Narrow Escape Mildred was in her way home from work after a long day of working with school children. She’d been a volunteer at her daughter’s school for several years now, both on the play ground and in the classroom. Today she had, also, volunteered in the lunchroom. She was still picking spaghetti out of her hair. She loved working with the kids most of the time but her daughter was getting to that age now where ‘mom’ was more of an embarrassment than a comfort. That’s why Mildred had requested to stay in the elementary school for the next term. Her daughter would be in junior high when the next school term started. So many things to do today. Many errands to run. She began to tick off the places where she needed to make stops. She had to pick up her dry cleaning since she had forgotten it every day for the last two weeks. She had also forgotten to stop at the post office for mail that could not be delivered, after someone knocked down her mailbox. Then she had better pick up a new mailbox at the hardware store. Denny worked there. Her nephew would fix her up with everything she needed for the repair. Probably even come and fix it for her. She was lucky to have so many family members close to home. She’d lost her husband a few years ago but she had managed by herself and with some help from her daughter. But she had good neighbors and friends she could call if she really needed anything. “Dry cleaning, hardware, post office,” she said out loud to herself. She could remember things easier when she did this. Her head was so full of what she needed to do. Maybe she should just write it down. “Pharmacy, grocery store. Probably should get some gas if I see a good price,” she continued to speak out loud. “Okay,” she said. “Dry cleaning first.” Mildred loved to chat when she had the time and sometimes when she didn’t. She had been coming to this dry cleaner’s for years and the same couple of people were always working there. She could afford to be friendly, right? After a nice chat she got back in her car and drove away. She happened upon the gas station and filled the car up before moving on. “There’s the post office,” she said. “Better stop there while I am in the area.” She had to park around the side of the building, near the jail, and walk to the front. She knew the people in the post office very well too, so she had a nice chat with her friend, Fran, who had worked there ever since she could remember. They caught up with the day to day gossip with their neighborhood. After returning to her car, Mildred turned on the radio to keep her company. She loved the ‘oldies’ station and sang loudly, off-key, but she didn’t care. She didn’t have to rush home as her daughter was studying at a friend’s house. The hardware store looked deserted. She was the only car in the lot and considered they might be closed for some reason, but she saw Dewey looking out the door and motioning her to come inside. He’d heard of her mailbox incident and had the supplies at the counter for her. “I can come over tomorrow afternoon and put it up, if that’s okay with you,” he said. “That would be wonderful,” said Mildred. “I’ll make my special chili that you like and you can have dinner with me for your help.” “I can’t wait, Aunt Mildred,” said Dewey. “You’re the best! I’ll just keep the supplies and bring them when I come over.” “Sounds like a plan,” Mildred replied as she gave him a hug before she left the store. It was strange how everything seemed to be deserted. She passed very few cars on the road. She had a bad feeling that she couldn’t seem to shake, but shook it off anyway and turned the radio back on. “…Special Bulletin. A man escaped the county jail earlier today and is believed to be hiding in the area. He left the jail on foot after stabbing two guards. The man is of average height and build. White. Mid-thirties and wearing a gray prison jumpsuit. If seen, do not approach. He is dangerous. Leave the area and call for help….” The announcer went on to give a more detailed account, but Mildred’s mind had gone into overdrive thinking about the town being in danger. This had happened before and there were discussions at all the town meetings about lack of security at the jail. The turnover of security guards was ridiculous. No one stayed there for long. Now Mildred was really spooked. She decided to stop at the closest grocery store and make the pharmacy her last stop. She wanted to get home and make sure her daughter was safe, as well as her home. Of course, at the grocery store, she ran into a couple of neighbors. They discussed the jailbreak at length and what they could do to make their homes safe until this man was found. One of the neighbors had seen a bunch of police officers near the post office and ‘crime scene’ tape roping off an area behind the feed store. He’d asked the feed store owner what was going on and was told a woman’s body had been found, murdered, behind the store not thirty minutes earlier. “I was at the post office about an hour ago,” said Mildred. “I even parked on that side of the street.” “You were lucky, then,” said the neighbor. “That could have easily been you.” Mildred hurried to get the items she needed from the store and nearly ran to her car. She threw the small bag into the passenger side of the front seat and headed to the pharmacy for her daughter’s medication. She called her daughter to let her know what was going on and to stay inside her friend’s house until she came to pick her up. Mildred was driving faster than she normally would but she wouldn’t feel safe until she was at home with all the doors and windows locked. She needed to be with her daughter and she felt she wouldn’t rest until this man was caught. What her neighbor said about the murdered woman was haunting her. It could have been me, she thought. Mildred was in line at the drive-thru window for the pharmacy pick-up. She was agitated and anxious to get out of there. It should only take a moment to get the medication. She had called it in earlier in the day. Finally, it was her turn at the window. She made eye contact with the pharmacy tech. The young man looked upset. “I’m here to pick up my daughter’s medication,” said Mildred. The tech looked her in the eye, then turned around to speak with the pharmacist. “I’m afraid there was a problem with the script,” said the tech. “You need to come into the store so we can straighten it out.” “I’m in a hurry,” said Mildred. “I don’t have time for this. Just tell me what the problem is and fix it. I have to pick up my daughter.” “No,” said the tech, still looking her in the eye. “You have to come inside to fix this. I can’t let you have the medication until you do.” “Oh, for Pete’s sake!” Mildred put the car in gear and started to pull away. “Please park in the handi-capped spot by the door,” said the tech. “You will be able to leave quicker.” Mildred was so frustrated she almost floored it to get to the front of the pharmacy. She was really pissed now. Her daughter was waiting. A killer was on the loose. If her daughter wasn’t out of the medication, she would forget it altogether. She parked in the space, as she was instructed, and ran in the door. Of course, the pharmacy was in the back of the store, just adding to Mildred’s frustration. When she approached the pharmacy counter, the tech and the pharmacist were waiting for her. “Something must be really bad,” said Mildred. The tech and pharmacist came out of the enclosed pharmacy area and sat her down in the chairs that were provided for customers. “What is going on?” Mildred was starting to lose it. The pharmacy tech spoke first. “I could see into your car since I am located higher up than your vehicle at the drive-thru window. There is a man crouched down in the backseat floor board and he has a large butcher knife. I had to get you out of that car.” “I called the police,” said the pharmacist. “That is why we instructed you to park by the front door.” Mildred almost passed out. She started crying with the shock of how close she had come to death. If not for the tech, the man might have killed her and her daughter. The tech put his arm around her and let her cry. After a few minutes, a police officer arrived to speak with them. The officer informed them that they had apprehended the man and he was indeed the man that had escaped from the jail. The knife still had blood on it so they would be able to prove he had been the one to murder the woman behind the feed store. Mildred was so grateful that she had not left the pharmacy as she had almost done. They all went to the front entrance and gave their statements. Mildred was given an escort to pick up her daughter and return home. The officer checked her home because she was so frightened and it was all clear. She and her daughter thanked the officer and together gave thanks for the quick-thinking tech that had given Mildred her narrow escape. Several hours later, Mildred’s daughter was asleep and she was preparing for bed when a knock sounded at the door. She looked out and saw the police officer from earlier standing on her front porch. She opened the door to see him smiling. “This is just a follow up to make sure you are okay,” he said. Mildred smiled back and opened the door wider. She never saw the butcher knife he was holding behind his back.


