Sasha had, through the use of psychometry, witnessed most of the fight between Eddie and the U.P.E., although calling it a fight may have been an exaggeration. The U.P.E. had gone down in one hit.

"I believe that he snuck up on it," Sasha said as he and Truman followed the now intertwined energies. "The U.P.E. was too busy feeding to notice Eddie walk up, and I suspect that Eddie may have been invisible."

"And then he used pyrokinesis with the spray paint?" Truman asked, stepping over a patch of mushrooms.

"Actually, he had a lighter," Sasha said as he rolled on, again on his levitation ball.

"A lighter?"

"Yes. It appears that the only psychic skill that Eddie can use right now is his invisibility. The last thing I saw through Eddie's eyes was a column of fire that engulfed the tree, and the U.P.E.'s body on the ground." Sasha ducked under a low branch before continuing. "I was able to pick up some brief memories from where the U.P.E. had landed. It was on its back, looking up at who I assume to be Eddie, though it's compound vision made it difficult for me to make out the person's features."

"Was it injured?" Truman asked.

Sasha stopped, pausing to think. "I am not certain. I did not see any burn wounds, nor did I pick up any sort pain or panic. But…" He frowned, tapping his chin. "I felt this utter exhaustion. In that memory, the U.P.E. could barely move its head. It was just so tired, like all of its remaining energy had been expended dodging the fire." He rolled backward a bit, nearly losing his balance while distracted by his thoughts. "There's no way that it would've made it out of this forest on its own," he concluded as he righted himself on his levitation ball.

It hadn't. The foliage that had witnessed the event had reported that Eddie had picked the U.P.E. up and rushed off with it. Why, nobody Truman had spoken to knew, and Sasha didn't have an explanation for it either. "Maybe maintaining a hold on all of its victims is finally catching up to it," he guessed.

"That is what I am thinking as well," Sasha agreed, resuming his roll through the forest. "I have to wonder what would happen to those teens if the U.P.E. suddenly died."

Truman's stomach clenched at the grim implications that sort of pondering brought. There was a chance that the teens would be released from the U.P.E.'s hold with no harm done, in the event of its death. But there was also a chance that they'd be stuck as zombie's permanently. Even worse was the possibility that they may die along with it. They only had a vague idea of how its hypnotic powers work, and everything they knew about that had come from secondhand accounts from plants and the memories lingering around the town and forest. Truman just hoped that they could find it before Eddie could finish what he started. "Let's just concentrate on tracking them down," Truman said, changing the subject. "It's gonna get dark soon."

The sun was setting at this point, casting a hazy gloom upon the forest. It would be night soon, near pitch-black within an hour. Navigating through the forest at night wouldn't be impossible, as what they were following couldn't be seen anyway, but it would make spotting unknown threats a lot more difficult.

"We're getting close," Sasha said. "The energies are getting stronger."

They followed the mingling energies for about fifteen more minutes. Eddie had travelled in a northeast direction with the U.P.E., a direction that would eventually lead back to the road. Eventually, a small orange light could be seen through the trees. "Eddie lives around here, right?" Truman said as he tried to make out the details of the building that the light was attached to. "That might be his house."

"Eddie must have taken the U.P.E. back to his home," Sasha said. "But why? It was in a weakened state. He could have easily killed it then, though I am glad that he didn't."

Eddie certainly seemed to have been in a hurry. If there hadn't been any energy for Truman and Sasha to follow, they may have still been able to track him down by the broken twigs, crushed leaves, and footprints that he had left behind. Had he not had it in him to kill another living thing? He had to have known that the U.P.E. was in some way responsible for the town's predicament, and he was surely able to taste the same energy that Truman and Sasha could. Maybe he had gone to his parents for help. They hadn't called the Sheriff, or notified any authorities, so it was likely that they hadn't come to any decisions about what to do about the U.P.E.

They walked onwards, the house that the light was attached to becoming more visible. It was a gray double-wide trailer with a small patio built onto the back, surrounded on three sides by the woods. Eddie's house most likely. A sudden thought came to Truman as he saw it, an idea of what Eddie's motivation may have been. "I broke a guy's leg once," he said.

Sasha stopped, recalling his levitation ball and regarding Truman with a raised eyebrow. Truman felt him probe his mind, searching for the specific memory that he was speaking of. Truman let him, and after a moment of telepathic digging, Sasha said "You broke his leg on accident."

Truman nodded. The guy had been a part of a ring of bank robbers who used confusion-based tactics to execute their heists. He had attempted to flee from Truman during the raid of their base, and at some point, Truman had grabbed him by the leg with his telekinetic grasp. The guy had then tried to pry Truman off of him with his own telekinetic hand, which had caused Truman to reflexively tighten his grip, which had only made the guy more frantic in his struggle to free himself and then- snap! Or had it been more of a crunch? Truman couldn't remember the exact sound the guy's femur had made when it had shattered, but he vividly recalled the way his eyes had bulged out, the way his mouth had dropped open in a silent 'O' of excruciating pain, and how he had just crumpled to the ground when Truman had released him, shocked.

"I'm not really much of an empath, but I felt pretty bad about the whole thing," Truman said. "I know he was a criminal and all but…I don't know, I didn't mean to do it. Maybe that's why Eddie didn't kill the U.P.E., and why he took it back to his house."

"You may be right," Sasha said. A pause. "What happened to the guy?"

Truman didn't know. "He went to prison, I think. Or maybe he got off scot-free because of a legal technicality. The last time I talked to him was when I apologized for breaking his leg." The guy had been very understanding and had accepted Truman's apology politely, which had made Truman feel worse about the whole thing.

"Hmm. I cannot say that I understand why you feel so guilty about it, but perhaps he will emerge one day and sue you for breaking his leg, and then you will not feel so bad about it anymore."

"Maybe," Truman said hopefully as they continued towards the house.

They were on the patio a few minutes later. If there had been any doubt as to whether or not the U.P.E was here, it was gone now. The taste was so strong now that Truman could practically feel the sludge in his mouth. There were two windows facing the backyard, but the blinds were down on both of them, blocking the view of the inside. A small shed stood in the backyard, but a quick examination of it had revealed nothing of interest. From within, he could hear movement, but no voices. Could Eddie sense them out here? Maybe, but it was more likely that Eddie was too overwhelmed by the U.P.E.'s energy to notice the two of them standing at the backdoor.

He raised his fist to knock on the door, and then paused, uncertain. Maybe we should go around to the front, he thought.

Why? What difference would it make? Sasha asked.

Wouldn't you be suspicious of two strangers claiming to be government agents knocking on your backdoor? Especially when the only way they could've come up is from the forest. And protocol states that we're supposed to knock on the front door… He scratched his beard as he thought too hard about something that didn't really matter all that much in the long run. Sasha stared at him blankly, keeping his thoughts on the matter to himself. Then again, if they thought they could trust the authorities with this, Eddie's parents would've called the Sheriff by now. If they don't trust Sheriff Walls, then they aren't going to trust us no matter what door we knock on, so I might as well knock on this one.

Perhaps we should eschew both doors and break in through one of the windows, Sasha thought flatly.

That's- no, that's not…I'm stalling.

I know.

I'm just worried Eddie and the U.P.E., I guess.

I know that too.

What if it dies before we can figure out how to save those teens? And what happens- He cut his own thoughts off, realizing that he was letting his anxiety get the better of him again. Sorry, he thought quickly as he straightened his shoulders and knocked on the door.

All movement within the house ceased at the sound. After a few seconds, a woman spoke, though the only thing that Truman could make out was the name 'Chuck.' The curtains on the window to the left fluttered open briefly, but were closed before he could get a good look at who had opened them. A few more seconds passed, and then a minute, and just when Truman was beginning to think that they would have to break in through the window after all, the door opened, just a crack.

The man peaking out was tall and middle-aged, the graying brown hair on his head the same color as his mustache. There were dark circles under his eyes. "Can I help you gentleman?" he asked gruffly.

He's suspicious of us. And very worried about his son, Sasha thought.

Truman hadn't needed Sasha to tell him that. "Hello," he greeted politely, "is this the Bodkin residence?"

"Who's asking?" the man (Chuck?) said, giving them both a quick once-over.

"We're with the Psychonauts," Truman answered, reaching into his pocket for his badge. "I'm Agent Zanotto and this is my partner…oh." The words died as he pulled his badge out, along with about half of the Otterpop wrappers that he had collected from the forest. They fell from his pocket onto the patio, scattering around his dirt-covered shoes. "I-I'll pick those up," he stammered as Chuck looked down at the trash and then back up at Truman's badge. So much for appearing professional.

"I'm Agent Nein," Sasha said before an awkward silence could fall between the three of them. "We've been investigating the strange affliction that has affected twenty-seven students from this town and the surrounding area."

Truman telekinetically gathered the Otterpop wrappers up while Mr. Bodkin's focus was on Sasha. "Shame about those kids," Mr. Bodkin said as Truman stuffed the wrappers back into this pocket. "Glad my son ain't in town at this moment."

The lie was stated so clumsily that even Truman would've known it was a lie if they hadn't already confirmed that Eddie was still in Sutton. Chuck Bodkin was clearly not a man who often deceived others, but calling him out on the falsehood at this moment would get the door slammed on them in an instant. "It's good that you're son isn't…here, at your house." Mr. Bodkin's grip tightened on the doorknob, but he didn't look away. "Because we have do have a suspect, and there's a good chance that it's somewhere around here. Probably very close by."

"Thanks for the warning, officer," Mr. Bodkin said quickly. "Me and the wife'll stay indoors until this whole mess blows over. Good luck with your search."

"We're not officers!" Truman said, reaching out and grabbing the door before Mr. Bodkin could close it.

Mr. Bodkin glared at Truman's hand. "But you are law enforcement."

"Well, yeah. But we're not the police," Truman explained. "We're Psychonauts. We're here because the cause of this town's problem is paranormal."

Mr. Bodkin visibly bristled at the word paranormal. "I don't know nothin' about anything paranormal, and neither does my wife or son." His face turned red as he realized his slip. "…Who ain't in town," he said, trying to recover from his mistake. "But he wouldn't know nothing even if he were here. He's a good boy. He stays out of trouble."

"You misunderstand Agent Zanotto," Sasha said. "The culprit that we are searching for is not a human."

"Not a human?" Mr. Bodkin repeated warily.

"It's some sort of giant bug that resembles a butterfly," Truman explained. He loosened his grip on the door but didn't let go. "It's using hypnosis to trap its victims in a zombie-like state. We have reason to suspect that it's injured, but we're still following its trail."

"You would not have happened to have seen something fitting that description around here, would you?" Sasha inquired in a tone that implied that he knew that Mr. Bodkin had.

