Chicago, Illinois. 3:00 AM. An abandoned photo studio.
Fritz loved Chicago. 24-hour stores, good energy drinks, and tons of bats.
His piece of the book was burning hot. Like it was angry.
The address: 440 W Randolph.
Graffiti on the door: Don’t look.
Fritz: "Challenge accepted."
Inside: dust. Old cameras. And walls covered in photos.
Hundreds of them.
But in every photo, one person was blurred out. Or missing.
Like someone erased them with white-out.
A kid sat in the middle. 11 years old. Headphones on. Oversized hoodie.
Clicking a camera. Over and over.
Fritz walked in, cracked open an energy drink. "Yo. You the one deleting people?"
The kid didn’t look up. "I’m Noah. And I’m not deleting. I’m saving."
The book flew out of Fritz’s bag and opened.
_Noah. Age 11. Chicago.
He takes photos. Everyone in them disappears a week later.
Remember him. Don’t feed him. Don’t sit._
Fritz squinted. "Bro. That’s literally deleting."
Noah finally looked up. Eyes dull. Never sparkled. Just like Fritz.
"My sister died. Car accident. I took her picture the day before.
The Hunger told me if I take enough pictures, I can find the moment right before she died.
And then I can keep her there. Forever. In the photo."
He held up a photo. A girl smiling. Then the smile faded. The photo went blank.
"See? It doesn’t work. So I take more."
From the darkroom: click
A plate. On an enlarger.
Fritz sat on the floor. Not in a chair. On the floor.
"That sucks," he said. Honest. "I get it. I take pictures too. Of bats.
But if I kept them in a cage so I wouldn’t miss them, that’d be messed up."
Noah pulled his hoodie tighter. "You don’t get it. You’re not sad."
"I’m surprised all the time," Fritz said. "That’s my thing. But sadness? Yeah.
My mom left when I was 9. I took a photo of her leaving.
I look at it when I miss her. And then I put it away.
Because she’s not in the photo. She’s out there. Or she’s not.
But the photo isn’t her."
Noah started crying. Quiet. "I don’t want to forget her face."
"Then don’t," Fritz said. "But don’t trap her either."
He pulled out his piece of the book. Started writing with a sharpie:
_Noah. Age 11. Chicago.
He takes photos because he loves.
We’ll remember with him. So he doesn’t have to trap._
Fritz held out his phone. "Show me one. Just one. And tell me about her."
Noah hesitated. Then showed him a photo. A girl with pigtails and a bat t-shirt.
"That’s Ava. She loved bats too."
Fritz grinned. "No way. Bats are elite."
He told Noah a stupid bat fact. Then another.
Noah laughed. Once. Small.
The Hunger screamed from the darkroom:
"Take the picture! Trap her! Or she’s gone forever!"
Fritz stood up. Walked to the darkroom. Picked up the plate.
Dropped it.
It shattered.
"She’s not in there," Fritz said. "She’s in here." taps his head
"And here." taps his chest
Noah nodded. Wiped his face. "Okay."
From the book:
Chicago: Hunger contained. Author stable.
All the photos on the wall flickered.
And the blurred people came back. Faint. But there.
Fritz put an arm around Noah. Awkward. "C’mon. I know a 24/7 diner. Pancakes. And I’ll teach you how to take pictures of bats without trapping them."
Noah smiled. Real smile. "Deal."
Fritz texted the group: CHICAGO CLEAR. Kid likes bats. 10/10. We won??
Umi: Good.
Miri: I’m crying
Alex: Bar guitarists and bat kids. What a team.