Hey all. This is just a short story i wrote one day. Hope you enjoy it! Deaf voices all around me are speaking a language I once knew but understand no longer. A life of pride, indulgence and valour, foundations to the coarse wall of fear and death no longer standing. A loving wife. Obedient children. All taught to follow a false truth, a repeat of history. Around me I see my fellow companions, friends who walk the same path as I do. The swastika, a symbol which established my superiority and once stood proud in my eyes now lays on the ground with its meaning detached from its purpose. Coming to a halt, my future stood. The fortress which resides in stolen lands. Auschwitz. *** “The war to end all wars. Propaganda sought out by those who fear defeat!”. Spoken by my father, his final breath which serves as my final memory of the man. The confronting thought to which I hold as proof of evil teachings. My father, turned mad through war, turned mad through death. He was once a man of integrity and strength, yet he now lays here fallen to the fate which no one escapes. The journal he wrote, the scramblings of a madman, his concealed thoughts revealed. He now lays there, quiet as the cold dreary nights of his silent screams which echoed through the empty air, unheard. *** Uniforms, bland and generic. Worn by the bricks in the concealed wall of death and fear. Symbols I thought I knew challenge my understanding, tearing open a void encompassed with regret and question. Red, black and white stripes I was once proud to wear, a symbol which gave me authority, but over what? Authority of judgement and the taker of life? Propaganda manufactured by Lucifer and believed by all. No joy or happiness lives here. From the naive youths to those knocking on death's door, all were condemned to the same judgement. Tears strike the eagle emblem, the very same I was taught to worship as a deity, the God that will grant us victory. But what god would grant sinners victory? A machine designed to “Cleanse The Earth” of undesirables, a war machine built by blind, ignorant men now does the fallen angel’s bidding. Never had I comprehended the resilience and the determination of man until this day, clawing like tigers against the steel cage. Engraved scars mark the blood stained stone and the coarse concrete walls. Their fate challenged, driven by that evolutionary trait, “Survival”. Horrific acts against God to which I ordered, fates of the innocent I locked into place. Acts which cause celebration in the streets, with my people cheering my family name and chanting my deeds and values as gospel readings. Calling me the key for victory, the key to Europe and to all new worlds’. Yet, I feel nothing. I’m isolated in the lost desert of my own barren soul. The key to my past life now buried, hidden from the ages and to remain lost until the ends of time. *** A past life lead by a dead man. Lüneburg Heath. A field to learn my future hunting profession, passed down through the generations. A repeat of history. My father, his head held high with pride wearing his freshly pressed, immaculate uniform, overwhelmed with badges of honour across his left breast. I, his eldest son, carried the family pride, “Vereingewehr”, the weapon granted the title of “peacemaker” which kept us fed, defended and alive. I hold my father's compass, forged long before he was from intrinsic gold which shone as bright as he did, but folded as easily as he had. “What truth could a madman give?”. Confronting thoughts to a concealed, unanswered question which grew from a past war, one which drove him to insanity. *** The fresh stench of blood and smoke stood before us. Fifteen demons, clearing out those who took their last breath only moments before. Holding man's most horrid creation, the fifteen took aim at their next victims. Among the fifteen stood a young man, related only through blood stood my son, a man of questionable beliefs and provocative values but a man of unrivaled loyalty. Ahead stood fifty, the overspill of the ‘cattle’. All awaiting my signal, my signature for a reservation to hell. Why I was condemned to end their God given life, lives which could have changed the world, I will never understand. My son glances back, staring at my weary facade, through the rusted iron mask I wore everyday. With one breath, one I did with regret, anger and pain, I changed the moment, I signed that reservation. I played God. *** Horrors, stimulating past memories which surface from the suppressed subconscious. We came to a river concealed by a russet haze. Our future meal lay along the bank, our means of survival met. As I held the “peacemaker”, I grew nervous. Approaching the river bank, I see our blunder, a man lays dead, his life taken by a boy on the order of his father. My father, a man of strength and integrity began to weep. Sprinting to the deceased, my father looks back at me, but not with his iron face of God, but one challenged by weakness and sorrow. He stares at me with eyes as red as the fresh haze, as red as the blood which now stained his attire. It was at this moment that I saw the error of my father’s ways, the blunder he had made. Just like his father before him, history has repeated itself. *** Awards and medals for loyalty, obedience and leadership stood stately in my office. Characteristics which became my undoing. Above the medals hung my family's versed “peacemaker”, an experienced weapon carried into conflict across three generations. Outside grey clouds defeat the sun, smoke of the dead blankets the truth. Prisoners, forgotten numbers in blue and white scramble across the vast concrete fields. Reaching for the “peacemaker” I reflect upon the choices I have made, the pain and suffering I had bestowed upon my family. The choice I was about to make. Pulling the “peacemaker” down, the shining compass draws my eye, bringing forth memories of my family. A family driven to insanity by choices, wreaked by war and suffering. My family, whose perceptions and assumptions drove me to sign up and fight. My compass is the only memory of happier times before the war. Now, it simply signifies a practicality, a compass for direction. A direction which took me down the path of evil. The path for judgement by God.