Mr. Bodkin seemed to be conflicted as he stood in the doorway. He opened the door a little more, and his mouth was hanging open slightly, as though he had something he wanted to say, but was uncertain if it was a good idea to say it. There was no doubt that he wanted the burden of the U.P.E. hidden within his home taken off of his shoulders. At the same time, however, he was deeply worried for his son, and he didn't quite trust either one of them yet.

Are you able to contact Eddie from here? Truman asked Sasha telepathically.

I have already been attempting to do so, but he's not responding, Sasha replied, sounding a little put out at being ignored.

From inside, a woman's voice suddenly rang out. "Chuck! Who's at the door?" she yelled, fondly exasperated. "You're letting all the cold air in!" She came into view a second later, a short, chubby woman of age with her husband, her shoulder-length hair a shade lighter than Mr. Bodkin's. She stood on her tip toes to look over Mr. Bodkin's shoulders at their guests. "Oh goodness! How long has my husband kept you boys standing out here like that? Come in, Come in!" She pushed Mr. Bodkin to the side and opened the door all the way, motioning for them to enter.

Mrs. Bodkin led them into the kitchen. Her spouse, clearly confused by how welcoming his wife was being, closed the door and trailed after them. The interior of the house was more spacious than the exterior had implied; this being due to the fact that the living room, kitchen, and dining room occupied one open space. The kitchen's décor could only be described as cheery, with red and white checkered curtains on the windows (which naturally matched all of the dishcloths and kitchen towels) and a chicken-shaped clock on the wall. Family photos adorned the fridge, held in place by colorful magnets.

Mrs. Bodkin gestured for them to sit at the round wooden table in the center of the kitchen. "Can I get you anything? Something to drink?"

Truman politely declined, as they didn't really have the time to sit and have a glass of water, as nice as that would've been with the strong taste in his mouth. There was a strange sensation touching his mind- a weariness that was not physical, and probably not his own.

"Edie," Mr. Bodkin said, "these fellows say that they're from the Psychonauts."

"The Psychonauts?" Her smile didn't falter at all. "You must be here because of those poor kids."

"Yes, Ma'am," Truman said. Eddie and the U.P.E. were just down the hall; he could feel it. It was difficult just standing there with the U.P.E. so close, but he didn't want to alarm the Bodkins by just heading off suddenly. Any luck talking to Eddie? he thought.

No. He's continuing to ignore me. He's also very anxious.

About us?

I am not certain, but I suspect that he's concerned about the U.P.E.'s welfare.

That didn't sound good at all. "Mrs. Bodkin, we just told your husband that we've tracked down the suspect to the area around your home."

The information didn't disturb Mrs. Bodkin in the least. "Is your suspect a big butterfly thing? Because we have a big butterfly thing in our son's room."

"Edie!" Mr Bodkin exclaimed, shocked and startled.

"That's…exactly what we're looking for," Truman said, just as surprised that Mrs. Bodkin would offer this information up so freely when Mr. Bodkin had been so reluctant to even talk to them. "It's in your son's room?"

"Yep. Our boy Eddie's away, and we didn't want that thing out in the living room where it could roam around, so we put some tarp down on the floor and stuck it in his bedroom." From the casual way that she spoke, she may as well have been talking about a stray dog that she had found.

"Your husband did not mention this," Sasha said.

"Oh, he probably forgot," Mrs. Bodkin said flippantly. "Man'd forget his head if it weren't attached to his neck. Don't glare at me like that, Chuck, you know it's true." She bustled past them, heading towards the hall just off the living room. "It's right down this way."

Mr. Bodkin grabbed her arm as she passed him. "Edie," he said, at a loss for words. "Are you sure-"

"What's there to be sure about? These guys are here to help." She put her hand over his, giving it a squeeze. "It's fine." She looked up at him, a plea for him to just go along with it in her eyes. Had she been less subtle, she probably would have winked. Mr. Bodkin sighed and let go of her arm, moving to the side to allow Truman and Sasha to get ahead of him.

"It's right down the hall, last door on the left. I'm sorry, what did you say your names were? Agent Zanotto and Agent…Nein?" Mrs. Bodkin's chattering became quicker the closer she got to her son's bedroom. "I best warn you, this thing stinks to high heaven."

"It does?" Truman said. That's weird, he thought to Sasha. I don't smell anything. Do you?

No, but I think that Mrs. Bodkin may be experiencing that thing's energy as a scent rather than a taste. He shrugged. Some non-psychics are more sensitive to psychic energy than others. I'd bet that Mr. Bodkin cannot smell a thing.

"Got a stench as strong as acccafortis," she said as she put one hand on the door knob and the other over her nose. "It'll hit you once I open this door."

"Thanks for the heads-up," Truman said as she opened the door and stepped aside to let them through.

There was, of course, no stench that they could smell, and the taste that was already in their mouths thankfully did not any stronger. It was the U.P.E.'s exhaustion and strain instead that hit them like a tide crashing against the shore, easily shaken off, but there all the same.

There were two occupants in the small bedroom, but only one of them was visible. Looking at the U.P.E. now, it was difficult to believe that it could overpower a single person, let alone successfully attack and hypnotically subdue twenty-seven people for two months. It was resting on a plastic tarp that had been spread out on the carpeted floor, sitting up against the bed. Darlene had been accurate when they had said that the U.P.E. was small- there was no way that the length of its fuzzy brown body measured more than three and a half feet from it the tips of its drooping antennae to its slightly singed feet. Its wingspan was perhaps twice that, but it was hard to tell, as the edges of its wings were curled inward towards its body.

The wings themselves were the same sepia brown as its body, with a strange, bright purple decorating the edges. Only the inner part of the wings could be seen, as its back was pressed against Eddie's bed. The eyespots on its forewing were about the size of a dinner plate, outlined in the same shade of sickly yellow that one might see in the eyes of a longtime alcoholic. The 'iris' was a washed out black, and within it was a pale pink circle looked similar to a constricted pupil. It was safe to assume that these were the eyespots that the U.P.E. used to hypnotize its victims, just as it was safe to assume that these eyespots were more vivid in color when it was healthy.

To describe this creature as half-butterfly, half-man would be inaccurate. The ratio was perhaps closer to three-quarters butterfly and one-quarter man. It had six limbs, the upper and middle limbs stick-thin and ending in three clawed fingers. The thicker lower limbs split off from its torso in a manner distantly similar to a human's. It sat with its legs spread out on the tarp, knees (wait, did this thing even have bones?) bent. It cradled an empty jar in its upper limbs protectively. Other jars, the glass free of residue, were scattered around the room.

The creature didn't appear to have a neck, its head transitioning right into its torso. It's large, multifaceted eyes seemed to stare at them, dully curious. Occasionally its gaze would flicker to the right (where the invisible occupant was standing) but it wasn't alarmed by Truman and Sasha's sudden presence. Was it too exhausted to be wary of strangers? Or was it merely unafraid of humans? Its emotions were hidden behind its bizarre, bug eyes and underneath its fatigue. Its antennae twitched a little, but were otherwise still. A long proboscis, sticky with what looked like grape jelly, curled near its mouth.

The U.P.E. stared at the two of them for maybe three seconds before switching its attention to Mrs. Bodkin, whose previously pleasant expression had become strained. Weakly, the U.P.E. held the empty jar out in her direction. A request for more? Mrs. Bodkin didn't seem to notice, her wide eyes were focused on the room's invisible occupant. The jar abruptly fell from the U.P.E.'s fingers, landing on the tarp with a soft thud.

"I think it wants more jam," Truman said to Mrs. Bodkin.

"O-of course!" Mrs. Bodkin said a little too loudly. "Chuck, go see if there's any more in the pantry." Chuck, who had been standing uselessly in the hallway, hurried back towards the kitchen, glad to have something to do. "Little feller's just been tearing through all my preserves," she said, shaking her head almost fondly. "I think he's got a sweet tooth."

"Butterflies do not have teeth," Sasha said.

"Pardon me, Professor," Mrs. Bodkin scoffed as Chuck returned with a jar full of orange jelly. "I don't know if he'll like the apricot," she said, unscrewing the top.

Mr. Bodkin crossed his arms over his chest. "I ain't letting that bug eat my strawberry," he declared with finality.

Mrs. Bodkin rolled her eyes and walked into the room, handing the jar over to the U.P.E., who mustered up all of its strength to grasp it eagerly. She kept her eyes pointedly averted from the space to the U.P.E.'s right.

"So, where exactly did you find this thing?" Truman asked.

"My husband spotted it lying in the backyard last night," Mrs. Bokdin answered. She rattled of the lie without missing a beat. Mr. Bodkin was less confident, looking down at his shoes. "He was pretty bad off- the bug, not my husband."

"And you brought it into your home and fed it," Sasha stated.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you just kill it?" Sasha inquired. He was no doubt scrutinizing Mrs. Bodkin's features for signs of falsehood behind his dark glasses. "Why bring such a strange, potentially dangerous creature into your house? Surely you had the means to kill it."

"Well, we weren't sure if we were allowed to," Mrs. Bodkin replied. "I was worried that if we shot it, those high-cotton environmentalist types would come down here and raise a stink if this little guy turned out to be some kind of endangered species."

"I see," Sasha said. She's put quite a bit of thought into her story, he thought to Truman, something resembling respect in his tone. "And you did not inform the sheriff of this, because?"

A look of feigned confusion came over Mrs. Bodkin's face. "We weren't sure if this sort of thing was in his jurisdiction. We thought maybe we ought to call the Division of Wild Life, but their office was closed, and then we wanted to see if this thing would die on its own before we wasted the state's time…"

Truman watched the U.P.E. as Mrs. Bodkin prattled on, observing it as it consumed the apricot jam, seemingly without a thought for anything else. It held the jar in both of its 'hands' as it greedily gulped down its contents. The sight reminded him, for some reason, of Doctor Boole's youngest daughter of all things. He remembered that she used to wait for her father in HQ.'s cafeteria when she was a kid, drinking a milkshake in a manner similar to how the U.P.E. was eating its jam, her legs swinging under the table as she quietly watched the other people in the cafeteria. The U.P.E. certainly did not resemble pale-haired Corina Boole at all, but there was innocence in this being's actions, innocence that was at odds with all that it had done over the past couple of months.

The bedsprings creaked softly, and there was a slight depression on the edge of the bed. The U.P.E. turned its head in the direction of the sound as it slurped up the last of the jam. Did Eddie not know that he had given his position away? Not that he'd ever really been hidden from them to begin with. Although he couldn't be seen, he could be felt, and his psychic signature was all over this house, just as it had been in the forest and in the general store. Some stealth specialists back at the agency could mask themselves completely, but that sort of thing took years of rigorous training. Eddie was just a fifteen year old boy who only had trial and error to rely upon as a teaching method.

