The drive to the Wiltern was a masterclass in teenage tension and the heavy scent of "Vanilla-Passion" car freshener. Haley was gripping the steering wheel of her sedan like she was trying to throttle it. Every few seconds, she'd glance at me out of the corner of her eye, her jaw set in that classic Dunphy pout.
"You realize that if you breathe a word of this to my mom, I will literally tell everyone at school you still sleep with a nightlight," Haley threatened.
"I don't sleep with a nightlight, Haley," I said, watching the neon lights of Wilshire Boulevard blur past. "And I don't need to tell Claire anything. I'm just here for the 'specialized hardware,' remember? As long as you stay on schedule, we don't have a problem."
"Ugh, you're so annoying," she muttered. "Seriously, I don't know how you're so relaxed. Most people are vibrating with anxiety after ten minutes in a car with me."
[INTERVIEW - HALEY]Haley: "It's not fair. Usually, when I'm being a rebel, I'm the smartest person in the car. But with Mason sitting there, I feel like I'm being driven to my own kidnapping by a very polite bodyguard. He knows things! He knew about Dylan's van! How does he know about the van?. (Pause) I really need to evaluate my life choices. Or at least ask Mason why he isn't sweating. It's eighty degrees out and he looks like he's made of marble."
We pulled into a side street two blocks from the venue. Standing by a dented, beige Econoline van was Dylan. He looked exactly like the script described: long, unwashed hair, a shredded shirt, and an expression of permanent, soulful confusion.
"Haley!" Dylan called out. He stopped dead when he saw me step out of the car. "Who's this guy?"
"This is my uncle sort of, Mason," Haley said, sounding exhausted already. "Mason, this is Dylan. He's... a musician."
"I'm a soul-searcher, man," Dylan corrected, holding out a hand. "I play the guitar of the soul."
I took his hand, applying a fraction more pressure than necessary—just enough to watch his eyes bulge. "Nice to meet you, Dylan," I said, my voice steady. "I've heard a lot about your... van. Especially the expired tags. And the fact that your registration is three weeks overdue."
Dylan blinked. "Whoa. You're like a car-whisperer. I thought the cops just liked my bumper stickers. I have one that says 'Honk if you're a Being'."
[INTERVIEW - DYLAN]Dylan: "I like him. He's got very clear eyes. Like a wolf. Or a very intense librarian who's also a hitman. He told me my van was 'a rolling probable cause.' I don't know what that means, but it sounds like a great title for an album. (Singing softly) Rolling probable cause, baby... you're the law and I'm the pause... in your heart's... traffic jam..."
"Okay, enough car talk," Haley interrupted, pulling Dylan away. "We're going to be late. Mason, you go get your... whatever. We'll meet you back here at eleven."
I spent the next two hours at a coffee shop, but I wasn't looking for computer parts. I was monitoring the local police scanners on my phone. My Total Recall provided the exact frequency codes for the LAPD Wilshire Division. I knew exactly what was coming. In the original timeline, Dylan tries to play an acoustic set on the roof of his van, gets arrested, and Haley gets caught in the fallout.
At 10:45 PM, the call came through: 'Report of a suspicious vehicle, beige van, parked on 6th and Mariposa. Possible vagrancy.'
I didn't rush. I timed it perfectly.
I reached the van just as the crowd began to spill out of the venue. Dylan was already climbing onto the roof of his van, his acoustic guitar strapped to his back, his face lit with a deluded, "soulful" purpose. Haley was standing on the sidewalk, laughing, cheering him on.
I stepped through the crowd, my Peak Athlete Physique allowing me to move with a speed and silence that no one noticed until I was right behind Haley.
I didn't say a word to Dylan. I didn't warn him about the patrol car that I knew was exactly sixty seconds from rounding the corner. I didn't care about his "soul-bridge." I just wanted her away from him.
"We're leaving," I whispered into Haley's ear.
"What? No! Dylan is about to—"
I didn't wait for her to finish. I reached down, my arm hooking firmly around her waist. With the effortless strength of my frame, I hoisted her up and moved her back toward her sedan parked just behind the van.
"Mason! Put me down! What are you doing?" she hissed, hitting my shoulder, but it was like hitting a brick wall.
"The police are turning the corner, Haley," I said, my voice low and dangerously calm. I didn't just carry her away; I shoved her into the driver's seat of her own car. "If you're here when they see him on that roof, you're going to the station with him. Claire will never let you leave the house again. Is Dylan worth that?"
She froze as the first blue and red flashes reflected off the windows across the street. Dylan was currently shouting a lyric about "cosmic gravy" to a confused group of hipsters.
"Drive," I commanded, sliding into the passenger seat. "Now. If we leave now, we're just another car in traffic. If we stay, we're accomplices to a public disturbance."
Haley looked at Dylan on the roof, then at the approaching cruiser, and then at me. The sheer intensity in my eyes broke her hesitation. She turned the key, the engine roaring to life. She pulled away from the curb just as the "whoop" of a siren signaled the end of Dylan's night.
Behind us, I heard Dylan's muffled voice protesting: "But the stars are my permit, officer!"
[INTERVIEW - HALEY]Haley: "He just... took charge. One second I'm watching Dylan try to commune with the moon, and the next, Mason is practically throwing me into my car. He didn't even look back at Dylan. It was so mean. Like, really, really mean. (A long pause) But it was also... I don't know. He saved me from a five-hour lecture from my mom. He basically kidnapped me to save me. That's like... a poem, right? A really aggressive poem."
The drive home was silent. Haley stared out the windshield, her hands still shaking slightly on the wheel. Every few miles, she'd glance at me, looking for some sign of remorse. She didn't find any.
"You could have warned him," she whispered as we pulled into the Dunphy driveway.
"I made a choice, Haley," I said, looking at her. "I'm not going to let you ruin your life for a guy who thinks his van is a spiritual vessel. You're better than that. And frankly, I have better things to do than help him post bail."
"You're unbelievable," she breathed, but she didn't get out of the car. She sat there, looking at me with a mixture of shock and something that looked suspiciously like awe.
"Go inside, Haley. You're the girl who went to the library and did her homework. I'll see you on Monday."
I left her standing there, stunned. My recall was clear: Monday was the day of the "Coal Digger" incident. Dylan would be in a holding cell, out of the way. The board was clean, and Haley's car was safely in her driveway where Claire expected it to be.
[INTERVIEW - PHIL]Phil: "The kids are home! And Mason even brought back a receipt from the hardware store! That kid is a machine. A beautiful, well-oiled, incredibly responsible machine. I think I'm going to start a 'Mason-ry' club. Get it? Because his name is Mason? (He waits for a laugh that doesn't come)."
[INTERVIEW - CLAIRE]Claire: "I don't know what happened last night, but Haley came home and actually cleaned her room. She didn't even mention Dylan once. I think Mason might be a miracle. A literal miracle."
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