2020-05-23 - A Long Overdue Conversation

With the Grand Olympic open and with some very high profile guests in attendance, Byron's been kept quite busy. Perhaps, that's a good thing, to keep his mind occupied and away from dark thoughts conjured up from their most recent visit to his childhood home. When he gets Alexander's call that they should meet up, Byron is in mid-pose standing alongside several other high profile guests, all wearing big smiles. It takes a moment for him to check his phone, noting who the caller is. At that point, he's of the mind to ignore the message. In fact, he does so for a good hour as he makes the rounds of visiting his guests and giving several of his business associates a personal tour of the hotel and casino.

All of this can be incredibly tiring to keep up for hours on end and Byron is on his way to fetch his car, when he reaches into his pants pocket to pull out his phone and see if there are any messages that he may have missed. That's when he comes across Alexander's text once more. Sitting there in the comfort of his Rolls, hands on the steering wheel with his phone, displaying Alexander's number, propped up on the dashboard, he eventually bites.

He finally returns the message, telling the other man to meet with him at the penthouse at his convenience. It looks like Thorne may have cleared his schedule out, at least for the next few hours.

By the time Alexander does show up, Byron's already heating up some coffee at home. He's still in professional dress, with his suit jacket draped over the back of a bar stool. And when he hears the sound of the elevator out in the hall, he moves to greet his guest with something akin to a smile. Attentive eyes scan Alexander's features curiously, remembering that the man was cut up by shards of glass. "Come on in. Sorry, that I haven't kept in touch. With the casino opening, let's just say that I've been kept really busy." Gesturing for Alexander to enter, the shuts the door behind them both, making his own way towards the kitchen, "I got some coffee prepped, if you want some." All of this is oddly normal conversational topics, but he will inquire, "How have you been?"

Alexander is not particularly surprised when Byron doesn't answer his text. It was a simple message: Would like to come by. Is that alright?

And then a smiley face. Why? Only Alexander knows. At any rate, when Byron finally does answer, Alexander simply replies in the affirmative, and then shows up about ten minutes later. Considering that he walks everywhere, it probably means he was somewhere just outside the complex. Waiting. Like a creeper. He's dressed not out of the ordinary, although he's found an oversized hoodie to wear instead of his jacket; the dishevelment of his hair suggests he was probably pulling the hood up to keep people from staring at the variety of little glassmarks all over his face. None of them are serious, but it does rather look like something exploded on him a bit.

He returns the sort-of smile with an answering one of his own, brief but genuinely pleased. "You're looking well. I heard the opening was great fun. Something about fish? But otherwise great." He slouches in like a guy you wouldn't leave alone with your expensive and pawnable electronics, studying the penthouse for any changes. "I'm glad that things are moving for you. I'm okay." A look back at Byron. "What about you? Are you okay?"

Of course, Byron noticed just how quickly it took Alexander to get here. And not only to get to the apartment complex, but to get inside and onto the elevator. He doesn't openly question this, however, even if he does take a glance at his watch to make sure that time didn't just slip away without him realizing. "Do you want me to call Erin or someone to take a look at.." He turns back to look on Alexander again. Though he might not come out and say 'your face', it's clear what exactly he's talking about. "Or if you want to ensure that there's no scarring, Lilith might be by a little later." He's always uneasy to have Lilith use her powers to heal anyone, but this was a somewhat minor injury, so he makes the suggestion.

Standing by his espresso machine, he fills up a second mug with the good stuff, filling the air with it's strong, yet comforting aroma.

"Don't talk to me about those fish. They aren't ghosts, I don't think. And even if they were... they are fish." There are no real changes to the penthouse. Everything is as they usually are. Mostly.

"I'm fine. Incredibly busy and after dinner, I might swing by the casino again, but we'll see how I feel at that point." Turning and making his way back towards Alexander, he hands the man the freshly poured cup of coffee, while he takes this moment to sip at his own brew. "You're not here to discuss the casino, are you?" He finally asks, his mug lowered.