He had to have already known that they knew he was here, if only because Sasha had probably barged into his mind and told him so. He likely wasn't supposed to be in this room right now, if his mother's reaction was any indication. Their plan must have been for Eddie to hide in some other part of the house while Truman and Sasha took the U.P.E. off of their shoulders. It would've worked too- it didn't look like Eddie had anything to with Papadonkus' plot, and nobody other than his parents and Randy Ratowski had any idea that he was psychic. His parents clearly cared about him, and he wasn't in any immediate danger, nor was he a threat to the town. He wasn't stealing or causing any sort of trouble. He was scared and anxious, but Truman had no way of knowing if that was because of the U.P.E., the events around town, or he'd been in this state ever since his psychic abilities had awakened.

In situations like this, the field agents were advised to recruit the young psychic, if possible. Truman didn't think that now was an appropriate time to be handing out business cards (and he could hardly imagine himself being able to convince anybody to sign up for the Psychonauts anyway), but he thought that it couldn't hurt to try and talk to Eddie himself, if only to alleviate some of the younger teen's fears.

Gently, he reached out telepathically, letting his presence be known to Eddie without verbally communicating with him. The action was the psychic equivalent of knocking on a door before entering, and Eddie, after some hesitation, let him in. Hi, Truman thought, unsure of exactly what he should say. Been one hell of a day, hasn't it?

Eddie didn't reply. The edge of the comforter lifted up and began twisting itself, the fabric being manipulated by nervous fingers.

"Are you sure that this bug is the culprit?" Mrs. Bodkin asked.

"Yes," Sasha answered.

"But look at him," Mrs. Bodkin countered, raising her arm in the U.P.E.'s direction. "He don't look like he could hurt a fly. And why would he attack a bunch of kids anyway?"

"It's not working on its own," Sasha explained, "but we are one-hundred percent certain that this being hypnotized those students."

"But how do you know that?"

"Edie, stop asking all these dang questions and let them do their jobs," Chuck, impatient to get the three of them out of his home.

"I just want to make sure that they're not wasting their time here by arresting the wrong suspect," she said. "The bug's not guilty just because he's a smelly abomination against God and nature."

Truman tried again. We're not here for you, he thought. We only want the bug. You haven't done anything wrong. He waited for a reply, and when none came, he added, you've actually helped us out a lot.

I know all that, sir, Eddie said tentatively. His invisibility wavered, and he flickered between seen and unseen for just a second. Truman pretended not to notice. That German guy told me.

That German Guy was still arguing with Eddie's mother over the U.P.E.'s guilt. "We have multiple witnesses stating that they saw this creature flying around the town," Sasha said. "One of them saw it breaking into a victim's bedroom the night he was attacked."

"What witnesses?"Mrs. Bodkin asked skeptically. "The Sheriff would've had wanted posters with his mug on them plastered all over town if anybody had actually seen him."

"These witnesses were not human. Agent Zanotto can speak to trees."

"Trees?" Chuck said with disbelief.

"How can a plant be a reliable witness?" Mrs. Bodkin argued. "They can't see. Or can they?" She directed that question at Truman.

"It's complicated," Truman said, wishing that Sasha had not divulged that information.

"Do plants have eyes?" Mrs. Bodkin asked, genuine interest seeping into her skepticism.

"No, they don't," Truman answered.

"Then how…how do they see?" Mr. Bodkin scratched the top of his head, perplexed. "You did say that they could see, right?"

Sasha responded to the question before Truman could, giving a long explanation on plant vision, an explanation that sounded factual enough, but could have easily been something that he had made up on the fly. Half of what he was saying appeared to be incomprehensible to the Bodkins, and they both regarded him with furrowed brows.

Can you really talk to plants? Eddie asked telepathically, his voice low and shy.

Yeah, Truman replied.

That's weird. No offense.

None taken.

It's weirder than being able to turn invisible, I think.

Definitely.

Can I talk to plants? Am I gonna walk by a flower one day and hear it say 'hi' to me or something?

No, I don't think so. It's genetic.

Oh. Well that's a relief. Not knockin' it or anything, but I already got enough weird junk happening to me without being able to hear the grass hollerin' at me every time I step on the lawn. The invisible fingers on the bed stopped pulling at the sheets. The U.P.E.'s eyes darted between the two of them, its antennae twitching as their psychic conversation continued. Do you like talking to plants?

Yeah, I do.

Oh. Eddie sounded a little disappointed by the answer. I guess you like being psychic too?

I like it okay. But I've always been this way, so I don't know what being a non-psychic is like.

Well, I was non-psychic for fifteen years, and I think I got a pretty raw deal, if I'm honest, Eddie admitted. No offense, but I liked my life better when it was normal.

I don't blame you for that.

Being invisible don't bother me as much now that I can kind of control it, he continued. But I used to just vanish anytime I zoned out. My boss caught me once and I got so scared that I quit my job. My mom made up that story about a family emergency and I guess everyone just accepted that.

Mr. Ratowski told us about that.

You talked to Randy? What'd he say about me? Does he think I caused this mess? He flickered again, in his panic.

Sort of. He thinks that you're being forced to work with the Flatwoods Monster, Truman thought.

Oh shoot. He would think that, Eddie thought, irritated. He's a good boss, but he's got some nutty ideas. He thinks that aliens built the pyramids.

They didn't, Sasha cut in, still conversing with Eddie's parents and doing a fairly good job of distracting them while Truman talked to their son.

Crap like that is why I can't go to school here no more, Eddie thought. Especially since all this junk that started happening with the juniors. What if I had stayed in school while this stuff was happening and I got found out? This whole town woulda strung me up without a thinkin' twice. His thoughts became rapid. It just ain't fair, man.

A strange thing happened at that moment. The U.P.E. lifted its left upper arm out and began patting the air next to it, the motion similar to that of a person comforting a friend. The touch seemed to trigger something, and Eddie gradually became visible, seemingly without his notice. The glum form of a teenage boy not much younger than Truman and Sasha appeared on the bed, his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. Long, brown bangs covered his eyes and his mouth was set in a self-pitying frown. He sighed and looked up to see all of the adults in the room staring at him. "Oh, shoot," he said upon realizing that his invisibility had lapsed. He glared at the U.P.E. "Look what you gone and made me do, B.B.," he said, sounding more annoyed than angry.

"B.B.?" Sasha said, raising an eyebrow.

"Stands for Butterfly Boy," Eddie grumbled.

"Ah," Sasha said, enlightened. "Cute."

"I suppose," Mrs. Bodkin began, a nervous edge in her voice, "that I've got some explanations to make."

No, not really," Truman said. "We knew that-"

"It was all my idea!" Mr. Bodkin blurted out, interrupting Truman. He came around to stand protectively in front of Mrs. Bodkin. "The story about Eddie being away, and me finding that bug was all mine."

"Chuck, you couldn't lie your way out of a paper bag," Mrs. Bodkin declared, irritated that he was trying to take credit for the story that she had obviously come up with.

"Arrest me and leave my wife and son alone," Mr. Bodkin demanded gravely.

"Why would we do that?" Truman asked.

"Lying to a federal agent is technically a crime," Sasha clarified.

"Oh. Right."

"No!" Eddie yelled, shooting to his feet. The action caused him to bump into B.B.'s wing, nearly toppling him over. "Leave my folks out of this! They were just tryin' to protect me!"The shouting must've excited B.B., as he shakily attempted to stand. He got about half way before his legs gave out and he fell back onto the floor.

"All of you just calm down," Mrs. Bodkin said, her hands on her hips. She seemed to have included B.B. in that statement, as she gave him the same stern look that she had given her husband and son. She took a deep breath and addressed Sasha and Truman in an honest manner. "The story was all me," she confessed. "I told my son to go invisible and hide while you two dealt with B.B. Of course, he was supposed to be hiding in the laundry room. I don't know why he stayed in here."

Eddie looked at his feet sheepishly.

"We knew that Eddie was here the whole time," Truman said, trying to calm the family down. "As for the whole lying thing, don't worry about it. We'll, uh..."

"We will just pretend that you did not," Sasha supplied helpfully.

"Yeah, that," Truman agreed. "Nobody's getting arrested okay?"

"Nobody human, anyway," Sasha added.

"Er, right. B.B. is the only in any actual trouble."

"So what're you gonna do with him?" Eddie said, walking over to the middle of the room to stand in front of B.B. "You gonna arrest him? I know he done wrong, but it's not all his fault!"

"Eddie, don't start with all this again," Mr. Bodkin said, shaking his head.

"Are you aware of what this Unregistered Paranormal Entity has done?" Sasha inquired, mouth set sternly.

Eddie shrank back, as unused to dealing with law enforcement as his father was. "I-I do know, sir," he stammered, holding his arms up defensively.

"This creature has locked twenty-seven students - your peers- into a trance that forces them to act like mindless zombies." He took a few steps forward into the room, standing almost toe to toe with Eddie. "Some of them have been trapped in this state for as long as two months. Their families are terrified for them; their friends do not know what to do, and the other students have no idea whether or not they'll be the next victim." Without warning, he telekinetically pulled one of the Otterpop wrappers out of Truman's pocket and floated it over to his hand. "It was all for this," he said, holding the wrapper up for Eddie to see. "That U.P.E. - you call him B.B.?- it's only motivation was to obtain popsicles. I'm very interested to hear your explanation on how this isn't all its fault."

Eddie's face, somewhat flushed, was gripped with uncertainty. His mouth opened, then closed, and he bit down on his lower lip. "I wasn't defending…" He cut himself off, looking over Sasha's shoulder at his parents. Neither of them could help- Mrs. Bodkin could only look at her son sympathetically as he tried to explain himself to the intimidating Agent Nein. From behind him, B.B. struggled to his feet and mustered enough strength to take a shaky step forward, and then two more, before stumbling head first right into Eddie, almost knocking him over. He wrapped his upper and middle limbs around the teen's legs, peeking around his body to look at up at Sasha. Sasha, surprised, moved back a little. B.B.'s wings were spread out, taking up nearly the entire width of the small bedroom. Truman and Sasha were on their guards at first, unsure of what the creature's intentions were, but the 'eyes' on B.B.'s wings remained dull, and he merely hid behind Eddie in the same way that a shy child would hug the legs of a parent. It was a strange display, but not a threatening one.

Even more bizarre was Eddie's reaction to the whole thing. He wasn't the least bit startled or disgusted by B.B.'s embrace; if anything his confidence seemed to be bolstered, and when he spoke next he did so with more surety. "I never said that what he did wasn't bad," he said, unconsciously putting his hand on the bug's head. "But he didn't know any better! This dickhead was givin' him popsicles to get him to do all that stuff! He's the guy you should be lookin' for!"

"Are you talking about Anton Papadonkus?" Truman asked.

"Yeah!," Eddie answered, surprised that they knew who he was talking about.

