The door opened at a touch from Mister Kidd's magic, revealing a room that clearly belonged to a small child.
"My son's room is next door." Mister Kidd said, a sad look on his face.
"Got it." Glen said. Sensing Mister Kidd's reluctance, she said, "I can take it from here, if you want."
"Thank you." Mister Kidd said gratefully before walking back down the stairs.
Once she was alone, Glen closed the door and had a proper look around.
As said before, it was a typical kid's room. A small bed lay against the center of the back wall, covered with several colorful quilts that looked to have been handmade. There were quite a few toys as well, likely scavenged from the Junkyard. They were clean, though the stuffed animals showed signs of mending.
There were a few books too, mostly kid books, though Glen spotted a few titles for older readers. They too bore the look of the Junkyard, their covers tattered and the pages water-stained.
Glen picked out a familiar title and flipped through the pages for a few moments.
"And the thing about legends, of course, is that they are legendary." She read aloud. Pratchett was referring to a dragon; here in the Underground, the child was equally something from legend. The only difference was that this legend was just a little girl.
She sat down on the bed and stared at the little girls room. There were more crayon drawings inside; apparently, drawing was something every Frisk enjoyed. Most were pictures of other monsters such as Mister and Missus Kidd and their son, the old turtle Gerber, Asriel and his parents. There was another figure there as well, in several of the portraits, but for some reason, Frisk had scratched out the image with a black crayon. Glen peered as close to the page as she could in hopes of spotting an imprint, but ultimately found nothing.
Pulling a picture of Frisk, Asriel, and Monster Kidd from the wall, Glen sat down on the small bed. Glen knew that her Frisk was probably fine, that there were likely thousands of boy and girl Frisks out there that were fine, that in some tangent universe, even this Frisk lived to an old age, possibly even marrying one of the monsters and having children. Still, thinking of the sweet little girl as being dead filled her with sadness.
She shook her head, banishing such thoughts. She had a job to do, several in fact, and couldn't afford to be moping around. Glen checked under the sheets and pillows, checked the bedframe and mattress for any kind of secret compartment, and went through every book checking to see if there was a hidden journal hiding behind the cover of a novel. Her search turned up nothing; no journal, no notes, not so much as a hidden paperclip.
She replaced the bedding and the toys once she was finished, feeling it was the respectful thing to do. As she knelt to pick up a stuffed blue camel with wrinkled knees, she spotted another toy under the dresser. Figuring she'd likely dropped it in her search, she reached under the dresser and pulled out the toy. It was a doll of Frisk herself, likely made by her from the looks of the rough stitching. It was simple doll, having a vaguely human-shape, brown felt hair, and a purple and pink shirt. Seeing it brought a smile to her face.
"Why, hello, Miss Frisk." Glen said softly. "And what were you doing under there? Sneaking around, no doubt? Trying to learn all my secrets? That'll get you into trouble, you know."
The doll didn't reply, the thin strips of black cloth that were its eyes staring impassively back at Glen.
Chuckling to herself, Glen moved to set the doll on the bed with the others and promptly froze; as she moved the doll, she heard a crackle of paper. She twisted the doll's torso gently and heard it again. Another inspection of the doll revealed that the stitching along the right side was quite loose; Glen was able to pull the thread free quite easily, allowing her to search within the doll and pull out a folded piece of paper.
Glen sat down on the bed again as she unfolded the paper. It was a letter, written hurriedly with a blue pencil.
The letter read:
Dear Mister and Missus Kidd.
I don't have much time to write this. By the time you read this, Kidd will already be dead and I'll be gone. Kidd wanted to keep our plan secret, but if something goes wrong, I think you should know the truth.
Kidd isn't sick; he's been eating the golden flowers. I didn't know until he told me a few minutes ago. He heard Asriel's parents talking about how it would take a human and a monster soul to cross the barrier and ... and he wants me to take his soul. I tried to talk him out of it; I tried to tell him I didn't care about the surface, that I was happy being down here with all of you, but it's too late. He's already dying. He showed me a book on monster souls, about how his soul won't last long outside his body, so I have to keep a hand on him while I write this so the soul will go straight to me.
He's told me his plan; together we can get to the surface. Kidd wants to find more souls, but I think we might be able to get help. I have a friend in a city not far from where I fell, a town guard named Adams. If I can talk to him, tell him what has happened down here, I think he can help. He's ... a little strange, but I've seen him use magic before. Maybe he can help, or maybe he can persuade someone to help us. Either way, we'll find a way to bring down the barrier and free everyone.
When this is over, I hope you can forgive me ... forgive us.
Love, Frisk.
Glen stared at the paper for a long time, drinking it in. Kidd sacrificed himself to join his soul with Frisk; the two went to the surface, only for Frisk to return mortally wounded ... by humans. The thought filled her with anger; Frisk went to the surface for help, and some bastard killed her for it. That she hadn't attacked him didn't surprise Glen; while merged souls were powerful, Frisk wouldn't hurt a fly under normal circumstances. Injured, she just returned home, likely to apologize.