Alexander prowls in his way, moving in a rambling pattern to examine everything before ending up near Byron and the espresso machine. He accepts the cup. "Thanks," he murmurs, dipping his head to inhale the fragrant aroma, and he smiles. "It's very good." Not that he's drunk it, yet, but it's hot. Humor dances in his eyes at the mention of the fish. "Fish ghosts probably aren't very dangerous to your clientele. But let me know if they come back and you want me to, uh, take a look? I don't promise that I can /do/ anything, but I don't mind poking at it a bit. And my face will heal. It's not important."

Now he takes a sip. "And no," he says, after he's swallowed, "I wasn't. I don't mind. Talking about it, though. It's clear you're happy about it opening. I'm glad." He's clearly a little uncomfortable; his sentences are coming short and fast, each one hurled like verbal bullets. "I wanted to see how you were feeling. After the dream." He looks up to stare at the other man. "I know you don't like to talk about it. And you have Lilith. But I thought...you might want to."

Byron always finds it amusing to watch Alexander work, no matter how bizarre. So he'll make passing observations of his own in regards to the way in which the other man just paces around the place. "If phantom trout is the worst of our problems, then I'll take it. Only those with the shine were able to see them anyway." He finishes with a muttered "Thank God."

No, Byron Thorne knew exactly why Alexander was here. It's not as if they both didn't suff... go through some of the issues of his childhood, so while he gestures towards the couch or one of the other chairs that can be found within the place, Byron settles to rest in a lean against the edge of the kitchen island, going in for another sip of hot coffee. "I've bee talking business all day, I don't mind a change in topic." Though, this tends to be a topic that Byron had always minded if it ever came up in conversation. "I had a discussion about the whole thing, with the house, with Lilith just last night. We're not sure what point the house was trying to make by showing us all of that. Except.." He lets out a heavy breath through his nostrils, his lips tightened into a pinched line to show some of his discomfort, "Now, I didn't her this, but I think that it's just a way for the house to stake it's claim. If... any of that is true. The bodies. Any of it. Eventually, I'll end up in one of those burial mounds. Maybe. I mean," And here it's Byron's turn to ramble out his own thoughts, "If that's even possible. What if..." His words come out firm when he starts, but his tone softens when he repeats himself to finish the full of his question, "What if each time that I die or... come close, close calls, that something or someone was sacrificed in my place.

"Funny though, I've witnessed things that shouldn't even have happened." And when he says witness, he means has memories of now. "Some of those... bodies, versions of myself died by my father's hand at an age where my father should have already been dead and buried himself." Often times, speaking of the abuse at home is something that Byron would shy away from, but he brings it up here as if just making normal conversation.

Alexander smiles a bit at the muttered imprecation. "Just say it's experimental holographic technology for entertaining, but somehow it got stuck on 'Salmon Run'. If someone who shouldn't see it does." He wanders his way back around to take a tentative seat on a chair, hunched over to rest his elbows on his knees, and watch Byron with that flat, intense stare. "It's possessive," he agrees, softly. Although it may be more than just obsession with you, in specific. Before this time, it felt like it wanted to recreate a past that never existed. Not really. Recreate the illusion."

He takes a breath, then goes quiet, listening to the rest. He doesn't immediately dismiss Byron's concern; instead, his expression goes thoughtful. "If that was the case, then there would be a pattern. If you mean that other people die when you 'should' have. A pattern can be researched. Supported or unsupported. If you're talking classical occultism, then the proxy sacrifice would have to have a connection with you of some sort, so it wouldn't just be 'random person in a city dies when you should have'." A longer pause. "If you're talking multiple dimension theories, that's a bit trickier, but even in those cases, what I know of the theories would suggest that those bodies would just be records. In another universe, a Byron Thorne died at a certain place and time. In another universe, Stephen Thorne lived longer." He sighs, softly. "And what the House will never show you, but which is equally predicted under such things, is that in another thousand universes, there were better, brighter outcomes. A million where Stephen Thorne manned the fuck up and reached out for some help with his drinking and his urge to beat the life out of his child."