Nasrin was old enough to understand what was being discussed, even though she was in the other room with the old lamp to read by and not supposed to hear the conversation. The man had come to investigate, and after talking with her parents, confirmed what she already knew: Nasrin could use magic. This was highly valuable, and the man offered a large sum of money to take her away. He said he would take Nasrin to a school where she would learn more about her art, but Nasrin didn’t believe him. She’d already heard rumors on the street of how much was paid for the gifted. It was never for school. And she’d never see her parents again. But she knew her parents couldn’t ignore such a sum of coin. The family was starving as it was. The real surprise, Nasrin realized, was that her parents hadn’t marketed her already. Nasrin loved her parents very much, but she knew she didn’t want to go with the man. His smile was greasy and he carried too many weapons. What use did he have for so many blades, if not to lose them in a kill? She was convinced he was a bad man. For Nasrin, there wasn’t a choice except to decide for her parents. She would go. Her way. Nasrin quietly rose from where she sat at the table and walked to the window on the far side of the hovel. There was only cloth to cover it, so she unfastened the bottom and climbed out easily. There was a short drop to the ground; she could not turn back. Nasrin took a deep breath and fell to the ground. As soon as she gathered her footing, she was on the move. Growing up poor in a city such as this, Nasrin was used to crowds. She could maneuver easily through the flow of people, and soon she had made it several blocks from what she’d called home. But this wouldn’t be far enough. She had to keep going. She went to the south district, an even shabbier and more dangerous neighborhood than where her parents had staked their lives. But she knew of its secrets: the city was as magic as Nasrin herself, warped for those who could control it. She could find bubbles of space where no one would ever find her; she could hide there while she figured out what to do. By the next day, Nasrin’s hunger had grown too strongly and she hadn’t figured anything out, despite having nothing but time. She’d already been near starving, and she knew food was a problem she’d have to solve. Her mother had taught her that the southern district was no good for begging, but Nasrin didn’t want to beg anymore. She’d seen market stalls heaped with grocery goods. Why should they have so much and she so little? She settled on stealing more quickly than she had thought she would. She knew it was considered wrong, but truthfully, she had always questioned that. Now there was no one to stop her from getting the breakfast she deserved. Nasrin held up her hand and felt in the air for the tear in the bubble that would let her out on the street again. It tugged across her fingers like a fishing line with fresh meat, and she dashed through. The stalls were not far, and she was decided on the outcome. She used a sound distortion, a magic trick she’d taught herself for fun, to distract the merchant. It was easy to take the fruit, so easy she took more than she thought she could eat. She grabbed dried fish — she’d never been allowed to eat dried fish — and a loaf of bread before she was away. She heard raised voices behind her, but back in her bubble she could only crow in celebration. She had a feast before her. She ate her full, and then kept at it, until she couldn’t fit in another bite. She felt queasy from so much food, but also alight with power. On her own, she could do so much more than her parents had ever let her. A drop fell on her head, and then another. Nasrin looked up as the sky open and rain poured down. There was no shelter in her bubble, but she was too scared to leave it. She sat in the rain and felt the cold soak her through. Her parents had always found a way to shelter her from the rain. She wondered what would happen to them now. She hadn’t even said goodbye, in her resolve to leave. Would they be fine without her? Without the money the man offered, it was likely they’d continue on starving, or worse, lose what housing they had salvaged. Nasrin considered returning. She could at least explain to them her thinking. She couldn’t believe they’d try to hold her and turn her over. They loved her, and she them. She decided to go back. It was evening when the rain stopped, and Nasrin wandered back to her home district. She was still sopping wet, chilled to the bone, but the flame of resolve pushed her onward. She was surprised to find the door open and waiting. There was no one in the main room, the kitchen and communal space that dominated the home. This was where they had spoken with the man. They must be in the other room, for there were only two rooms, and they wouldn’t leave the door open if they were out. The old lamp sat on the table where she’d left it, the flame burned almost all the way out. In the dying light she saw what the man had done to her parents when he hadn’t found Nasrin.

Nasrin willed herself not to cry. She had left without saying goodbye and not the other way around, and she hated the feeling of regret. But she felt the immeasurable loss. She could never call this place home again. There were fresh clothes in a wardrobe, so Nasrin dried herself off and changed. She took a spare set of clothes, too, and threw it into a spare sack. She went back over to her parents, knelt close, and carefully removed her mother’s necklace. Something to remember them by, she thought idly, pocketing it and returning to the main room. There were a few other useful things to be found before she left for good. She could cry later, she thought. Yes, she would cry later, the next time it rained.