"How did you know about Papadonkus' involvement?" Sasha inquired, dropping his scary government agent act and regarding B.B. curiously. "Can you communicate with him? I had not thought that he could understand human language."

Eddie fell back into uncertainty, scratching his head. "I don't really…we don't actually talk? It's more like he can send images straight into my head? And I can send them back? I don't really know what it's called or how I do it…"

"It's a form of non-verbal telepathy that's often used when communicating with animals," Sasha explained, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "The two of you must share some sort of psychic-link, as that's usually the way that this sort of thing works."

"How can he have a psychic link with that thing?" Mr. Bodkin said before Eddie could confirm or deny having a link with B.B. "He tried to set it on fire, if I recall correctly. Ain't exactly the start to a beautiful friendship."

"Chuck," Mrs. Bodkin started warningly. "We already discussed this. If Eddie says that he's got a connection-"

"I'm not denying that!" Mr. Bodkin interrupted. "They got a bond, for sure, but I'm just sayin' that I don't understand why!"

"You think I get it?" Eddie broke in angrily. "I haven't understood anything that's been happening to me for the past four months!" He was yelling now, the dam blocking his fear and frustration suddenly collapsing. "I was all set to burn this little guy to a crisp and you know, get back to something resembling my old life, and now look at me!" He gestured wildly down at B.B., whose inhuman eyes were fixed on the plastic wrapper that Sasha still held. "I'm standing here trying to help him out, even though he's caused me and the town so much trouble! What's wrong with me? Why do I feel so bad for him?" He sighed, out of breath, his shoulders slumping. Getting all that off of his chest didn't seem to have made him feel any better, as he still didn't have any of the answers that he was looking for.

It was hard to tell what B.B.'s thoughts about were at this moment, as its eyes, as alien as they were, reveled no insights into its feelings at this moment. If Truman focused his emphatic abilities, he could pick up a good deal of affection directed at Eddie (despite his previous rant) and the same sadness that one would feel after being betrayed by somebody one had considered a close friend. Huh. Truman hadn't considered that this weird bug thing could feel such complex emotions. He found himself pitying B.B., and could easily see why Eddie felt the same way.

Mrs. Bodkin entered the room to stand by her son. Her nose wrinkled in disgust, but she shook it off quickly. "What are you going to do?" she asked.

"You're not gonna kill him, are you?" Eddie said, voice a near whisper. "You can't, right?"

"We did not come here with the intention of killing anything," Sasha replied. His tone could not be called gentle by any means, but it had softened. He glanced downwards at B.B. and reached out, offering the wrapper. B.B. snatched it eagerly with one of his middle limbs. "We only want to figure out how to get this being to release its victims," he said, watching as B.B. crinkled the plastic between its spindly fingers. "We are well aware that Anton Papadonkus is the mastermind behind this plot."

"Dick-head Donkus," Eddie spat hatefully, gritting his teeth. He pushed at B.B., trying to free himself from the butterfly's grasp. "Let me go, B.B., I can't walk with you huggin' up on me. C'mon, let's go sit back down, okay?" He pried himself loose and led B.B. back to the bed, and once there B.B. plopped right back down on the tarp in its original sitting position, still clutching the Otterpop wrapper.

"So do you know exactly what the deal is between Papadonkus and B.B.?" Truman said as he walked into the room. "We knew that the popsicles were involed, but that's about it. Is there anything else to this?"

"I just know that Donkus got him hooked on those things," Eddie said as he sat back down on the bed, careful not to jostle B.B.'s wings. "I've been talkin' to him for a while, but its not easy to get what he's tryin' to tell me when all he can do is send me pictures."

"Wait, is that why those kids were going nuts over those Otterpops at first?" Mr. Bodkin asked. He was the only one still lingering in the doorway, and he didn't seem like he had any intention of entering the room.

Eddie shrugged. "I don't think he meant to do that? He doesn't really understand how his powers work. He's kinda like me, if you think about it." The comparison made Mr. Bodkin frown, and he didn't respond.

"He doesn't understand his powers?" Sasha said, for once unable to hide his surprise. "How can that be? Are you certain of this?"

Again, Eddie shrugged. "I'm just guessing from the memories that he's shown me," Eddie admitted.

"Have you two been talking a lot?" Truman asked.

"Yeah. He was kind of out of it yesterday night, but we've been doing the uh…telepathy thing since this morning, when he was feeling a bit better. He's a friendly little guy."

"If you can get past the whole hypnosis thing," Mrs. Bodkin pointed out dryly.

"Can you tell us what B.B.'s told you?" Truman said. "He might have told you something that we can use as evidence against Mr. Papadonkus."

"I guess. Hard to forget anything a giant butterfly projects into your head," Eddie replied after a moment of thought.

"Go get some chairs, Chuck," Mrs. Bodkin ordered as she grabbed the lone desk chair in the room for herself. "It's gonna be a long story, boys. I'd take a seat if I were you."

Eddie's story was a long one, if only because he had decided to give them a rundown of the past four months, rather than the past twenty-four hours or so. There was a short mental debate between the two agents over whether to allow this, as Eddie had only become involved in this case very recently, and much of his story would be irrelevant to the matter at hand. They decided to let him tell the story the way he wanted to, reasoning that B.B. was not a threat to anyone else, or in danger of dying anytime soon. Anton Papadonkus was still out there, yes, but they didn't have any leads on where he was, and likely would not until they either interrogated B.B. or received a call from Sheriff Walls.

And so Eddie began his story on the day that his psychic powers first manifested, an evening in mid-June, right after his shift at the general store had ended. He'd been walking home alone that night, as his father had had a plumbing emergency on the other side of the county that he had needed to deal with. At some unknown point during that walk home he had completely disappeared, without even noticing that he had done so.

"I remember that I saw one of my friends riding his bike across the street," Eddie said. "I waved at him, but he didn't wave back, even though he was looking right at me. I just thought that maybe he didn't see me or somethin'".

"That's because he didn't see you. You were invisible," Mrs. Bodkin pointed out.

Eddie had shrugged the matter off and continued his walk home. He had entered his home through the front door while his mother was cooking dinner in the kitchen, and after yelling some vague greeting, had gone straight to his room to change out of his work clothes while still invisible. Neither Eddie nor his mother had noticed anything amiss- this had been their usual routine- until Mrs. Bodkin had called her son for dinner.

Mrs. Bodkin had realized something was wrong the very instant that Eddie had entered the dining area. "It was the strangest thing," Mrs. Bodkin recollected. "I couldn't see him at all, and yet I knew he was standing there, waiting for me to get out of the way so that he could get some food. I said 'where are you at, Eddie?' and he was like, 'You're looking right at me, what's the matter with you?' That's when I reached out and touched him, right on the arm. And then he just reappeared!" Mrs. Bodkin shook her head incredulously at the memory. "I jumped so high I darn near hit my head on the ceiling!"

"You screamed really loud too," Eddie added. "Like a cat fallin' into a puddle."

"Hush boy, you screamed too."

Mr. Bodkin arrived home a few minutes later to find his wife and son still in a panicked state. Upon hearing about the strange event, Mr. Bodkin (who knew nothing about psychics or how their powers worked) had calmly suggested that perhaps the whole event had been a fluke, and that Eddie should perhaps wait a bit and see if it happened again before worrying about it.

They began worrying about it the next day, when Eddie had vanished right before their eyes at the breakfast table. A simple touch was enough to shake him out of it, but it became clear that Eddie's problem wasn't just a one-time thing, and that it could happen again at any moment. The Bodkins had been stumped. Who were they supposed to call in a situation like this? The family physician? The school? A psychologist? The phone book offered no answers. Of course, they had heard of the Psychonauts, but calling them was out of the question- their number wasn't in the phone book for one, and even if it had been, the Bodkins would have been reluctant to do so anyway, as the Psychonauts as an organization fell somewhere between the CIA and the Illuminati in terms of trustworthiness. They wound up calling nobody that morning, or in the months that followed.

Eddie, despite his growing confusion and fear, continued to go about his days as though everything was normal, if only because he hadn't known what else to do. His disappearances occurred once a day, at random times, but he quickly learned to recognize when it had happened, and was able to make himself re-appear within a few seconds. His tendency to be overlooked by others benefited him during that time, as his odd affliction struck him several times while working in the general store. It was stressful, especially in those early days, when Eddie was convinced that his powers would manifest as him burning down his house instead of him just vanishing. But like anybody who underwent a major life change, Eddie adjusted and adapted. He realized that anytime he went invisible (to other people anyway- he was always able to look down and see himself just fine) he felt a strangely pleasant pulse in the center of his brain, and that if he felt that, he needed to make himself re-appear, a process as simple as him merely closing his eyes and shaking himself out of it.

No new powers developed during that time. Eddie was not reading minds or accidently flinging things across the room. For a while, he and his parents were hopeful that he could go on like that with no harm done until they figured out what they should do. On more optimistic days, they hoped that perhaps this 'whole vanishing act' (as they called it) was just another kind of teenage phase, and that maybe it would fade away, like such phases often did, as Eddie got older. In any case, they figured that Eddie would be able to manage just fine as long as he didn't get caught.

Of course, that hope died on July 14th, when Randy Ratowski witnessed Eddie's vanishing act firsthand.

"He was just coming out of the stockroom when I went invisible," Eddie said, his shoulders slumping. "I had my back turned, so I didn't see him walk out. Bad timing, that's what it was."

"What did he say to you after?" Truman asked, leaning forward with interest. The chair that Mr. Bodkin had provided for him was old, and creaked when he moved.

"Nothing. He just kind of blinked at me, looking all confused." Eddie sighed and shrugged. "I don't think he really understood what he saw, but he didn't say anything to me that night."

"You never returned to work afterwards," Sasha stated.

Eddie had been too afraid to do so, and his equally frightened parents had forbidden him from going back. His father had called Randy the next day with the story about the family emergency in South Carolina, and from the town's perspective, Eddie had been absent from that point on. It was then that they realized that it wasn't enough for Eddie to make himself re-appear when he went invisible; he had to learn how to stop himself from vanishing in the first place. That particular task had seemed daunting at first. Big cities in bigger states had resources for young psychics like Eddie, but there was nothing available in sparsely populated Braxton County. Eddie had only himself, and the well-meaning, but often misguided support of his parents to aid him.

Surprisingly enough, he found that once he got past his initial apprehension, controlling his powers was actually really simple, once he realized what triggered it. It happened when his mind was focused on something else. His thoughts would drift off, usually when he was alone (he never disappeared while interacting with another person, only when nobody was paying attention to him, which due to his quiet nature, was quite often) and then he'd feel a sensation in the center of his mind, a sensation was difficult for him to describe. It felt light and comfortable, as though being indiscernible to others was his natural state, and the previous fifteen years of being seen were an accident.