His mouth snaps shut, as the last sentence started to show a sharp, simmering anger that he's clearly trying NOT to bring into the conversation. He takes a sip of espresso, instead. "The point is. You're not responsible for any of those Byron Thornes. The ones who died. The ones who lived. You don't guide their fate. You have one life."

His brows lifted in thought, he tilts his head back to take a deep swallow of coffee, before Byron asks, "What if I'm the only one? The only one with the good life? The only who saw Stephen Thorne die when he did?" Licking at his lips, he half-turns to set his mug down on the counter, "What if none of others were as lucky?"

It's at that moment that Byron just has to laugh, wearing this annoyed smile, "Imagine that. Imagine that I'm the lucky one?" One hand in his pocket, the other gestures around the penthouse, "Did any of the others live in a place like this? Visit the places I had?" Yes, he remembers what Olivia had said about him and this image of his.

He quiets down soon after as his mind sobers, going back to something which Alexander said. "I'm living the brightest outcome. If you can call all of this. That." Something comes to mind now, something which makes him inquire, "What did it make you see? Feel?" This is something which he has't quite touched on with Lilith yet, but as Alexander was the other mentalist in the group, he must have sensed something.

Alexander opens his mouth to say something. Then seems to visibly rethink it, and his head comes down to stare at his feet for a long moment. "What if you are?" he says, at last. He looks up to try and meet Byron's eyes. "What if you are the only one? What would that mean to you? What would it change?" He seems genuinely curious, in that flat, intense way of his.

But Byron's question in return makes him wince, and look away. "The House? Memories of the past. Things that happened." He goes silent for a moment. Then says, "I'm sorry. Pretty much everyone failed you when you were a kid. Including me."

This What If? question regarding Byron being the lucky one out of every single version of him from whatever reality is something that Thorne had thought about since their visit to the Thorne House. There was something dark about it all, just that very thought. He doesn't answer immediately and for a time, he looks deep in though. Then at some point, his eyes shift and flicker over to meet with Alexander, noticing the detective looking at him. "I can't say it would change anything, but..." He slowly shakes his head, eyes diverted again, with that wry smile forming once more, "If that's the truth, then it really sucks to be them."

There was a part of Byron that didn't want to know what the others experienced there. He only knows what /he/ experienced, uncertain as to whether everything else was heard, felt by the others as well. So when Alexander informs him of what the he, at least, felt, Byron slowly nods. He's not happy about it, but there was little that he could do now. In that Byron Thorne way of his, he is quick to dismiss the incidents of his childhood. His lips even quirk into a smile now. "Sorry? I've accomplished so much. Would I have been able to without any of those hardships?" He can't answer that. And while the faintest of smiles may remain, there's this intensity in his eyes when they move to meet with Alexander's again.

"What could you have done anyway?" That look within his eyes, it's almost like Byron just issues the other man a challenge.

Alexander nods at that answer, slowly. "I can't tell you what meaning to make of that. Of what we saw. But I don't think it's right to try and make you feel guilty or responsible for things that might have ended in your death. Survival is imperative; to survive is no crime." His brow furrows. "Although...some things were strange, that I felt. Fire. Like someone was burned. And poison. Was that..." his lips thinned. "Did that happen, or was it a might-have-been, or was it another family or generation?"

As to the last questions, Alexander actually thinks about them. He rubs wearily at his face, his fingers tracing the little healing slashes on his skin, rubbing hard enough of them to cause himself some small pain, although it doesn't seem to be deliberate, exactly. "Yes," he says, at last. "Your hardships didn't give you your virtues. Maybe they gave you motivation; I don't know well enough to say. But I think you would have done great things regardless. You're focused."