Aster breathed heavily as she pressed her hand firmly against her stomach, glaring at the blue glow emanating from between her grimy fingers. When a pebble flew across the cave room and landed by her foot, she smothered her mouth with her other hand and pressed her back flush against the stalagmite, the rocky spire barely thick enough to hide her trembling body. “*Aster*!” Her target’s voice sounded heavy, tired and frustrated. How long had she been stumbling in these dark caverns to hunt this…this thing down? Was it still light outside? “Just surrender, little star,” it groaned, dragging its feet across the gravelly ground. “I won’t hurt you. I would *never* hurt you.” She bit into her finger as two cylindrical objects manifested in her hand and lay against her aching stomach, while a bead of sweat rolled down her grubbily scratched face. *Only* *two?* The glow faded and her heart sank as she lifted her hand, revealing the turquoise bullets. A wave of dizziness swept over her and she pushed back into the stalagmite, a tear mixing with sweat and blood as she listened to the shuffling footsteps that paced the room. “Aster? My little star? Where are you?” Silence. Such deafening silence. Aster didn’t dare breathe. Her teeth sunk deeper into her finger and she squeezed her eyes shut. Drip. Something cold landed on her head and her body tensed in response. She began to shake again, praying to any deity or any higher power that nothing will give her away. She flinched at the sound of a weary sigh. “My starshine…” it began singing as the shuffled footsteps moved away. “My lovely starshine… Come home to me, oh come home to me…” She listened to the footsteps fading deeper into the cavern system, waiting several seconds more when they’d faded, and the room was silent. Then, with a shaky gasp, she scrabbled for her bullets and pistols. “Hell…” she whimpered as the bullets slipped in her fingers. “*Hell*.” The clicks echoed painfully in the room as she slid a bullet each into her pistols. She hastily patted the pockets of her trousers, each one empty until… She pulled out a caramel wrapped in clear plastic. She stared at it with wide blue eyes and parted dry lips. It wouldn’t do much, but right now, it was definitely better than nothing. The wrapper crinkled stridently. She chewed hard and grimaced as the stretchy substance got stuck between her teeth. Wetting her lips and taking a deep, calming breath, she forced the ball of sugar to swirl around her mouth as she pushed herself to her feet. The motion made her stagger and grab the stalagmite, wheezing and choking on her sugary saliva as she swooned on the spot. She closed her eyes and chewed harder. The dizziness swept over her again and faded as quickly as it came. Her grip on the stalagmite tightened as she opened her eyes to the dim light that struggled to light up the cave. With clumsy footsteps she crossed the room to the cavern path outside, shoving her right pistol into its holster and supporting her left hand as she aimed down the corridors. She could feel her heart thud in her chest with every unsteady step into the darkness, the tunnels winding around bends, up and down slopes and opening into empty rooms; every sound she made felt far too loud. Aster turned the next corner and her heart leapt. A breeze. Fresh air. *Escape*. She lowered her pistol and hobbled down the tunnel. To her dismay, she arrived in yet another cavern room. Above was a skylight, allowing moonlight to illuminate the lake below. Aster inched towards the ledge and peered down. She could see an islet that hadn’t been consumed by the still water and a tunnel from where the water was flowing in from. She closed her eyes, tipped her head back and took a deep breath of fresh air, listening to the faint chirping of crickets and grasshoppers outside, and smiling as the breeze kissed her cheeks. She heard the scraping of a foot across gravel. She spun on her heel and saw glowing golden eyes. “Aster!” She shot. Black substance splashed on her. An unholy shriek of agony echoed in the cavern as it reeled back. Aster grabbed her other pistol and aimed for its cowed form. She took another shot. BANG! The pistol backfired on its owner and Aster cried out in pain. She lost her footing and fell back into the lake. The cold soothed her burns as she was submerged, while the pistol in her right hand drifted from her grip and disappeared into the murky darkness below. She forced herself to swallow what was left of the caramel and pressed her hand to her stomach again, her heart leaping at the sight of the familiar blue glow. *Please, please, just one more…* Aster used her spare hand to flail in the water and resurface. She gasped and sloppily swum to the islet nearby. She crawled onto the stone, bent over and gripped her shirt. Her stomach churned and a bullet fell into her palm. *Thank gods!* She fumbled with her remaining pistol, shoving the fresh bullet into its chamber. “Aster…” She paused and looked up at those golden eyes glaring at her. It had gotten bigger, its form more distorted. It was difficult to believe this had been a human, if it ever had been in the first place. “Look at me, little star. We’re both at breaking point. Surrender now and we can relax. We can while away the hours in peace.” Aster raised her pistol and pressed the barrel between the eyes. She supported her left hand with her right. A black tendril coiled around the barrel as she closed her eyes. *Please.* She pulled the trigger.


I remembered the slime. That slime--that disgusting ooze that coated me after I had escaped its grasp was the first thing that came back to me. Then, I remembered the eyes. Long forgotten was that awful day, so many years ago. I must’ve buried deep within me, hoping it would never return to the forefront of my mind. It was supposed to be a relaxing fishing trip, just me and the sea. The possibilities were as endless as the blue ocean horizon before me. I felt freedom on the sea, and a connection with mother nature. My wife warned me not to go alone. But I wanted time to think, decompress--forget the stresses of the world and work and bills. All of my worries melted away as the sea swayed my small, yet reliable, vessel on its gentle waves. I felt like a baby back in my mother's arms, being rocked gently to sleep. The sea was my mother that day, and she rocked all my cares away. But she couldn’t protect me from all the horrors she held. I threw my line attached with a hook and heavy sinker into the sparkling water. The light plopping sound cut through the creaking of my boat and the gentle splashing of the waves against her bow. The line fell deeper and deeper into the unknown below. I opened my cooler and moved the ice aside and grabbed a cold tall boy. I popped the tab, took a sip, and waited for a bite. It's lonely out at sea. There's nothing to look out in the endless blue on blue. I regretted not bringing a companion with me. I missed home, even though I had only been gone a few hours. I thought I would enjoy some time alone. But I was growing frustrated, Nothing had bitten my line all day. The blue skies, that once made me feel free, turned gray and I felt boxed in. An awful sense of foreboding came over me. Just as I was going to head back into port, my reel began to spin out of control. The line went deeper and deeper into the sea at a rapid pace. But I couldn't stop it, the handle spun too fast. As I tried, the whirling handle nearly broke my fingers. I had two hundred feet of line and, despite my excitement of the bite, I worried my catch would take my line, rod, and reel--and the whole damn ship. Finally, I ran out of line, but the line didn’t break, nor did the rod jump into the sea. Instead, the ship started to tilt towards the stern until water filled the hull. Panic set in as I feared I would lose my boat, and, possibly, my life. I ran towards the bow, which now was some five or so feet above the water line. From there I saw the black outline of a creature crest the surface of the water. I didn't remember what it looked like until I saw it on TV, just today. All I remembered until today was the red eyes. The red eyes were the last thing I saw before my vessel capsized, bow over stern, and I was thrown into the sea. Exactly what happened from the time I was thrown overboard and when I was rescued has escaped my memory, but I do recall feelings of suffering in the lost time. My body felt like it was alight, like the ocean was made of fire. My mind was lost in darkness and confusion. I saw nothing but blackness and felt nothing but fire. It was as if the red eyes I saw belonged to the devil himself, he brought me down to the burning flames of hell. When I awoke, I floated among the wreckage. My face and life preserver were covered in the most wretched slime. It was a putrid stink that made me think, not just of death, but of the rot thereafter. I tried to wash it off with ocean water when I came to, but I wasn't able to. Even when I returned home, the smell stayed with me for weeks. A rescue helicopter found me after a few hours of floating. They asked me what happened and I could not tell them. They were visibly repulsed by my smell and they tried to wash it off to no avail. When I got to the hospital, they were finally able to remove most of the slime, but the smell still lingered. My body was covered in blistering burns. As I watched the news coverage of the discovery, my wife looked to see my horrified face. Without me saying a word, she knew that it must have been the creature that had caused me harm that day. The scientists looked so pleased with themselves for capturing this abomination. The camera panned up to the eyes--those infernal, red eyes--and my body felt like it was on fire again. I screamed in pain. My heart raced as I jumped in the shower. I tried to turn on the cold water but only the putrid slime rained down on me from the faucet. I drifted into the blackness of that day at sea when this devil attacked me. My wife pulled me out of the shower, trying to stop my screaming. I opened my eyes to see the look of concern on her face. She threw a towel over me and wrapped me up. She embraced me and rocked me gently as I shook and cried. I fear this creature may forever hold its power over me.