The comfort with invisibility troubled him at first. He wasn't the most sociable fellow around, but he got along well with others, and he didn't consider himself a shy person. Why, then, did being invisible inspire such feelings of contentment? Was there something mentally wrong with him that he just hadn't noticed until now? When he brought this up to his mother, she had theorized that perhaps it wasn't as deep as him having some psychological desire to be hidden. She thought that it came down only to preference, something similar to liking one brand of boots over another. Eddie's brain was fine with being visible, but if given the chance, it would make Eddie invisible, and there was probably nothing more to it than that.

In any case, Eddie was able to keep himself from disappearing by mentally stopping his brain from experiencing that sensation. The process was simple: he would pause and shake it off, and that was all there was to it. The simplicity was shocking, and none of the Bodkins trusted it at first. Late July turned into late August and by then Eddie and his parents had decided that they would risk discovery and allow Eddie to go to school, as it would have been incredibly suspicious if he just stopped attending. On the night that they came to this decision, Eddie had, for the briefest of moments, experienced a taste so foul that he almost gagged the second it came over him. It went away when he swallowed, and Eddie subsequently forgot about it, chalking it up to a stress-induced imagining on his part.

The next morning Bradley Vipperman was found shuffling towards his home, mouth agape and eyes vacant. Eddie, upon hearing about it from his mother, felt an inexplicable dread hit him like a fist to the stomach. That dread, and the certainty that something terrible would befall him if he attempted to retake his place in Sutton society next week, worsened as Bradley Vipperman's condition remained the same. His father tried to reassure him that nothing supernatural was afoot, that Vipperman had melted his brain doing something foolish and that what was all there was to the matter, but the words did little to alleviate the dread.

Three days before the school term began, Eddie begged his mother to call the school and continue the lie about him being away. Mrs. Bodkin, perhaps sensing that how much worse things were going to get, had done so, informing the secretary that Eddie would be attending school in South Carolina for the foreseeable future. If the circumstances had been different, perhaps this claim would have been investigated- Mrs. Bodkin had provided few details to the secretary that she had spoken to. However, luck was on their side in the most twisted way possible, and Eddie Bodkin was forgotten as the number of afflicted teens increased.

The weeks that followed were dark ones. Before then, Eddie hadn't known that it was possible to feel so terribly anxious and so utterly bored simultaneously. He was once again cooped up in the house for an indefinite period of time, time that seemed to stretch and stretch and stretch the longer his exile went on. His fears stretched alongside his time, mounting with every day that passed with no resolution to mystery of the zombified teens. Every car that passed their home was one coming to take him away, every visitor that stopped by to see his parents was an officer that had noticed that something funny was going on at the Bodkin's house. The local news, both televised and printed, offered no relief, only the knowledge that the town was becoming increasingly desperate. His parents did their best to help- Mrs. Bodkin always tried to look on the bright side of things and did her best to keep her son's spirits up, and Mr. Bodkin kept an ear out for any news relevant to Eddie's predicament.

The effort did not go unnoticed, and Eddie had been appreciative of the lengths that his folks had gone to keep him safe. But thoughts, bizarre and grim, kept flashing through his mind. What if, he pondered while thumbing through an old western novel, he was the one responsible for all of this? What if his peers were acting so funny because his powers were going haywire and he just didn't know it? The thoughts were, of course, ridiculous, and Mrs. Bodkin was quick to tell him so when he had come to her with the notion.

Those sorts of thoughts and wild ideas came to him often, likely the result of his long isolation and constant state of worry. Ironically, the only thing that really eased his anxiety was his lone psychic ability. Invisiblity made him feel safe-safe from being accused, safe from being scorned, and safe from whoever the actual culprit of this crime was. When his books, video games, and television shows could distract him no longer, he began to practice disappearing and re-appearing at will.

"I was surprised by how easy it was," Eddie said reflectively. "Why is that? It seems like it should've been hard."

"Your powers are as much a part of you as your arms are," Sasha replied. "You don't have any trouble picking things up do you?"

He practiced mostly in his room at first, vanishing for hours on end and re-appearing only when with his parents called him. He never tried to use any other power, as it had never occurred to him that he even had other powers. When he could take no more of being stuck in his room, he snuck out to walk in the woods behind his house. Something had felt off, he had noted as he wandered through the forest the first time, something weird in the atmosphere. In the back of his mouth, he tasted something that reminded him of gasoline, though he hadn't known what was causing it. Despite that, the walks were a refreshing change of pace from the inside of his house.

"I snuck up on a squirrel one time," Eddie said proudly. "Snatched him right up by the tail."

"We ate it for dinner that night," Mrs. Bodkin added. "It was good eats."

"Really?" Truman asked, part disgusted and part intrigued.

"No, of course not," Mr. Bodkin said sternly, frowning at his snickering wife and son.

More time passed. The State police, F.B.I. and C.D.C. came and went. More teens fell victim to the…whatever it was. By October, Eddie had both become adept at maintaining his invisibility for hours on end and very much fed up with the current state of affairs. He began to wonder if there was a way for him to figure out what was happening, or, at the very least, discover some vital clue that would bring the proper authorities closer to saving his fellow students. The idea was purely pragmatic on his part. Eddie had no desire to be a hero, but he did know that the sooner this mess was cleaned up, the sooner he'd be able to 'return to Sutton' and get back to his old life, the life that didn't involve his weird powers or any other sort of paranormal happening.

Of course, Eddie had no experience in investigating paranormal phenomena, but he concluded that making the attempt beat moping around his house for the hundredth day in a row. With that thought in mind, Eddie had set out early in the morning, without telling either of his parents about his plans. He had left well before dawn, allowing himself to fade into the heavy fog that hung around him. At 4:40 am, Sutton was silent and still, the stores long closed, the sidewalks devoid of pedestrians, and few cars on the roads. Walking through the town had been an eerie experience. The streets seemed unfamiliar, as though he'd been away for years rather than months. Searching for clues suddenly became secondary to reacquainting himself with the place that he'd lived in for his entire life. He passed by the suburb that most of his friends lived in, distantly remembering the last time that he'd seen any of them, wondering if any of them would still consider him a friend if they found out where he'd actually been for the past four months. He walked alongside the Elk River and down Main Street, his feet moving forward with little input from his brain until he was outside of the General Store. The sign to the store looked to be the same as it always had, the blocky red font reading Sutton Dry Goods on a plain wooden background, old but well-cared for. Impulsively, he strode into the alley and entered the store though the side door that Randy always forgot to lock.

The store was just as empty as the town outside was. Eddie walked down each aisle, the sound of his footsteps on the wood floor the only noise in the dark store. He took his time, observing each shelf, noting that whoever Randy had hired to replace him clearly didn't put as much effort into keeping the stock neat and organized as he had. He smothered the temptation to reorganize the messy M&M's display, but couldn't resist taking a package of Reece's Peanut Buttercups for himself. He left his payment on the counter- Eddie was no thief- and exited the store.

He went home shortly afterwards, having neither sensed nor seen anything amiss. The walk home had been a somber one, as he had realized that his life would never be what it was, even if every single victim miraculously returned to normal the next day. He could return to school, and get his job back at the General Store, and his day to day life likely would not change. But his secret was something he would carry with him forever, along with the fear of that secret being found out. Maybe his friends would be cool with it- or maybe not. Before all this had happened, Eddie's plan for the future had been to take over his father's business. But would anyone trust a plumber who could turn himself invisible at will? He had had no answer for this question so he merely focused on getting home before the sun rose.

He did not attempt another venture out into the town until a week later, when he was more psychologically prepared, and had an actual plan of action in mind. During the week between trips, he had made a list of locations to investigate, a list that included the homes of the victims (the ones that he could look up in the phone book, anyway), and the school itself, among other places. He wasn't sure what he'd find, if anything. The best case scenario was that he found something that he could anonymously inform the Sheriff about, which would point the authorities in the right direction. What that something was, he didn't know- it could be the theoretical device or drug that was causing the problem, or maybe a suspicious person lurking around. The thought that he might run into an attack in progress had crossed his mind, and it wasn't a scenario that he was eager to encounter. He liked to think that he would have tried to intervene, had he witnessed one of his peers being assaulted, but wasn't really sure of what he could do, considering the fact that his one power suited flight over fight.

Luckily, such a thing had not occurred. His second trip into town had proved fruitful, but not in the way that he had hoped for. What he had discovered was a sensation- more specifically, a strong, gut-churning taste. It had come over him at the school and had been such a shock that he had gone visible (thankfully, nobody was hanging around the school at three in the morning). It got worse as he visited the homes of the victims, and he'd been gagging by the time he arrived at the fifth and final stop (Chris Sealoft's house). The taste had been so bad and he'd become so desperate to get rid of it that he broke into the General Store and bought himself a another piece of candy before returning to his house.

Unpleasant as the experience had been, it was, in fact, a clue. As he walked home, the taste faded, and with the nasty distraction gone, Eddie had been able to recall that he had actually tasted it before (although not as intensely) while walking through the woods. This hadn't actually been something that he could slip in a note to the Sheriff, and he had suspected that the fact that he had picked up on it at all was probably connected to his psychic abilities. He concluded then, that he would need to start looking through the woods if he wanted to find something that the authorities could use.

He found something much better (or worse, depending on how one looked at it) after a week of searching through the woods at night. Yesterday, only a few hours before Sasha and Truman had arrived in Sutton in the shabby Buick, Eddie had spotted an enormous bug clinging to a tree, apparently feeding from a tree. He had stared at the strange creature, open mouthed, not quite believing his eyes at first. The sheer shock of seeing such a thing had held him in his place, his mouth filled with non-existent sludge. All had been silent in the forest, the only noise being the sucking sounds coming from the moth…no, from the butterfly's proboscis. Eddie had watched as it finished feeding and returned the proboscis back into its oral cavity. Its antennae had twitched, and it had sluggishly turned its head in Eddie's direction, and for one horrifying moment Eddie had been absolutely certain that the monster had seen him. But then it looked away and launched itself off of the tree and into the air, smacking its head on a branch just above it. Eddie's fear had become bafflement as he watched the creature sway drunkenly in the air.

"My first thought was, when I came out of my shock, was that it weren't using its wings quite right," Eddie said. "It was barely flapping them."

"That's because B.B., in all likelihood, does not use his wings for flight. They're too small to support his frame." Sasha explained. "He is a psychic creature, so he uses levitation."

"What, really? He's psychic like us?" Eddie's eyes widened at the revelation. "I didn't know that."

B.B. blinked in his weird buggy way. Evidently this was news to him as well.

B.B. had levitated for a good two minutes, bumping into branches and bramble, before crashing into another maple tree. It had hugged the tree for some time, claws digging into the bark as it rested its body against the trunk before feeding.