The last question, of course, is the sticker. He takes a deep, shaky breath. "I think about that. Thought about that. I could have tried to talk to someone about it. I could have tried to make him stop, one way or the other. My focus was...elsewhere. But I should have at least tried. So, I'm sorry. I recognize why you're not fond of me, and in our position, I wouldn't be fond of me, either." His smile is brief, lopsided.

Byron isn't even sure if he feels a sense of guilt when it comes to the dead versions of himself. Perhaps, it's best to think of them as waxy dolls or dopplegangers like the ones he'd already encountered. Many of them died too, were they in the Byron Thorne graveyard? The mention of the burning and, poisoning is brought up and Byron is quick to respond to at least one of those, his dark eyes staring out across the room, his express neutral, "Once when I was fourteen, I suspected my mother of trying to poison me. My abilities were growing since then and I knew that..." There's a thoughtful pause, "I knew that she was upset after her husband's passing." There's a lot more that Byron had sensed about his mother for a while now. "Anyway, when we were home together, we often ate in silence at the kitchen table. She was never the same after dad died." From what threads of memories that Alexander may have grasped from the Thorne House or what he knows about Mary Thorne, herself, despite photographs of a happier time in her youth, Mary Thorne's change happened well before her husband killed himself. Perhaps, this is just the same excuse Byron's been using through much of his life in regards to his mother.

"I have no evidence of anything, but for a few days, I was feeling incredibly ill and then that night I suffered from convulsions and vomiting that night. Luckily, one of the neighbors, a friend of my mothers, was visiting. She brought cookies over and thought we needed some cheering up. You might know her. Sharlene Simmons. Nurse. Worked at Addington Memorial. Still lives in the neighborhood actually. She took me to the hospital and all of that was quickly forgotten." A hand absently reaches for his mug to brush fingertips along the curve of the handle rather than taking it up in his grasp. "My surviving that either killed a version of myself or," His shoulders lift into a shrug, "That's just a different timeline altogether. Like with the burning. That happened when I was sixteen-ish. I remember the night at the bonfire at the beach. Just... it's like I have recollections of all of these deaths now, whether they happened to me," And here he adds emphasis to that particular word. Me. "Or to another version of myself. That particular memory, my father... his father, was still alive. So something went askew and Stephen Thorne never died."

Byron has to laugh a bit now, finally taking up his mug in hand, "I wonder what went wrong for that to have happened, huh? What made him not shoot himself in the head?"

Thinking further on what Alexander says about his own virtues, Byron brings up, "Yes, but.. remember when there was a discussion about giving up memories to Gohl? And people said not to because you might not be the same person without those experiences? It's really hard to say." This is then followed by Alexander's explanation on what he possibly could have done. "How would you have known? As Olivia said, I'm a great liar." This is all said on strange, dark humor. He really was, even as a child, but that said, Alexander caught him when he was at his most vulnerable: Being in the presence of his father.

"Kinda makes me wonder what would've happened if something were done. Where would I have been sent to? Would I have just lived with my mother, the way I did after my father died? Would anything have been done? So many questions that will never be answered." Alexander's bringing up on Thorne's lack of fondness for him, Byron has to think about this as well. "I actually forgot about that until I returned home and was drowning in memories due to the House. Due to Gray Harbor."

"Jesus," Alexander says, softly. He rubs at his forehead with his free hand. "And yeah. I think Simmons and my mother were friends. Are. Are friends, I suppose." He takes a breath. "And I don't know, Byron. Even being an empath doesn't let you know all the secrets people keep in their darkest hearts. But don't--don't spend too much time thinking about those other lives, okay? That's a rabbit hole you can get lost down and never recover from. Just," he grimaces, "stay grounded."

