos like you’re some type of a detective. Its almost like you’re trying to drive yourself insane.” “It’s research,” I said without thinking, but deep down I realized it felt thin. What for? she said, her eyes fixed on mine, suddenly sharper. I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. Right then, when the quiet hung heavier than before, her face shifted without warning. Tiredness faded into irritation - a look I knew well enough to guess what came next, seconds ahead of her speaking. Out of nowhere, Mom whispered those four words - “You’re turning into him” - then my ribs clenched tight, like a fist had reached straight through skin. My eyes left hers right then. "Stop it," I said “I’m serious, Kira.” “And I said don’t!.” My mother sighed heavily before walking farther into the kitchen, the tension in her face becoming more obvious beneath the pale apartment lighting. “Your father used to sit awake all night exactly like this,” she continued while gesturing toward my laptop. “Forums. Livestream archives. Missing person threads. Strange websites. At first it looked harmless, then suddenly it became his entire reason for living.” “He was looking into stuff,” I said under my breath, shutting a few windows just as she started leaning closer.”. “He couldn’t let it go,” Mom said, her tone turning sharp, so sharp the air in the room stilled like breath caught mid-pause. Right then, noticing the sharp edge in her voice, she turned her gaze elsewhere. It came up often during our fights about that guy. Eight years gone, yet his presence lingered in the walls, not as a body but as silence between words never spoken. Each corner held breaths he once took, pauses where talk should’ve been. Rooms stayed full of what we meant to say. Missing him wasn’t loud - just constant, like dust settling after footsteps stop. Behind me, droplets crept along the glass as a faint hiss of static hummed inside the earbuds resting on the countertop. “You didn’t see what he became at the end,” my mother said more quietly this time while rubbing tiredly at her forehead. “None of that was healthy for him.” “That doesn’t mean he deserved what happened.” “I never said he deserved it.” “Then stop acting like he was crazy!.” For a moment, my mother just looked at me without speaking. Her face seemed heavier, though it wasn’t age exactly. More like something inside had settled deeper, the way sorrow reshapes a person and never lets them go back. “You think I don’t understand why you do this?” she asked softly while folding her arms tighter across her chest again. “You think I can’t see what’s happening to you?” I stayed quiet. He’s who you’re searching for,” Mom said, softer this time, though the softness cut deeper than before. Not finding him is wearing you down, bit by bit Harder than I thought, those words landed - a quiet voice inside already aware she wasn’t wrong. Not completely. But enough. Years went by with everyone saying it. Therapists said it. So did relatives. Teachers too. Old family friends, the ones who faded out after twelve months when sadness got awkward, they whispered it before disappearing. "Move on." "Accept it." "Let him go." Easy advice when the person you lost actually died. He was still alive, though everyone thought otherwise. He disappeared. No warning. No note. No explanation. He was there one morning. By evening, he wasn’t. A breath passed. Gone. My voice dropped low. Not looking for him, I said, eyes fixed on the glow of the keyboard. Words slipped out wrong even as fingers stayed still. My mother laughed quietly under her breath again, though there was nothing amused about it. “Kira, your father spent years digging through the worst corners of the internet before he vanished. Every week it became something worse. Strange livestreams. Hidden communities. Missing people. Conspiracy theories. He stopped sleeping properly. He stopped trusting people. Sometimes he locked himself in his office for entire nights replaying videos over and over again like he was searching for something nobody else could see.” After hearing that, my throat tightened - those nights came back sharp and clear. Each moment played again behind my eyes. That moment came back - me next to him as he pointed out odd markings buried in warped video stills. Every few seconds, a pause in the live feed, his eyes scanning for flecks of meaning others would miss. A spark lit his face each time a clue surfaced, like finding coins in an old coat. Stories at night were part of many kids’ lives. Back then, stories about hidden web secrets were everywhere I turned. Truth is, I really enjoyed hearing what he had to say. After a while, he just sat there without speaking. Then I told the room, my voice low: “He was not crazy.” For a few seconds she just stared, then spoke. “Perhaps not right away.” What hit me was worse than I thought it would be. Back I slumped on the counter as tiredness pressed deep into my ribs. Talks like these drain something out of me every time, leaving a space where connection used to fit. Out of nowhere, Mom’s face shifted. A new look took over - sharp, different. Not anger. Not frustration. Fear…. True fear. A sudden stillness took hold of her, gaze fixed past my shoulder. The light in her face faded fast, like a room losing sun. A small frown came first, then a slow shift toward the glow of the laptop. The screen now showed exactly what caught her eye moments ago. Without warning, one tab reset itself - having locked up just minutes prior - and loaded again into an old conversation. Broken picture links sat there, along with messages that were long removed. ~LUPUS ARCHIVES - THREAD UNLOCKED~ “Kira…” she said so soft it almost vanished, edging nearer to the counter like something pulled her feet. Her tone snagged inside me, cold and sudden. “That thing - where’d you get it?” Back turned toward her, I said it was merely a saved post again. Puzzled, my eyes met hers. What did she expect? Out of nowhere, her words came fast - “You have to shut it down” - with a tremor just beneath the surface. I stared at her carefully now. “Why are you acting so weird all of a sudden?” Her reply came slow, voice low, as if the words might vanish otherwise. Something about the way she stared made me think fear held her gaze there. The flickering light caught shadows under her eyes, deepening them. Not once did she turn away from what played out onscreen. Good things never start where they do, that much she believed. “Who exactly are we talking about?” I said, my voice low. My mother hesitated. This stretch had gone on longer than before. She spoke so softly it barely seemed intentional, then added - right after pausing as if caught mid-thought - "People like Lupus." A chill gripped my heart when that word came out. The room seemed to shrink, walls leaning in as rain tapped harder on the glass. Silence sat heavy, broken only by the steady beat outside. My eyes locked onto hers, searching for a mistake, some clue I’d misheard. That name shouldn’t have been there. “Mom… how do you know that name?” My voice stayed low as I looked at her, trying to find a reason in her expression. Right then, her face went stiff - like something snapped tight beneath the skin. “That isn’t what I meant,” she said, eyes darting past my shoulder toward the window, yet the shake in her words made me doubt every syllable. “No, I did not,” I replied, lifting myself upright bit by bit. The haze in my head began twisting into dread. Mom… what made you mention that name just now?” She stayed quiet for a few moments, just stillness filling the space again. Outside, rain pattered lightly on the glass as far-off rumbles of thunder moved across the rooftops overhead. Finally my mother sighed shakily before answering. “Your father used to talk about it before he disappeared.”