Ray Baker is dressed in a blue button up shirt, a flak jacket snugly pressed against his body, black pants and matching boots. In his left hand is a large empty canvas bag and on his right hip is a glock secure in its holster. From under a black cap his eyes scan the severely outdated bank. He moves forward like he belongs there; but he doesn’t. He is firmly convinced that he only needs to look the part in order to be granted access to anywhere he desires. In his mind he is invisible so long as no one knows his true motives.

For the past five years Ray has been working at a company called S&K, one of the largest local distributors of sundries and wine supplies in the county. He’s a delivery driver and while out on his “beat” he’s developed an obsession with being in places he isn’t supposed to be. He found that all it took was showing up with a box and a truck and he would be granted access to any number of businesses and organizations without having to show his credentials. He developed a habit of bringing a package around with him on his days off so that when the mood struck him he could walk into an employee entrance or the loading dock of any number of businesses just to get the rush of being where he shouldn’t. He sometimes felt like a ghost who was able to peer into the “behind the scenes” of so many restaurant kitchens, storage rooms of large corporations, warehouses full of products being prepared to ship, and supply closets in hospitals and the back rooms of stores at the mall. He would wander long hallways with no one in them and patrol work rooms with people at their computers clacking away at their keyboards. Sometimes someone would look up and see that he was a courier by the box in his hands and go back to their tasks.

“We can’t eat there,” he told his girlfriend Mary one night when they were cruising downtown looking for a place to stop for dinner. “ Why not? I’ve heard good things, ” she said.

“If you saw the kitchen you would know why. Trust me, we ain’t eatin there.” It never seemed to matter where he walked into so long as he carried a box and moved with authority. Sometimes he would even break out the hand truck as an extra cover. He never wore a uniform or a badge. He began to wonder how much farther he could get if he did. Mary thought he was crazy when he started talking about how easy it would be to walk into a bank and rob it.

“I”m telling you, Mary. I do this shit all the time. All I gotta do is look the part. I’ll dress up like one of those armored car guys, walk into the vault and take the take! Easy peasy.”

“You’re a crazy son of a bitch, you know that? I ain’t going to be your get away driver, I’ll tell you that.”

“I’ll come up with something...”

Steven was fired a month ago from S&K but was secretly living in the warehouse in a nest he built high up in the pallet racks. Ray was sympathetic to his situation and helped him avoid detection. Late at night after a route Ray would be the lookout while Steven climbed up the pallet rack to his bed. Sometimes they would talk, and eventually Ray shared his idea of robbing a bank successfully if they could be convincing enough. Ray was a bit of a salesman and after several discussions was able to convince Steven, who had been looking for work ever since he was fired, to be the driver. They pieced together a uniform and even though the getup wasn’t perfect it was close enough that no one would notice the difference.

They had a bit of luck when Steven met a guy at a bar who used to work for an armored car company. He laid out the details of how the procedure worked. The barcode that had to be scanned in order to keep tabs on their movement. The weekly pickups that were never done at the same time of day.

"Are you thinking of robbing a truck?" The man had asked.

"Nah, hell no. Just job hunting. Was considering applying." After the tip they were able to narrow down the pickup day to Thursday and confirmed that the truck never showed up at the same time. Sometimes it was around noon, other times closer to three, or somewhere in between.

“We don’t have an armored car,” Steven said one day as they sat outside Chase bank.

“It doesn't matter. We need something quicker. I think this ride right here will be just fine.”

“ My clunker!? You gotta be shittin. Plus it's registered in my name! We gotta rent something…”

“ No renting. How much money do you have?” “I just lost my job! I’m sleeping in the damn warehouse of my previous employer! I ain’t got no fucking money!”

“We gotta have something to get away in. Maybe we can find a ride on Craigslist.”

Ray walks toward the half door to the left of the teller booth. There are seven people standing in line, bankers sit with other clients in little cubicles. A woman, maybe a manager, notices Ray and walks over to the half door to greet him.

Outside, Steven is in the parking lot in a 80’ yellow Honda civic. He's smoking and bouncing his legs impulsively, his hands tightly gripped against the steering wheel. Ray and Mary had terminated their lease over a month ago and were now sleeping at the Sand Man Hotel.

“This shit better work like you think,” Mary said one day as they sat by the pool.

“I’ve been doing this for years.”

“You say that like you’ve been robbing banks. All you’ve done is walk into places like you own it. I can’t believe I’m trusting you.”

“Look at this scene,” Ray said, looking over at the kids jumping into the pool while their parents drank blended margaritas.

“Pretty soon we’ll be doing this on the beaches of Miami, minus the kids. But who knows, maybe kids too...”

But the truth was Ray wasn’t all that sure it would work. Plan B was something he didn’t want to act out and hoped that he could fool the bankers into giving him the take.

Outside the bank Steven is blowing smoke from his nose. He stares through the bank windows trying to make out figures. His leg is bouncing uncontrollably and when someone nearby honks their horn he jumps and yells to “Shut up!”

At the half door there is a barcode on the wall. Ray nervously holds up his phony scanner and it beeps.

“Thursday it is,” Ray had said when he and Steven met at a local diner on College and Mendocino.

“Yeah, but what time?”

“This is where we gamble.” “Sometime between twelve and three, Steven mumbles.”

“One thirty,” Ray says nodding his head. “One thirty.”

It was 1:33 in the afternoon when Ray entered the teller booth. He’s led to the old style vault, a large walk in with steel bars and a huge dial.

“What did you have for us this week?” The girl asks.