To the speculation, he can just shake his head. "Hell, I don't know. I'm just sorry that you were in that situation. You never did anything to deserve it." He sits back in the chair with a whump of back hitting fabric, and waves a dismissive hand. "Why wouldn't you? Even if Gray Harbor didn't blunt all those memories, there'd be no reason for you to remember the weird kid who stalked your dad for a few months before disappearing for years." His smile is crooked. "You really should go, you know. Take Lilith, hire a manager for the apartment and one for the casino, and just go live a good life and forget all about this fucking place. You could do better just about anywhere else, and your chances of getting eaten by an obsessed house are astronomically lower."

"I was thinking of asking her about it." Byron speaks of his mother between sips of espresso. "Maybe I will. She's been pretty scarce as of late. After everything that I've provided her with. The apartment, etc." He then says mid-sip, the rim of his mug resting against his lips, "I'm sure that she'll be happy to know that Olivia, or the House, got dad's car back." The very vision of it made Byron's blood run cold, filling him with an intense need to leave the area. He takes that sip once he's able to get those words out, having felt an anxious lump forming in his throat just thinking about it now.

Taking this time to do his own slow pacing around the room, the slowly emptying coffee mug in hand, "I still gotta make the call to have the gravestone repaired. I'm not letting Lilith do that." Lifting his arm to check his watch, he figures he has some time before business hours are over. Heading over towards the terrace, he pushes both doors open to give him a nice unobstructed view of the bay. "Lilith has things to do here as well. She has a shop to run. Maybe in the next year or so, we'll see how things go." Turning back towards Alexander, he asks with genuine curiosity, "I wonder if I'll retain memory of having my abilities or not this time around. Maybe it won't matter once I'm far away from here, but I'm not gonna say that I won't miss it."

"Are you sure you wanna do that? Talk to Mrs. Thorne about all of this, I mean." Alexander's expression is grave, and he follows Byron's restless movements with his eyes. "If she tried to poison you when you were a teenager. Don't you think maybe just cutting her loose might be...good? She doesn't seem like a very," there's a long pause as he does his absolute best to remember what tact is, "maternal individual, where you're concerned." There. Much better than I'm pretty sure your mother hates you. Downright diplomatic compared to that.

"And that makes sense. No use tempting the furies when people can fix the stone without abilities." As Byron heads over towards the terrace, Alexander stands, and ghosts after him, shorter than the younger man, and looking even moreso, considering his habit of hunched shoulders and eternal air of nervous suspicion. "I don't know if you'll remember. I remembered, but it was, blunted? The supernatural things were less...just less in my memories, even when I was actually using my abilities away from the Harbor. In my case, that was a great thing. Only way I really learned to control them and get some walls up was by having them turned down a bit so I could think."

Seeing that Alexander had followed him, Byron's attention is once again drawn out to the beautiful, if gloomy, view of the bay. Tucking one hand into his pocket, he finishes off his coffee in a final sip. For now, he makes no movement to set the emptied mug down somewhere. Cutting his mother loose? If Byron wears any expression, there's the faintest hint of a smile at his lips, those dark eyes staring off into the distance. He looks almost amused by that prospect and yet, Alexander might be able to catch just a slight bit of tension at his jaw that may tell him that, no, the man isn't taking anything regarding his mother lightly.

It passes and he turns back towards the man once more, this one wearing a broader smile. "You might be right there. And she's been through a lot. My mother. How would you feel if the person you loved most was slowly being driven insane. Or that's what I'd assumed happened." He then goes on to bring something up which he'd mentioned at the Thorne House, "Only place where that happened for was, like I said, the catacombs." He even tries to think up the name. The Capuchin Catacombs, where I first saw the faces of all of my dead..." His shoulders lift, "Selves, I guess I can say. Was still in college then. My first big trip abroad too."

"I think I'd feel terrible," Alexander says, after a moment's thought. "It's me. So I'd probably flip out and break something. Or cry. Maybe both." He frowns. "But you know. I've never hit a kid since I was one. Won't say I didn't ever hurt someone who couldn't fight back. I'm not honorable, or anything. But a kid doesn't know. They're just being a kid." He grimaces, falls silent. Edges out a little more onto the balcony to look out at the view. He brightens, just a little, studying it.

