*** Hey guys, Cornelia here. Just wanted to say sorry for not fully loading last week’s story onto the website. I could explain the technicalities of the mishap, but it is a much easier excuse to blame it on the math test that was looming over my head (I think I passed...). Anyways, here is the good stuff! And with no further ado, I hand the stage over to my brother! ***
We have an entire spectrum of ideas as to who this man in the photo could be, from practical to magical, you guys covered it all. Everything from 2q2q1 plastic surgery theory to EllaMarie ‘s suggestion of time travel, there didn’t seem to be an easy answer for the mysterious carbon copy smiling back at us from the photo on the wall.
We decided to slink out of the firehouse without asking too many questions. We were in the same mindset as MissMagali, if these guys were working for the other side then we don’t want them to know that we are on to them. Are we on to them? Sometimes it feels a bit like grasping at straws but Amanda always know when to throw us a proverbial “bone” when we are feeling a bit lost or hopeless.
We were walking down the road, towards town. No one said much, we were all feeling a bit confused and foggy headed when a moving van turned the corner too quickly and bumped one tired up onto the sidewalk nearly scaring Nia to death.
“You crazy driver!” she was running after the van shaking her fists like a cartoon character. She didn’t get far, she was wearing heels. It took us a moment to acknowledge the box. Was it there before? Did it drop out of the van?
It was sitting on the sidewalk with one side that said “this side up” with and arrow, only the arrow was pointed down; the box was dented. We flipped it over to hear the tinklings of things that were clearly delicate.
Inside were shattered family portraits. We carefully pulled the picture from the cracked frame and glass shards. It was our man, the one in the fireman’s photo, Stark’s carbon copy. He was sitting with a child on his lap and a woman standing over them with her hand on his shoulder. On the back was written: “Stephan Sr., Stephan Jr., Marybeth, Baltimore.”