“I’m here to make a pickup,” Ray says, lost in the rush of being where he shouldn’t.

The girl looks at him a little confused. “Oh, but what about our cash?”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Ray says. “I’m here for the money.”

“So, you’re saying you're only here for a pickup ?”

“That’s right, like usual.”

“Okay, but I… listen, lets go back to the booth. I need to make a call. I’m worried about our cash levels.”

At a red light an armored truck squeaks to a stop. Steven, a cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth, turns toward the sound.

“Ah, fuckin hell!”

Inside the bank the woman begins to leave the vault, but before she can go Ray pulls out the gloch from its holster and shoves it under the woman’s chin.

“ I didn’t want to do this but you’ve made me. Fill the fucking bag or I’ll spray your skull against the ceiling.”

Ray was acting. He was the robber he wasn’t, the one like in all those Hollywood movies. “ Fill--the fucking--bag! ” he says against her ear.

The armored truck pulls up into a loading zone and the passenger, an armored guard, exits the vehicle.

“Ah holy hell!” Steven says.

The woman is stuffing the bag with cash and Ray is telling her to hurry up under his breath. When she’s done the time is 1:41.

“ Get on the ground- -and don’t--fucking move !” he instructs her. The woman complies and lays there with her hands over her face sobbing.

Ray begins to exit the vault and as he rounds a corner he sees a teller standing at the half door. Someone is on the other side but he can’t make out who. As he approaches, the teller looks behind her and reveals the guard on the other side. With a sudden instinct of playing the part, Ray raises the gun and fires three quick shots. One hits the teller in the neck and blood goes spraying into the guard’s face as a round hits his cheek and the other goes into his face just below his nose. He drops to the ground and people are screaming. Ray steps across the threshold from the tellers booth, he looks down at the guard whose face is a mess of gore, his eyes are blinking and he is reaching for his sidearm. Ray fires his weapon in the center of the man’s forehead which creates a small explosion of blood and brain matter to spread out against the floor. Before he exits the scene he leans down and takes the man’s gun.

From outside Steven can hear the four shots. He looks to the driver in the armored truck who has his eyes trained on the bank entrance. When Ray emerges he immediately aims the weapon at the truck and unloads the rest of the clip into the windshield. The bullet proof glass splinters and the driver ducks behind the dash. Ray jumps into the back seat of the yellow Honda and yells, “ GO, GO, GO! ”

As the Honda Civic takes the on ramp headed north, Ray is pulling off his clothes. The sweat makes everything stick and he frustratingly yanks it all off. As he is changing, two police cars head south on the other side of the freeway. They pass in a hurry, sirens blaring.

The yellow Honda pulls into the Sandman Hotel. “Mary! It's time to move, darling,” Ray yells as he and Steven barge into the room.

“I was so fucking worried you wouldn’t come back,” she kisses him hard.

“We gotta go baby.”

“What’s the take?” Steven asks.

“I don’t know but there were a lot of hundreds stuffed in that bag.”

“Let's split it up.”

“How much do you want?”

“What do you mean? I want my fair share. Let's split it.”

Ray looks over at Mary who returns his stone cold gaze. He raises the weapon he took from the guard and fires a round into the center of Steven’s face.

“Killing really does get easier the more you do it…” Ray says.

Mary grabs the keys to Steven’s clunker sitting on the night stand and they slip out of the room.

When they hit interstate 580 they breathe a little.

“I think we did it sugar plum,” Ray says.

“You think?”

“Every mile we get a little further.”

“What about our identities? They’ll catch up to us sooner or later.”

“Don’t worry. We got time to think about who we can be. We ain’t Mary and Ray no more, baby. It's a new scene, we gotta act the part. I figure we bum around the United States until we come up with some new identification. We got plenty of money to turn into new people.”

“Who are you going to be?”

“I don’t know yet. But you sure look like a Bonnie if I say so myself.”

“ Bonnie? Does that make you my Clyde?”

Ray looks over at her with a big full toothed smile. “You know what, baby? I think I like that. You’re my Bonnie and I’m your Clyde.” “Forever?”

“Forever and ever. There is no question,” their eyes meet and so do their lips.