"Capuchin Catacombs. Maybe it was another thin place? Got a scent of you and wanted to try for a meal?" He glances sidelong at Byron, frowns a little. "Did you think about things like that a lot? How things might have turned out? What could have been?"

Byron seems content with Alexander's answer, not really being judgmental no matter how Alexander, himself, would have handled the situation if he were in Mary Thorne's shoes. He does come out and state, however, "I'd have to see what the situation was like. I can say that I'd do anything to protect Lilith, but it depends on the little rugrat as well." Thinking on this, he shares a bit more, "My mother and I were never close." And yet, here he is, providing for her and rescuing her from the trailer park that she was forced to live in after selling the family home reluctantly.

"Possibly." Byron will say about the Catacombs. "I've spoken to people who had told me that their powers were always just a part of their daily lives." A pause, "Non-Gray Harbor natives. I kinda wonder how many thin spots there are due to this. Unless they have a stronger grasp of their powers than I do." Which... well, he's been slowly working to hone his skills in regard to his Talent over the years. To the other thing, he considers, "No... well, that's not entirely true. But who has time to dwell when you have investors to try and impress and concepts to create, right?"

Alexander thinks about it for a while, scuffing his foot on the floor of the balcony. "Maybe it didn't have anything to do with not having a grasp of your abilities. But just not needing them like other people did. Or do." He runs his hand through his hair. "You have a lot of other talents, and you didn't need to read people's minds to get what you needed from them" He chuckles. "Patrick Addington says that the Dreams, getting Lost, and all of that? It's punishment. For using these abilities. If you stop, then it'll stop happening to you. I don't know if I believe that...but I think that you probably didn't have a lot of trouble of the supernatural kind while you were about in the world. The Catacombs, but overall?" He makes it a question with the upward lilt of his voice, and waits with open curiosity, apparently not willing to waste this moment of unusual candor from Byron.

"You say that, but I really could've used the abilities I've got now." Byron isn't ashamed of admitting this, no matter how much people like to tell him just how successful he became without it. "How much easier life would've been. But, you're right. I had other talents to fall back on, I just would've liked the advantage." From the terrace, they have a clear view of the Grand Olympic floating out there in the waters. However, when Alexander brings up with Patrick Addington has to say, one thought in particular comes to mind. "Vivian... had hardly an inkling about her own abilities and yet, she still disappeared." He then hurriedly tacks on, "Tobin's mother is finally gone. He suddenly was unable to feel her presence in town, so... that's why he finally left." Stepping out onto the terrace, himself, his posture tall and straight, dark eyes looking out at the casino, "Then learning about the fate of Magnolia's father. His ghost or likeness reaching out to us to..." Here his brow furrows, when he murmurs, "Warn us. Anyway, I told de la Vega that there might be something on the loose and to, maybe, check old case files regarding Detectives Jones' disappearance."

Turning to Alexander now, he comes out and says, "I'm just saying all of this right now because, I don't know what's happening on the other side. What happened to Vivian. Tobin's mother. Nathaniel Jones or... Isidore. Who knows why people get Lost."

Alexander smiles. It's sudden and bright, although it only lasts for the space of a heartbeat or two before it's gone. "Then maybe the world made you forget about them so that everyone else had a fair shot, Byron." It's light and teasing.

Of course, the litany of the Lost means that lightheartedness doesn't last. He swallows, looks down. "I don't know why people get Lost. Growing up, I always figured it was...kill or be killed. People who got lost and didn't come back? They were dead. They couldn't kill whatever came for them. And it was best not to think too hard about it, because the next time, I could be, too, and there was no way to track them, or block getting lost, or even figure out where. I tried. When I was younger, I tried a lot. But conventional investigation was never sufficient, and at the time, I had no idea about the Veil." His smile goes crooked. "When I was a teenager, for a while I thought it was demons. That maybe I was possessed, and all the dreams were just things the demon tormented me with while it ran off and did things with my body."