Three things had occurred to Eddie then. One was that this creature, whatever it was, was small and physically weak. It was no bigger than a four year old, and its limbs were thin, almost twig-like. It was also ill, the odd way it flew aroudn was proof of that. Two, it couldn't sense Eddie, or if it could, it was too wrapped up in its own sickness to really care about his presence. Three, and perhaps most important, was that this grotesque, foul-tasting abomination, fed on sap, and was therefore not attacking Eddie's peers out of a need for sustenance.

It was that third realization that had spurred Eddie into movement. He had stalked away, blood boiling as he headed back towards his home. If the bug wasn't trying to feed itself, Eddie had thought as he hurried through the woods, than it was clearly causing all this trouble for its own amusement, which in Eddie's eyes, was a thousand times worse. A plan to take out the monster that had caused him, his family, and practically everyone he knew so much distress and despair formed in his mind as he made his way through the forest, a plan that involved a can of spray paint and a lighter.

Finding the bug afterwards had not been difficult, as it hadn't flown far from where Eddie had left it. It was feeding again and too focused on that task to hear the snap of twigs and the crunch of leaves under Eddie's sneakers as he approached. When he had gotten close enough he held both arms out from his body and flicked the lighter on before squeezing the trigger on the spray paint. An acrid smelling burst of flame had then formed, the resulting heat blinding him for a few seconds. Eddie hadn't seen whether his attack had hit, but he had heard the thump of the bug's body landing on the ground.

Within the past fifteen years of his life, Eddie had squashed, stomped and swatted numerous insects and pests without a second thought. There had been no reason for him to have felt any sort of empathy for this bug as it lay prone on the ground, singed and pitiful. And yet that was exactly what had happened when Eddie rushed over to assess the bug's injuries, and if need be, finish it off for good.

A wave of pure exhaustion was the first thing to hit Eddie as he stood over the small, still creature, and his knees had nearly buckled from the unexpected force of it. Adrenaline had still been coursing through his veins at that moment, so he had easily been able to shake the feeling off.

Confusion had then taken weariness's place, and Eddie suddenly found himself unable to remember how he had gotten to where he currently was. Suddenly disoriented, he had found himself wondering why he was flat on his back, staring up at the blackened boughs above when just a second ago he'd been sucking sap out that same tree that the boughs belonged to. But that couldn't have been right, because how could he be lying on the ground, his feet and hindwings stinging when he was standing on his unburned feet, his eyes a bit watery from the heat and throat a little sore, but otherwise okay? Because that's what the bug's feeling, Eddie had concluded, realizing that he was somehow picking up on the bug's emotions. He had blinked once, twice, and then shook his head, clearing the foreign thoughts away and refocusing himself on his purpose which was to eliminate the being lying motionless and dazed before him.

When he had initially come up with his attack plan he had assumed that the bug, once immolated, would instantly burn up into a pile of ash. He hadn't considered that he might miss, or that the bug would have dodged the fire. Luckily, it had appeared that the bug had used up whatever was left of its energy, and was now completely immobile. Killing it would have been as simple as flicking the lighter on and spraying some paint. Except…Eddie's hands had been unable to do either of those things. He had both of his weapons ready, but his fingers had refused to obey the commands that his brain had sent them. Eddie wasn't a naturally violent person, and although the creature in question had caused an awful lot of trouble for everybody, the thought of it burning to death horrifically brought him no pleasure. Upon later reflection, Eddie eventually realized that not killing it with fire had been a smart move- if he could pick up on its exhaustion and confusion, he would have certainly been able to pick up on its pain as it died.

Fire was ruled out. But what to do now? Eddie had not brought any other weapons, and he had no offensive psychic abilities. He considered stomping its head in, as the bug's body appeared to be pretty frail. That option was a messy one, and Eddie hadn't been too keen on it for obvious reasons.

It was as he was mulling over the risks of trying to nab once of his parent's guns when the bug had slowly turned its head, it's hexagonal eyes falling on Eddie immediately. Eddie had picked up on no fear, no anger, and no resentment coming from the bug when it had spotted him- only relief. It had reached out one of its thin, shaky limbs towards him entreatingly, the action a plea for help. The limb was only able to maintain its position for only one second before it fell back into the dirt, but the creature's baffling relief still radiated from its mind.

It had made no sense to Eddie, as he hadn't been able to fathom why the little monster believed that it would receive any help from its attacker. "Knock it off," he had said, his tone as cold as he could force it to sound. "I'm the one that put you on the ground. Don't expect no mercy from me." The bug, unable to understand Eddie's words, had only stared up at him, eyes dull and dumb. The inexplicable trust hat it felt towards hadn't wavered at bit.

The desire to understand this creature's thoughts had triggered something in the middle of Eddie's brain, in that same spot that seemed to control Eddie's invisibility. An image had projected itself into Eddie's head, one of a reed thin man with thick black hair and horn-rimmed glasses, looking downwards with an air of smug pomposity. It was somebody that Eddie had recognized as Mr. Papadonkus, the most hated teacher at Braxton County High then the bug's head had lolled to the side, a clear sign that it had finally passed out. Its proboscis slid out of its mouth, the appendage resting on its fuzzy chest, and its antennae drooped over its head.

Eddie had known then that there was no way that he could kill the bug. There was more to this than met the eye, apparently. Why was Mr. Papadonkus in this creature's mind? Did they know each other? Did Mr. Papadonkus have something to do with why the bug was terrorizing Sutton? Was it possible that Eddie could find out somehow?

There had only been one option- he had to get this bug back to his parent's house and hope that they could help him get the whole story. After some maneuvering, he managed to get the bug onto his back and he slowly and clumsily made his way back to his house. The bug, while not heavy, was all deadweight, and his wings were cumbersome. The trip back took twice as long as it should have, and by the time Eddie had returned the moon was high in the sky.

Eddie had laid the bug carefully down onto the patio floor before quietly creeping back into his house. He had hoped that a reasonable explanation for what he was about show his parents would pop into his head, but nothing materialized while he was tip-toeing down the hall to his parent's door, nor when he was turning the knob. Nothing had come to him while he was shaking his father awake, and his mind was still blank when he'd successfully awoken both his mother and father. A silent minute passed, the darkness of the room hiding Eddie's expression of nervous apprehension and the sleepy confusion of his parents. And then Mrs. Bodkin had coughed and asked where that God-awful smell was coming from.

"Out there," Eddie had croaked in response, gesturing vaguely at the open bedroom door. "I found this thing out in the woods…"

Needless to say, the senior Bodkins hadn't been too happy to discover that their son had brought an unconscious butterfly monster to their doorstep. Mr. Bodkin had taken one look at the thing before turning back into his house. Mrs. Bodkin, overwhelmed by the 'smell', had pulled the collar of her robe up over her nose, gagging in disgust. "Good Lord, Eddie," she had said between coughs, "you ain't gonna be wearin' that shirt ever again."

"Sorry, ma."

"What's wrong with you? Why'd you bring this stinky dead monster here? Did you kill it?"

"It ain't dead, ma. Look." He had pointed down to the shallow rise and fall of the bug's chest. "Still breathing."

"I can't look at that thing. My eyes are watering up from the stench."

Mr. Bodkin had returned to the porch then, carrying with him one of his hunting rifles. He raised the gun, aiming towards the bug's head, his finger ready to pull the trigger should it have so much as twitched. "Best get to explainin' boy," he had said, voice calm and measured in spite of the frightening sight before him.

Most of the story had tumbled out of Eddie's mouth like a stack of plates crashing to the floor. He had spoken quickly and some of the words only made sense to him, but his parents had gotten the gist of it. "I can't believe that you snuck out!" Mrs. Bodkin had snapped halfway through, her anger muffled by the cotton of her robe. "You'll be washing the dishes for the next week, young man!"

Aw, what? But I was tryin' to save the town!" Eddie had protested. "It ain't like anyone could see me!"

"A curfew is still a curfew!"

"Let's discuss this later, okay?" Mr. Bodkin had interrupted before the argument could proceed any further. He steadily raised the gun again. "Now you both might want to step back inside."

"You're gonna shoot it now?" Eddie had asked queasily.

"Think I should. Before it wakes."

"Pop-"

"Chuck Bodkin, don't you dare!" Mrs. Bodkin had yelled, pushing the gun barrel downwards. "Not on the patio!"

Mr. Bodkin had stared at his wife. "Edie, it's dangerous. It needs to be put down."

"And just who is gonna be cleanin' up this things brains after you blow them out? Not me, that's for sure!" She pointed towards the tree line. "Put it down over there."

"Hmm. Well go on now, Eddie," Mr. Bodkin had said. "Let's get this done with.

But Eddie had hesitated. He had stood there motionless, throat seized by the dread his father's words had caused, and his inability to properly explain why he needed the bug alive. His father watched him expectantly, his brows meeting as he wondered what he hold-up was.

"What's the matter Eddie? You okay, son?" He had asked, clapping him on the shoulder "Don't worry about it, alright? You go in and get some sleep. Your mother and I will take care of this."

Eddie hadn't budged, his eyes drifting from the gun in his father's hands to the pathetic creature lying unconscious at their feet. "I…"he had started, dread finally loosening its grip on his voice. "I don't think…"

"Hold your horses, Chuck," Mrs. Bodkin had said, catching the anxiety and reluctance in Eddie's eyes. "Maybe we better not. You know, maybe we oughta call Sheriff Walls first."

"What? Why?" Mr. Bodkin had replied, surprised by the suggestion. "We don't know what this thing is capable of. For all we know we could end up like those teens if we let it live!"

"It looks like it's out cold."

"All the more reason to shoot it now!" Mr. Bodkin had replied. "And besides, what's the Sheriff gonna do? It's not like he can interrogate this thing!"

A short argument ensued, one that Mrs. Bodkin had obviously won by pointing out that if this creature was the culprit, than killing it may prove dangerous for its victims. Minutes later Mrs. Bodkin was laying a tarp down in Eddie's room as Eddie and his father dragged the bug in. Afterwards, there had been nothing else for them to do, other than wait for the bug to either wake up or die. They couldn't stay in the room with it- Mrs. Bodkin couldn't stand the smell (though Eddie had long since pushed the taste to the back of his mind)- so they went into the living room, where they spent the next four hours or so, one of them checking up on the bug every ten minutes or so. They had spent most of that time discussing what they would do come morning should the bug still be alive, coming to no real conclusion, as the situation was completely out of the realm of experience for the Bodkin family.

Sometime past four am, the bug regained consciousness. Eddie and his parents had lapsed into an anxious silence and were half-watching an Abbott and Costello movie on the television when it had happened, and Eddie had somehow, suddenly known that the bug was awake, though still very weak. He had gotten up from the couch and headed back to his room, without a word to his parents.