Being identical twins is a little irritating at times since only Mom and Dad can tell us apart, but Zoey and I get to have our fun with it. On test days, we switch places, which works really well since I’m good at math and Zoey is good at English. Today is a two for one special. We both had an English and Calculus test. I take Zoey’s math test during third and mine during fifth. Meanwhile, she gets to do English for us. On top of that, Mom is taking us to school, so we don’t even have to take the bus. All I had to do was show up to first and second period, switch shirts with Zoey before and after third, and bingo! I’m out of English and she’s out of math. “Breakfast,” I heard mom scream from downstairs. The smell of bacon drew me downstairs with ease. “Chloe, is your sister awake?” “Yeah, she’s changing.” I offered as an excuse for why I was still in pajamas. I plopped down into a chair and began reciting the different ways to take a derivative. Then, Zoey came downstairs. She didn’t have her hair and makeup done, just a simple ponytail tied up in back. Her black converse complemented her skinny jeans and gray t-shirt. Thank god. That means I don’t have to do my hair or makeup today. After nodding at Zoey, I went upstairs and got ready while we all waited for Dad to come downstairs. I threw on my black converse, skinny jeans, and a blue t-shirt. I tied my hair in a ponytail, then hurried back to the table. Dad was already sitting down, so they started eating without me. I didn’t mind since I usually eat quickly. I scarfed down the bacon and eggs Mom put on my plate. The drive to school was nice. Whenever we take the bus, kids try to guess “who’s Zoey and who’s Chloe” for the day. Without the mild irritation added to my morning, I was able to enjoy the conversation with Zoey and Mom. Mom was telling us about how she was going to have a special day at work today. She’s a substitute teacher, and apparently the school she’s subbing at today starts later than her regular shifts, so she was able to give us a ride. Mom dropped us off at the parking lot, and Zoey and I headed inside. We sat with our friends until the first bell rang, which wasn’t too long after we arrived. First period was slow, and I spent most of the time staring down at my study guide for Calculus. Second period was the same. My nerves built up in anticipation for the test. During passing period, I met with Zoey. We ran into the restroom and traded shirts. All I had to do was walk in, ace that calculus test, and go back to my normal schedule for the day. We exchanged “good lucks” and headed to class, as usual. I went into Zoey’s class and took a seat. The teacher was gone. He was probably just finishing up printing the tests. Of all the times I’d been in this class, he never printed them in advance. On top of that, he changed versions every period, so I couldn’t even breeze through my own test. While I was looking down at my study guide, I heard a familiar voice in front of me. “Surprise, sweetie!” “Mom?” My heart pounded so hard I was surprised it didn’t pop out of my chest. “I didn’t tell you earlier because I thought it would be fun to surprise you. I didn’t know you had a test today.” “Yup. English and math.” Mom smiled and walked back to the teacher’s desk. I’m wearing Zoey’s shirt, so maybe she won’t notice. The bell rang, and I knew if I made it past the next five minutes, I’d be fine. “Good morning, everyone. My name is Mrs. Styles and I’m going to be subbing for Mr. Hickman today. I’m gonna call roll now, so please tell me if I say your name wrong.” “Michael. Gerardo. Mina. Elizabeth. Brittney. Angel. Coralyn.” As she got closer to my name, I began shaking. I listened as she listed off my classmates’ names. “Zoey?” She cocked her head and looked up at me. “Here,” I responded. She just looked back down at the roster, continuing to read off names. Oh God. Did she hear my voice? I probably sounded nervous. She questioned it. Does she know? It’s Mom. She would definitely say something if she knew. I shook off my nerves and prepared for the test, which was more important at the moment. *** The test wasn’t as bad as I expected. However, I was still as nervous as ever. I ran to the restroom to talk to Zoey. As we exchanged shirts, I explained the situation to her. “Dude, if she knew it was you, she would’ve said something.” Zoey tried to reassure me. “Yeah, but she looked at me.” “Chloe, you’re fine. She didn’t say anything; she probably just felt bad because she thought she mixed us up. We’re gonna be fine. You’re gonna go take your test and I’ll take mine. Problem solved. Worst case scenario, she finds out.” “Yeah, worst case scenario, she beats our asses.” “Oh hush, you’re being over dramatic. We’ll be fine.” I was still shaking, but I finally gave into her argument. By the time lunch came around, I didn’t have an appetite. I mean, I was the one who had to face Mom again. What did Zoey have to worry about? She can’t be responsible for giving anything away if she’s not there. The bell rang and I headed back to Calculus. Act surprised, I told myself as I walked in. I sat down in my normal assigned seat, hoping that Mom would notice the difference. I figured that if I talked to my friends instead of looking at notes, she would know that I’m Chloe now. “Surprise, sweetie!” She interrupted my conversation. “Mom?” Oh shoot, I hope that was convincing enough. “Chloe didn’t tell you?” “No…” I said, acting like I didn’t know what was happening. “That’s odd. You girls tell each other everything. Maybe she wanted you to be surprised too.” Oh phew. She didn’t say anything. I allowed myself to calm down and I took my test. I walked out feeling confident. Both my test and Zoey’s test seemed to go really well. The rest of the day ended relatively quickly. I told Mom I wanted to walk home with my friends, and I pressured Zoey into going with me. I knew any conversation with her could make one of us crack. Mom knows how to find out when we’re lying. We opened the front door, peeking behind it to see if Mom was anywhere in sight. We were safe. Zoey and I walked to our rooms. I wasn’t sure what she was doing, but I figured that if I did my homework, Mom wouldn’t bother me. I relished in my solitude for a few hours, until I heard the call for dinner. I didn’t realize Dad got home. I ran downstairs, hoping to eat something since I didn’t eat lunch. “Wait, where’s Dad? I thought dinner was ready.” My mom turned around with her spatula in one hand, and the other on her hip. “You can have dinner after you bring your sister down.” I thought something was wrong, but I didn’t want to point it out in fear that I was just overthinking what she was saying. As I stepped on the first step, I heard Mom’s voice again. “Chloe, hold on. Come back here. I forgot to ask. How were your math tests?” I stopped mid-step and looked back at her. *She knew*. “I asked you how your math tests went.” I didn’t want to respond. “Did you really think you would get away with that?” I knew I’d only make it worse if I didn’t respond, so I said, “I don’t know.” “Honey, I asked if ‘Chloe’ told you. Zoey has third period. The second you said no, I knew it was you. First of all, I know my girls. Second of all, I know when my girls are lying to me.” I stared at the floor, keeping Mom in my peripheral vision. “Go to your room. I’m gonna deal with you and your sister as soon as I finish dinner.” I went to my room and texted Zoey everything. I laid back on my bed, feeling like I couldn’t breathe. I fucking knew it. I told Zoey this would happen. I was just waiting for mom to come upstairs, spatula in hand. It felt like eternity had passed, but I finally heard footsteps coming up the stairs. I watched in horror as my doorknob turned. The knot in my stomach tightened as the door swung open. “Wait. Where’s mom? When did you get home?” Dad walked in, closing the door behind him. He was holding his belt in his hand. “Mom told me what you and Zoey did today.” “But she said she would come upstairs and deal with us. She didn’t say anything about you.” “Don’t forget, sweetie. We can switch too.


Chapter 10 Maurice approached the Holy Cathedral cautiously; he’d never been this close to the royalty of The Authority before. He ascended the grand steps that led up to the doorway into the cathedral, slowly and carefully. When he got to the door he stopped for a moment, and then entered. Standing in the middle of the room was a tall, lanky figure shrouded in a black cloak.

“Hello, Hepburn,” the figure said. Maurice moved slowly, unsure of himself. The hood of the cloak fell just below the figure’s eye-line, showing his long, crooked nose and and a thin smile. “So, you’ve lost a starpod?” The figure spat.

Maurice gulped. “Yes…I’m afraid so,” he replied.

The figure wrung his bony hands together and the smile faded. “And how do you suppose you’ll get it back?” Maurice gulped, and then shuffled his feet. “Starpods give off a unique energy signature, as you know,” he said. “All we need to do is look out for that signature.” “So! You’re going to scour the entire galaxy?” Maurice found himself nodding. “Yes, sir—eh, Your Excellency, that is the plan, but—” “But what?” The figure mocked.