He shakes his head. "It was nonsense. I got over it. But it's just---there's a lot we don't know."

"If not for Mrs. G or Isidore, I probably would've been oblivious to any of that. The Veil, these Dreams, they played such a small part in my life growing up that I was hardly affected by any of it." Byron says, relaying his own experiences living in Gray Harbor. "I mean, we all talked aboutJoey and Jaimie's mother, but that was all ghost stories." With his hands tucked deeply within his pockets, he turns in full towards Alexander, "Despite the shadows and darkness that crept out from every corner... and our abilities, Gray Harbor seemed relatively. Normal. Unlike how it feels now. Or I'm far more impacted by events happening here, in the Veil."

Taking a few steps to the balcony, he leans gently forward against the rail, "I didn't even realize that /I/ had anything special about me until later in life, when I was twelve. All this time I thought.." He thought his father could read his mind. "So call me a late bloomer, but not as late as some others."

Alexander moves alongside Byron, leaning on the rail with his elbows and looking out and down. "Most kids, I think, if they have it, they don't have it very strong. Tends to manifest around puberty for most people. I remember that you were sharp as a kid, though. You definitely had it. But people seem to latch on to parts of their abilities. Like, I was a...I was like a radio antenna with no volume knob. Even when I figured out how to push people, I still couldn't figure out how to turn down the volume."

He grimaces. "I've always wondered. Why some people get triggered really early, and others don't seem to realize it until they're adults. It's clear that stress and pain is involved. But Yule didn't find any genetic markers that seemed out of place." There's a pause, before he turns thoughtful, eyes narrowing into the night. "If you had a choice. Would you turn it all off? Like - if someone said that they could make all the Lost stop being lost, stop the Dreams, but it meant that no one would have abilities. Good trade? Not so much?"

A hint of an amused smile forming on Byron's lips, he has to ask, "How could you tell?" He catches himself before he says more, knowing full well what the boy that Alexander had met that night was like and how different Byron was at home rather than compared to how he was like among his friends and teachers. "This whole time," There's this quick shake of his head, his tone almost sounding jaded or amusingly bitter, "It wasn't my father who was reading my thoughts. It was me projecting. If I'd only known." He's learned quite a bit from the other mentalists about how they first learned that they had their abilities. "If I had to deal with that, the whole radio thing? I don't know if I would've been able to do a thing about it. Not if none of you could at the time, but... it would've given me an important hint about what I was dealing with at the time, I think."

Turning so that his back now leans against the rail, he adds on, "And knowing that my father had abilities like Lilith... that, in itself, is scary as all hell, I think. I don't remember too much about it, but thinking back on everything, it all makes sense now."

To Alexander's question, Byron doesn't need too long to think, "If all of this went away and we lost our powers? And the Lost are able to return back home? Yeah, I think that would be a good trade. As much as I find what we can do to be a boon, I'm not going to say that it's worth the dangers that we put ourselves in."

"You were watchful. Wary. But not--" Alexander thinks it over, with perhaps more seriousness than the question warrants. "It wasn't like you were unaware of the dangers of speaking to a weird guy hanging around your house at odd hours of night. You clearly weren't stupid. But it always feels like you're weighing your options. Even then. It felt like that. And I'm sorry. That I didn't try to reach out to you, y'know. At least explain things? But I didn't know much of what the hell was going on, either. Half the time I thought I was actually crazy like everyone said. Other half...it varied. Demons, aliens, government mind rays. I tried a lot of theories." His voice is very dry.