When he arrived the bug was still lying in the same spot and in the same position it had been left in hours ago. It turned its head towards the door when Eddie opened it, its limp antennae jumping a little. The relief it had felt back in the forest was at the forefront of its mind, though Eddie still had had no idea why it would feel such a way. Wild animals, when injured, usually responded with fear when approached by humans, although perhaps this thing wasn't technically an animal. Were bugs that different? Or was this bug just weird? Maybe it wasn't wild at all? It knew Anton Papadonkus, after all- was it some sort of freaky pet? Where did butterflies this big come from anyway? These questions ran through Eddies' mind, one after the other, and he was so distracted by them that he hadn't heard his father walk up to him. "So it's alive then?" Mr. Bodkin had said, sighing, not noticing that he had accidently startled his son. "Still not too late for us to shoot it."

"We can't, pop," Eddie had replied, watching as the bug attempted to sit up. Its efforts were in vain. "He ain't gonna be hurting anybody in this house."

Mr. Bodkin had regarded his son skeptically. "How do you know that? How do you know it ain't plannin' on turning us into zombies?"

"Because he's really happy to see us," Eddie had answered plainly. "Don't ask me why because I got no clue."

"That right?"

"What's going on back there?" Mrs. Bodkin had called from the living room. "Is it dead?"

It was not, and since they weren't going to shoot it, the Bodkins had resolved to do their best to keep it that way, so long as it stayed on its best behavior. The closest thing in the house that they had to tree sap was a half-full container of pure maple syrup, so Mrs. Bodkin poured that into a big bowl as Eddie propped the bug up against his bed. He had sensed no fear at all coming from the bug, despite the dire situation it was in, and it seemed to regard his parents with curiosity of all things. It was comfortable around humans, that much was clear, although why it had attacked twenty-seven of them was still a mystery.

The scent of the syrup perked the still-exhausted creature up enough for it to accept the bowl it was offered. It had sucked the syrup up quickly, the sound of it like when one's straw sucks up the last of one's drink. Once it had finished, it once again revealed its capacity to feel emotions similar to that of a human, in this case the emotion being gratitude. The warm feeling had seeped into Eddie's chest as he watched the bug hold the bowl out in a request for more, like the world's most messed-up Oliver Twist. They hadn't had any more maple syrup, but the bug, who they had now dubbed 'Butterfly Boy' (B.B. for short) had been just as eager to consume Mrs. Butterworth's brand syrup. He drank down the two bottles that the Bodkins had in their pantry, and it hadn't seemed likely that he would fall back into unconsciousness within the near future.

At around five am, the last vestiges of adrenaline had finally worn off, and Eddie began to feel the effects of sleep deprivation. Perhaps it was for this reason that yet another wild thought had popped into his head at that moment. He moved from the desk chair that he'd been sitting in to the edge of his bed, close enough so that B.B. could reach out and grab him if he had wanted to. B.B. had looked at him, not at all alarmed by Eddie's close proximity. B.B.'s emotions had been lingering around Eddie's brain, and Eddie had focused all of his psychic energy on them instinctively, unknowingly forming a telepathic link with the bug. The ease of it had surprised him, but he had quickly gotten over it and had brought up an image of Anton Papadonkus in his mind. The image was of how Eddie perceived him- a reedy man of average height, with sharp, critical dark eyes, and equally sharp nose that was more often than not turned upwards, his arms crossed and mouth set in a disapproving frown. He sent the image over to B.B.'s mind (unsure of just how he was doing it, but doing it all the same) and a jolt of pure excitement ran through him. A second later, B.B. sent an image back, this one of the same man, though he appeared to be much taller and a whole lot more friendly in B.B's mind.

"What's that in his hand?" Eddie had asked automatically. "Is that a popsicle?"

B.B. hadn't been able to understand the words, so Eddie had sent another image out, this one of a blue Otterpop. More excitement from B.B., and then a mental picture of a purple Otterpop immediately followed.

"Grape is your favorite, huh?" Eddie had said. B.B. had begun rubbing the hands of its upper limbs together, the equivalent of a child clapping its hands together. The action had been cute, in a freaky sort of way, and Eddie hadn't been able to keep himself from smiling a little.

Mrs. Bodkin had entered the room shortly after, carrying a bowl of oatmeal and a plate of toast slathered in grape jelly. "How do you stand the stench?" she had grumbled as she handed the food over to her son, her wary eyes on B.B. (whose own eyes had been looking at the toast with interest).

"I actually don't smell a thing," Eddie had admitted. The taste that he had been ignoring up until that point returned in full force at the sight of his breakfast, but he took it anyway, knowing that not eating would be a bad idea. "I can…taste him?" he said, the explanation prompted by his mother's quizzical expression. "Tastes like rotten fruit that's been soaked in gasoline." The toast briefly flashed in his mind and he had handed the plate over to B.B. in response to the request.

"Good Lord. All the more reason to call the Sheriff and get this thing out of here."

"About that, ma," Eddie had begun as B.B. puzzled over how to eat the grape jelly without consuming any of the bread. "I was thinking…"

Mrs. Bodkin's first reaction had been a hard "No!" followed by "are you crazy?" and "oh look at that, he's got jam all over him," (this in reference to B.B., who had been faring poorly against the toast). But Eddie hadn't been deterred, as he knew that his mother could be swayed by reasonable and sensible logic. Sure enough, she capitulated when he pointed out that he was the only person able to communicate with B.B. and that if he couldn't get the whole story out of the butterfly than nobody at the station would be able to, and thus there would be no way to know how to undo what had been done to the victims, nor would they be able to find out about Mr. Papadonkus' involvement. She had sighed then, and told him that she would handle things with Mr. Bodkin.

"But if this little guy takes one single step out line, we are calling Sheriff Walls," she had warned hands on her hips. "Understand?" Eddie had nodded, grateful that she was giving him this chance, and then she had walked out of the room, effectively leaving him to it.

Eating his oatmeal had taken about ten minutes, and he spent much of that time thinking about just how he was going to go about interrogating a giant butterfly that could not understand human language and had the intelligence of a child at best. As Eddie ate, B.B. had kept himself busy by rolling the leftover toast, soggy with his saliva, into a little ball. He offered the ball to Eddie just as he was finishing up his oatmeal, a meager gift for his savior. "Um, thanks," Eddie had said as he accepted the ball and put it into his now empty bowl. B.B. had seemed pleased by the action.

Breakfast over; Eddie had then stared at B.B., puzzling over where to begin. He had already confirmed that B.B. had interacted with one human- perhaps he should try and see if B.B. recognized anybody else? He had closed his eyes and thought of Chris Sealoft, one of the few victims that he had known personally. He and Sealoft were acquaintances, friendly, but not friends. B.B. hadn't responded at first, taking a minute to place Sealoft in his memories, before sending back another image, one of a young man sitting up his bed. The features of the room were blurred, as though half-remembered, but Eddie had been able to instantly recognize the young man in the bed as Chris Sealoft. A shock had run through him, then. Part of him had been hoping that this creature, with its childish mannerisms, love of sweets, and easy trust had been innocent, and its appearance in the forest at this time merely a coincidence. But no, that clearly wasn't the case. "How?" Eddie had asked, examining B.B. "How did you do it? How could you do it?"

B.B., of course, hadn't been able to answer a question he couldn't understand, and Eddie had had no choice but to move on. He thought of Bradley Vipperman, and was soon after rewarded with an image of Vipperman's last few moments as himself. This image had been clearer than the previous one, due to the headlights of Vipperman's truck illuminating the surrounding forest, and Eddie had been able to make out more details than he had in the blurry darkness of Chris Sealoft's bedroom. Vipperman had been standing near his truck, looking upwards with an open mouth, a bottle of beer in his hands. His eyes had been as wide as dinner plates, and staring up at something that was hovering just above him.

That something had obviously been B.B., but what had B.B. been doing to mesmerize Vipperman so? Sure, B.B. had a frightening and strange appearance, but Vipperman was infamous around Sutton for his aggressive tendencies. His first reaction upon seeing B.B. should have been to throw that beer bottle at him, not stand there and stare. Something B.B. had done had paralyzed him, but what?

There had been no way to ask that question with only images available to him. He tried sending that same image of Vipperman back to B.B., but only received a blank stare in response. A few minutes passed, and Eddie decided that he'd have better luck figuring that mystery out if he looked at more of B.B.'s memories of the victims.

Vipperman and Sealoft had been the only victims whose faces Eddie had been able to remember clearly (Sealoft because they hung out in the same nerdy circles, and Vipperman because he was so infamous) and Eddie had once again found himself stuck on how to proceed. He knew the other victims by name, but he hadn't been certain that B.B. would be able to recognize the vague recollection Eddie had of their facial features. The solution to this problem lay under of pile of paperbacks on his desk-last year's yearbook. He had pushed the paper books to the side and grabbed the yearbook, opening it on his lap.

The sight of the yearbook itself had spurred B.B. into excitement. He had fidgeted a little, his antennae twitching as Eddie flipped through the book (he had mistakenly gone straight to the junior section, when he should have been looking through the sophomores). Eddie had looked up, puzzled by B.B.'s behavior, and then an image of Mr. Papadonkus holding that same yearbook unexpectedly arose in his mind's eye. In the image, Papadonkus had been holding the book open, and pointing to a picture within it that was too blurry for Eddie to make out.

Apparently Donkus had used the yearbook to show B.B. which student he should go after next. But what had been in it for B.B. he had wondered as B.B. made a failed attempt to scoot closer to his chair. Eddie then thought back to the other picture of Donkus that B.B. had shared, with him, the one where he had been holding an Otterpop. He brought the image up again and sent it over to B.B., who in turn sent an image of itself sucking the purple liquid right out of the plastic wrapper. A second image was sent of Papadonkus handing over entire box of them over a moment later.

Stunned, Eddie had sat back in his chair, almost unable to believe what he had just seen. B.B.'s motive for attacking those students had been…popsicles. Just popsicles, popsicles that could be found at pretty much any grocery store. Anger had risen up within Eddie then, the same anger he had felt the first time he had encountered B.B. in the forest. Was this why twenty-seven of his peers were shuffling around Sutton like zombies? For Otterpops? Outrage at the sheer absurdity of it all had left him trembling in his chair, his teeth gritted and his nails digging into his clenched fists. He'd thought about punching Papadonkus before (what teenager in Sutton hadn't?) but never had the urge to do so been more compelling than it had at that moment.

He heard the tarp under B.B. shift, and when he had looked away from his fists he saw that B.B. had shrunk back, his knees up and his middle limbs wrapped around them, his wings curled around him protectively. B.B.'s fear-the first of it that Eddie had felt since meeting the bug- seeped into his mind then, causing the blood to drain from his face. Immediately guilt (his own, this time) replaced the fear, and Eddie had reached out, stopping short of actually touching B.B.'s wings. "I-now, wait, I ain't angry at you!" he said, trying to sound as reassuring as he could. "It ain't you that I'm mad at!" An idea had struck him then, and he brought up the memory of when Papadonkus had yelled at him for being out the halls after the bell had rung last year. He sent the image of Papadonkus sneering down at him condescendingly, hoping that B.B. would understand what he was trying to convey.