It didn't explain how Asriel ended up as Flowey, but Glen could probably paint a picture of the scenario back in her reality. Asriel and another fallen human came up with a similar plan, left the Underground, and also returned injured. From there was anyone's guess, though from Glen's experience, possession and soul transferrance tended to involve the remains. Frisk's body, Asriel's ashes ... if Glen could locate their final resting places, perhaps she could figure out what prompted the transformation.
That still left the question of Kidd, however; if he or Frisk had taken Asriel's role, where were they? Clearly not in Flowey Village, Glen thought with a shudder, remembering the sea of far too cheerful faces. For that matter, he may not even be in the form of a flower. Everything else in that universe was different, after all. Whatever brought them back could've taken the form of anything, really; a moldsmal, perhaps, or a froggit.
"Don't worry, Frisk." She said, smoothing the doll's felt hair. "I'll figure this out." She started to put the doll back on the bed, but leaving it torn open seemed wrong. She decided to carry it with her until she could mend it, slipping the doll into one of her tool belt pouches so that it appeared to be poking its head out of the side.
Mister Kidd was downstairs in the kitchen, two magical hands moving in front of him to wash the dishes.
"That was fast." He said, not turning to look at her. "Did you find something?"
There are times that the whole truth and nothing but the truth is ultimate, and that anything less is an insult to everyone concerned. This, as far as Glen was concerned, was not one of those times. Still, the truth made a good framework.
"Yeah." She said. "I found a letter. Hard to read, but apparently your son realized he was dying and merged his soul with Frisk so they could go to the surface and find a way to free everyone."
The magic hands lowered the dish Mister Kidd was currently cleaning. When he didn't speak, Glen continued, "They didn't succeed, but that doesn't make your son any less of a hero. He saw death coming, and tried to make it something great. I can only hope I face my own death like that."
Mister Kidd didn't reply. He just stood there, motionless for at least a full minute before Glen finally broke the silence.
"Mister Kidd, where did you bury Frisk?"
Mister Kidd said, bowing his head. "I ... I wasn't thinking straight, and after we found both my son and her dead, I thought that maybe she had something to do with it."
Glen took a deep breath. While she understood Mister Kidd's pain, Frisk was far from the villain here, and deserved a decent burial. "Where did you dump the body?"
"The Temmie Knights took it." Mister Kidd said. "Back to the Ruins. Looking back, I think they knew the truth ... about why Frisk went to the surface. They told me they wanted to let her rest with their own, somewhere beautiful. By the time my wife convinced me I'd been a fool, the Ruins were closed."
"Well, don't worry about that." Glen said. "I tend to make my own way. On that note, I should be on my way."
"Miss Glen." Mister Kidd said, turning to face her with tear-stained cheeks. "If you find where they laid her to rest ... could you say something over her grave for me?"
"Of course." Glen said, her voice solemn. "What would you like me to say?"
"Tell her ..." Mister Kidd seemed to struggle internally for a few moments before sighing and shaking his head. "Tell her I'm sorry ... and that I miss them both."
"You got it." Glen said. She was almost out the door before she remembered something. Snapping her fingers, she turned back to Mister Kidd and said, "You got some white paint around here I could borrow?"
Glen left the Kidd residence in a somber mood ... after reapplying her skeleton facade, of course. She approached the gate, where Gerson and his team were busily working on repairs.
"Ah, Miss skeleton!" The old turtle said with a cackle. "Heading out?"
"Yup." Glen said. "Listen; that thing was tunneling under the ground in the Junkyard. Could it do what here?"
"What, in town? Hah! Not a chance." Gerson said. "This town's build on the old foundry; when it went up, molten metal went everywhere. You shoulda seen how much dirt we had to bring in to cover it all up!"
"So there's a metal plate beneath the entire town?" Glen said.
"Yup. Iron and steel, probably a dozen or so feet thick."
"Good." Glen paused and amended. "Well, it's good for you, anyway. Not so good for the Underground, but I'll worry about that later."
"You plan on takin' that thing on?" Gerson said, sounding impressed. "Good on ya. Nice to see someone here with a bit of spirit for a change!"
"Do you have a way of contacting someone if it comes back?" Glen asked.
"Well, I could always ask ol' Clamhead to call his wife up in Waterfall. She runs the general store there, not far from Captain Alphys's place."
An image of the surly warrior lizard filled Glen's head. It was strange to think of her as being connected to the stuttering anime geek of her own universe.
Shaking her head, Glen said, "All right. Um, could you point me in the direction of Waterfall?"
"Sure thing, Missy. Head out the gates, follow the wall to the back of town and go straight until you see the mound where we throw the paper goods that can't be salvaged. Yer gonna want to head around that, under the old lean-to where we've been tossing stuff that's just good for metal; after that ...'
"Thank you.' Glen said hurriedly. "I think I can make it from there."
Gerson shrugged. "Suit yerself. If ya get lost, just come on back and I'll write it down for ya. Wa ha ha!"
Glen left the elderly turtle still chuckling. She reminded her strongly of Teria's grandfather, an elderly lion who loved to pick good-naturedly on his niece's human wife.
She shook her head; it wasn't the time to get nostalgic. She had too much to do. Since she had no way of knowing where her little accident was currently digging, her most pressing concern was the fallen human. Papyrus and Sans could be in trouble. Glen needed to get to Snowdin. Hopefully, finding Waterfall wouldn't take too long.
