Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven - Taylor

"I will always come to save you!"

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Exhaling deeply, I gazed up at my friend Ron, who stood there with unwavering determination. Our connection was profound, purely platonic, yet society insisted on projecting romantic assumptions onto our friendship. It was an irritating reality, but challenging to change.

"Heh, you bring to mind this character—" Tyler, my brother, interjected with enthusiasm.

"If you dare mention One Piece, I'll knock you out!" I shouted angrily at him, my brother halting his words as my yell reached him.

Tyler, my brother, might give off the impression of a diligent student, but it's quite the opposite. His daily routine revolves around anime and manga. I don't want to despise his hobbies; I just can't completely understand the appeal.

My brother and I may have different personalities and interests, but our concern for our friend Ron bridges the gap between us.

"Why Ambrose? His name is terrible!" I exclaimed, frustrated by the fact that the person we needed had such an unpleasant personality.

"Doesn't his name mean immortality or immortal?" my brother inquired, glancing in my direction.

"I'm not sure. It's a unique name, that's for sure."

As I observed Ron, his gaze fixed straight ahead with a dazed and saddened expression, I struggled to comprehend the weight of his experiences. The memory of the night he sought solace in our parents' house lingered vividly in my mind.

"Ron, you know we're here for you," I offered, a tinge of sadness unintentionally coloring my words. "But please, don't hurt yourself," I pleaded, fully aware that my heartfelt plea might go unanswered.

In an instant, a gust of wind swept across my face, causing my eyes to briefly shut. When I opened them again, the familiar school landscape had disappeared.

In the grip of darkness, my eyes resisted any attempt to open. Amid my brother's clamorous inquiries, I sought clarity.

"What's going on? Ron, can you see?" I pressed, momentarily ignoring my brother's escalating urgency. Ron's silence amplified my unease, intensifying the mystery. A bead of sweat traced a path down my forehead as I fumbled through the darkness, trying to move my arms.

Then, as swiftly as it enveloped us, the darkness dissipated, revealing the familiar embrace of a bright sky.

In the realm of the Ron Detective Club, odd occurrences were almost routine. Whether it was a quirk of fate or a mere glitch in our reality, we were no strangers to the unusual. After all, we proudly dubbed ourselves the Ron Detective Club, or as Ron preferred, the Detective Agency.

As I glanced up at Ron, a scream involuntarily escaped my lips. Before me stood a statue—a petrified version of my friend, my confidant. Panic gripped me as I scrutinized every inch, desperately searching for traces of humanity. But alas, he was encased in stone, an immobile testament to an inexplicable twist of fate.

"N-no, this can't be," my brother exclaimed, capturing the shared disbelief that hung heavily in the air.

Recalling the callous words of Ambrose, "You can turn into statues for all I care, just stop bothering me," a surge of determination fueled my resolve. I was convinced it was him, and I vowed not to let him escape justice, even if it meant pursuing him to the bitter end.

He was the essence of our lives, messaging us daily with heartfelt appreciation and pride. The thought of living decades without Ron by our side is unimaginable, we need him, as much as he needs us.