Although the bug's eyes were too alien for Eddie to identify any emotion that might be going on behind them, a feeling of confusion and disbelief had permeated the room's atmosphere. B.B. had quickly sent his reply-an image of the same man, smiling proudly down at B.B. as he reached out to pat the bug the same way that one would pat a dog that had just done a trick. The image had been a startling one. Eddie had not known that it was possible for the normally pinch-faced English teacher to look so pleased about anything. It had made sense though- what would please an asshole like this more than exacting a disproportionate revenge on his students? Hell, the only reason that he had shown any kindness towards B.B. at all was because he was using him for his nefarious plot.

It had all suddenly seemed so sad. It was obvious that B.B. was attached to Dick-head Donkus, and had an innate desire to please those he was close to. Was Donkus even aware of how sick B.B. was? If Eddie's attack had actually done B.B. in, would Donkus have mourned him? Or would he only have been pissed that his weapon had been destroyed?

Eddie had guessed that the answers to these questions were no, no and yes. He had considered sending more proof of Papadonkus' true nature- he had witnessed plenty of the teacher's outbursts towards other students at school, only a small fraction of them justified- but had decided against it. The confusion still lingered between them, meaning that the image Eddie had sent had shaken B.B. up somewhat, even as he defended his favorite human. It had seemed wrong and mean to continue this subject, so he had gone back to questioning B.B. about the victims.

The yearbook had been open to the page that had Cheyanne Walker's picture on it, so Eddie decided to do her next. The image he received back was eerily similar to the previous ones. She'd been looking up at B.B. with that same open-mouthed and wide-eyed expression, and standing stock-still. She'd been alone in an alley, indicating that B.B. must've gotten her as she was taking a shortcut on her way home. Like Vipperman, it seemed odd that she had just stood there while B.B. did whatever it was that he did- she was an athlete, after all, one of the school's best, and at the very least, she should've been able to escape had she ran.

Unless something had been keeping her from running.

A pattern emerged as Eddie continued this back-and-forth with B.B. Every victim had had that same facial expression that Cheyanne and Vipperman had had, every victim had been out by themselves, and all of them had been looking up. At around eight am, B.B. had begun to lose steam, so Eddie had brought him a jar of his mother's homemade grape jam, for lack of anything better to give him.

As B.B. happily ate, Eddie thought over the pattern he had uncovered. B.B. had been flying during all of the attacks, that much was certain. If he had been on the ground the victim would have been looking down instead of up. B.B.'s wings were pretty big compared to his small body; his wing span would have taken up the entire width of Eddie's small bedroom had they been spread out. Upon closer inspection, Eddie had also noted that each wing had a large black spot on the upper part of each wing, along with two smaller spots on the bottom wing. The spots were dull and sickly looking in color and Eddie had wondered if that was how they looked when B.B. was healthy.

B.B. had finished his jam a moment later. The jar had slipped out from his fingers carelessly, rolling away towards Eddie's closet. "Be careful, dude," Eddie had said as he brought an image of B.B.'s wings as they appeared now in his mind. "My mom will have a fit if you bust one of her good jars."

The image was then sent. A minute passed, and then another, with no response. Eddie had sent it again, and again received no response. Eddie had figured that B.B. had not understood what was being asked, and had been about to move on when he finally got a reply. The image was a full-body shot of B.B. himself, wings spread out. The B.B. in this image looked much different from the B.B. currently sitting up against his bed. The mental B.B. looked to be more vibrant that real B.B. did- his color was brighter, his antennae didn't hang listlessly, and his eyes appeared clearer. Most noticeable had been the eye spots on his wings, their pallid coloring having been replaced by deep red and pitched black ringed by warning-sign yellow. The purple and orange that decorated the edges of his wings had also been different, the purple being a shade similar to that of a violet rather than bruised flesh. A feeling of sadness had accompanied this image, as though B.B. thought his chances of ever recovering from whatever was ailing him were slim. Eddie had wanted to ask why he was so ill to begin with, but he hadn't known how.

Besides, he had his own suspicions about that, along with how B.B.'s abilities worked. He theorized B.B. was using his eyespots to enthrall his victims somehow. Granted, Eddie's knowledge of hypnosis came mostly from comic books and cartoons, but he figured that there must have been some basis in reality to those portrayals. The mechanics of this, Eddie had not known, but he couldn't imagine any other way that B.B. could have done this that correlated with the evidence that he had collected.

As for B.B.'s sickness, Eddie had assumed that keeping a hold on all of his victims was taking its toll on B.B.'s health. The only injuries B.B. had were the burns on his feet and wings, which had been caused by Eddie and B.B. had been sick before Eddie had found him.

Eddie had found the method and the motive to this madness by eight-thirty am. Unfortunately, his progress had stalled. There was little other information that Eddie had been able to obtain from B.B.'s memories of the victims, and he hadn't known where to go from there. He had inquired about Mr. Papadonkus multiple times, but B.B. had become reluctant to 'talk' about him, and only so much information could be gleaned from pictures anyway. The only thing of interest that Eddie had discovered was that B.B. had met Donkus in a forest, but he had no idea where that forest was located. Questions such as how Mr. Papadonkus had found out about B.B.'s abilities, or how the teacher and the bug had communicated with each other remained unanswered.

B.B., for his part, had become a little depressed by that point. Apparently, it had finally dawned on him that he had done something wrong, though he didn't seem to understand why. Sadness and confusion followed every exchange they had about the teacher, perhaps because B.B. had finally begun to realize that he wasn't going to be seeing his friend anytime again anytime soon.

Throughout all of this, Eddie's parents had taken turns checking up on them, occasionally bringing along a snack or a jar of jam for B.B. They had both been worried, though as the day went on, their concern became less about their son being alone in a room with a giant bug monster and more about what they were going to do about said monster when all of this was over.

The rest of the day passed with Eddie being largely unsuccessful in getting any new information. The conversations that he had with B.B. were frequently distracted by requests for more jam and by entertaining but otherwise useless derailments. One moment Eddie would be trying to find out about B.B.'s origins, the next B.B. would be showing him an image forest fire he had witnessed (Or started? Eddie hadn't been sure). Hours had gone by in this manner, with Eddie getting strange and amusing insights into the life of a three-foot mutant butterfly. By the end of it, Eddie had concluded that B.B. was a curious, friendly little fellow whose worst quality was that he wasn't all that bright.

He was also a lonely creature. At no point during their time together had B.B. mentioned any other mutants that resembled him. It was no wonder that he had become so attached to Papadonkus- the man was probably the only friend he had ever had. Once again, Eddie had felt pity for this naïve, but well-meaning creature that gotten wrapped up in an insane revenge scheme.

At dusk, Eddie had been wondering what B.B.'s eventual fate would be. Although his intentions had not been malicious, and the whole thing was mostly Mr. Papadonkus' fault, B.B. was still very much guilty of hypnotizing twenty-seven people. If there was a prison for big mutant bugs, Eddie had not heard of it. Chances were, the Sheriff would take one look at B.B. and put a bullet between his buggy eyes. Maybe if I get B.B. to release his hold on everybody, Eddie had thought, they'll be more lenient on him. But how the heck am I gonna do that?

Unfortunately, Eddie had not had any time to formulate a plan, because Truman and Sasha had knocked on their door shortly afterwards.

"And, uh," Eddie finished somewhat awkwardly. "Y'all know the rest." A moment passed. "Sorry I couldn't find out more."

"No, it's alright, man," Truman said as Sasha dug through one of his jacket pockets. "Just catching this little guy was a huge help. The fact that you found out anything at all from him is pretty amazing considering the circumstances."

"I had already suspected that the eye spots on B.B.'s wings were the catalyst for the hypnosis," Sasha added. In his hand he held a small door, the standard issue psy-portal assigned to all agents. "Your testimony has confirmed it."

Eddie nodded, the words doing nothing to change his grim expression. A question hung in the air between the three Bodkins, and although both agents knew what that question was, they stayed silent, waiting for one of the Bodkins to muster up enough nerve to ask it. Predictably it was Mrs. Bodkin who broke the silence. "Well, what now? What happens next?"

Sasha held up the miniature door. "The nest step for us is to explore B.B.'s mind," he said, "and hope that we find a way to reverse what he's done to the victims."

The three Bodkins stared at the psy-portal with matching expressions of bafflement. "You're gonna go…in his head?" Eddie asked, his eyes flicking over to B.B. and then back to the door.

"Yes," Sasha answered, offering no further explanation.

"Shouldn't you be out lookin' for Papadonkus? Seein' as he's the mastermind of this and all," Mr. Bodkin said, scratching his head.

"Mr. Papadonkus left town yesterday. We've got an A.P.B. out on him, but there's not much else we can do until we hear back about it from the Sheriff," Truman said as he examined B.B. The butterfly's head was small, and most of it consisted of his eyes, so Truman had no idea where Sasha was going to stick the portal. "The victims are our top priority right now."

"Is this going to take long?" Mrs. Bodkin asked.

"Is it going to hurt him?" Eddie said at the same time.

"No to both of those questions," Sasha replied. "We will only be in there for a few seconds, and it shouldn't hurt him at all. Unless something goes horribly wrong."

It seemed as though the Bodkins had more questions that they wanted to ask, but the desire to have this ordeal done with overruled their curiosity. All eyes turned to B.B., oblivious to what was about to happen, and happy to have so many humans gathered around him. "Can I try to tell him what's going on?" Eddie requested. "Just to, you know, prepare him and stuff."

"Go ahead," Sasha said. "I need to locate a good place to put this anyway."

"Can you stick it on to his eye?" Truman suggested as Eddie communicated with B.B.

"I'd prefer not to," Sasha said, grimacing. "Hmm. Perhaps the back of his head, here?" He pointed to the area where B.B.'s head transitioned into his back.

"Worth a shot."

"Alright," Eddie said, standing up from the bed and stepping to the side to get out of the way. "I don't know how much of this he really gets, but he's as ready as he'll ever be." B.B. sat up a little straighter, as though concurring with that statement. Sasha got up from his chair walked over to the bug's side. He telekinetically tilted the bug's body forward enough so that the back of his head was visible. The door than floated down from Sasha's hand and stuck itself just above B.B.'s back, close to where his brainstem was located.

The door opened just as Truman walked up to B.B.'s other side, the glow beyond the door bright and colorless. Within seconds, they were both astrally projecting themselves right into the butterfly mutant's mind.