"But, yeah. Your father wasn't anywhere as strong as Lilith is. But you don't have to be, with that ability. Not really." He tilts his head back to look at what few stars can be seen. "The spirit of Lindon Baxter says that he can do that. Not the Lost returning home. But...turn out all the lights, and all the rest of it stops. And people of Baxter lineage apparently can take some of the 'light' with them when they die. That's why Margaret was sacrificing their bodies and binding them to the abandoned mill. Why Gohl passing over changed things."

"If I were smarter, I probably wouldn't have come out of the house to check on an intruder." Byron says with a smile as he thinks back on that day. Normally, it would be difficult to remember little details of what happened when you were that young, but the unwanted read and the memory given him is enough to stick with him now as an adult. "Though, I have a feeling if I told my father about you, he either would've gotten angry at me or... who knows. The what ifs right?" That smile slowly fades, but doesn't vanish completely, as he sobers to several of these What Ifs? The boy buried in the yard, did he get caught talking to Alexander? Did he try to tell his father? He sifts through his mind to find that memory, but in the end, maybe it's best not to know.

Thinking back on his father, he nods slowly, "He definitely didn't shine the way you or Lilith did, but I didn't notice it as much back then. Or it wasn't super prominent in my mind. Aura was aura and I didn't think too much on it." There's some concern on his face and he's obliviously thinking about something, but soon enough he shakes his head to dismiss that thought.

He then blinks at what Alexander tells him, having more questions forming in his mind now. "When you say The Light, you don't mean just what's inside of us then? You mean the whole shebang? Closing the doorways or whatever it is to the Veil? Shutting it out entirely?" A pause, his head tilted in curiosity, "She wasn't murdering Baxters was she? Just... doing whatever she does with their corpses?"

"There's smart and then there's wise. Never said you were wise, Byron." Alexander flashes him a brief smile. "He would have been furious, I imagine. Probably kicked my ass rather than yours. I hope so, anyway. You didn't have a damn thing to do with me being there." He watches Byron's face, and when it turns concerned, his brow furrows. "Penny for your thought?"

To the rest, he can only shrug. "I...maybe? Keep in mind that we're talking a guy who, when he was alive, burned eight women at the stake. He's not exactly a prime witness for any sort of situation. Even if he knows what he's talking about, and I'm not sure he does, it's entirely possible that he's not looking to make things better. But it's an option. I think." He shuffles his feet again. "I don't know. I honestly don't know. Jill was there. At the Mill. And her body was never found, I don't think. If it was, the police didn't report it. So that points away from just grave robbing and towards more active murder. But it's hard to say if it was just Margaret, too, or if that's been an Addington...thing. I suspect they've profited a lot from the use of their abilities over the years. They've got a lot of reason not to want them to go away." He clears his throat. "And I mean past generations of Addingtons. The kids seem...fine? Rich. But fine."

Byron can't help but imagine his drunken father kicking a teenaged Alexander's ass because the latter was a young creeper and overly nosy for his own good. He also remembers his father's state of mind at the time, just that memory makes him sick to his stomach. Which in turn has him outright dismissing Alexander's trying to pry him of his thoughts, one of his hands withdrawing from his pocket to wave it all off. "It's nothing, I think. Probably, just the House adding the finishing touches to its decor." Yes, he's talking about his father's car. Just the fact that it was parked right outside of the house, the way his father always did on his return home from work, was enough to send a chill down his spine, something which he isn't about to share.

To the rest, Byron simply nods. Learning more and more about both the Baxters and Addingtons just reminded him on how much this town was built on crazy. Then again, he can understand some of their motivations, especially where power was involved. "The kids are fine for now. Unless Margaret Addington plans on living forever.. and I wouldn't put it past her to even try and find a way to gain immortality. Eternally running as the head of her family. As it stands, I'm not sure who would be her best replacement? Patrick?" Here, he laughs a bit at the idea, especially as the Addington was reluctant to use his powers. "I suppose we'll see. The responsibilities might turn these nice kids into the Margaret Addingtons of the world." That gives them enough to ponder on, as well as reflect on everything else that the town tries to suffocate them with.