“—but it may take some time.” “I should think so. But time is slippery, it can escape your grasp in an instant if you’re not careful to grip it tightly.” “I won’t fail you,” Maurice exclaimed, his voice cracking. “Find the unit, Hepburn, and find it soon.” And at that, the figure waved Maurice away, and he found himself walking backwards out the door of the church, unwilling to turn his back to such a bony, death-like creature. Chapter 11 Josiah and Daniel stepped onto the rickety, metal elevator, and began their descent deep into one of Manoor’s many quarries. It’s in these quarries that they once hoped to mine feria , a substance that prolongs the human lifespan. But, much to the dismay of Manoor’s ancestors, none had been found on this planet.

“So, you have yet to find any feria at all?” Jo asked inquisitively.

Prime Minister Edein responded: “No, none at all. Which is good, for it’s kept The Authority far away from our little sanctuary.” “Because of the energy signature?” Daniel asked. “That’s right. Without the signature radiation from feria, our planet has snuck under their radar. Once, we hinged our entire economic system on finding the elusive element; now, the mines stand empty and barren.” “So, what do you hope to show us down there, then?” Daniel asked.

“You’ll see.” And down and down they went, deeper into the quarry until the sun hid behind one of the edges of the great crater. And the closer they got, the more they could swear that there was a buzzz coming from deep within.

“What’s that noise?” Jo asked.

The prime minister was silent.

Finally, they reached the bottom, and the three men, accompanied by four guardsmen, stepped out onto a crimson-red floor. The buzzz was even louder now, but still subtle, as if hidden within something. As they walked down the path, the prime minister said: “We found it thirty years ago, looking for feria.” They turned a corner, and there it was: a ripple in spacetime. Daniel’s jaw dropped, and Josiah stood steady, looking stoically at the slim tear within the fabric of reality itself. “We have no idea what kind of radiation it’s emitting,” Edein began, “but it’s like nothing we’ve ever observed before.” “And The Authority—” began Jo.

“—they have no idea about it, as far as we know. This type of radiation isn’t what they’re looking for.” “And the keyblade?” Asked Daniel. Prime minister Edein smiled. “Have you ever seen anything like this before?” “No, but—” “—something cut through,” Edein said. “A blade that serves as a key. A key into another world.” Chapter 12 Maurice’s ship barrelled through space, hurriedly, towards the headquarters of Baxtar Industries. He would scour the entire galaxy, no, the entire universe , to get back the stolen starpod. Maurice’s temper flared, and he angrily slammed his fist on the arm of the seat he was in.

His android across from him looked concerned. “Mr. Hepburn,” the robot began, “perhaps you should take ferryar .” “I don’t need any damn feria,” he exclaimed. “I need the starpod back.” “It is a most troubling scenario,” the droid, named AX-7675, continued, “but I have faith that something will turn up.” “You’re an android, you don’t have faith.” Maurice mumbled angrily.

“You programmed faith into me, sir.” “So your opinion is a product of my imagination.” AX-7675 went silent for a few moments, then: “Your imagination is a product of your own genetic make-up, your own programming, if you will, and is really no different from mine.” Maurice stared out the window, and thought to himself: “The starpod is out there…somewhere, deep within the galaxy, maybe…and without it this whole operation falls apart.” Chapter 13 Catherine awoke suddenly. The two moons shone dazzling light through her window and onto her bed; she stared out the window at those moons, and sighed heavily. She’d been on Taleyedos for four days as her arm healed; Sonya had been very pleasant and helpful to her, but still the blade remained a mystery. “All in due time,” Pietro had promised, but that time still hadn’t come yet. Sonya told her what she could (which wasn’t much), but her friendly demeanour and genuine sense of empathy helped Catherine get through those early days in Scienca and grow accustomed to her new life.

Now, she was growing restless, and needed answers. So on the morning of the fifth day, she walked down the lightly paved road towards the emerald spire and climbed the steps back up to the circular room she’d been brought to when she first arrived, and barged in. The assembly was deliberating about something, and all turned their heads towards Catherine as she made her bombastic entrance.

“It’s time you told me who you are, it’s time you told me about the blade that saved my life, and it’s time you told me what you know about The Authority and how we can defeat them,” she proclaimed loudly as the doors swung behind her.

Pietro stayed calm, and smiled. “We were discussing yesterday as to whether we should tell you or not. Some of the assembly here does not think so. But, in your favour, enough of us do, so we will answer your questions. But, fetch Sonya. We will not start without her. Let us meet in the courtyard behind the spire in three hours?”

Catherine, who’d been given a brilliant, silver watch from Sonya, looked at her wrist and nodded.

“Let it be so,” she said, and strutted off.

Chapter 14 Catherine walked down the lightly paved road back to her house where there was a kind of telephone she could use to reach Sonya should she need her. She stopped in front of her house, and stared up at the blue-grey sky, speckled with clouds. She smiled to herself. Although the past week had been trying, Catherine was glad to finally be somewhat at peace with herself.

Suddenly, however, the sky grew dark; a massive hypership appeared in orbit around the planet, blocking out the sun. Catherine frowned, and looked confused as the bombs started falling.

First, they hit the emerald spire, knocking it to the ground in a tremendous bang , then they started dropping on the village hidden within the chrome walls. Boom, boom, boom they went, and Catherine screamed, and ran into her house and into the basement. She covered her head with her arms, and all she could hear was the deafening roar of the explosives flattening the town.

Far above her, in the hypership, Sonya stood there, watching.

“You’ve made a deal with the devil,” said Maurice, standing beside her. “You’re certain you know the location of the starpod?” “Like I already told you, Catherine told me everything.” She smiled, and Maurice looked on out the window, satisfied.

“Goodbye, Catherine E. Ness,” he said, chillingly.


"Hey, are you ok?" I rested my hand on her shoulder, tapping my fingers lightly.

Arin looked back to me, still fingering her fated weapon.

"As good as I'll ever be," she sighed, returning her attention to her sword. I returned a light smile, though she didn’t notice.

Her eyes ran up and down the dark bronze blade, falling into every small nick and imperfection.

She'd been given the sword the day she turned eighteen, told it was the only way to save the world.

Arin was a hero inscribed in fate, prophesied with her sword in hand.

Dread bubbled up in my chest as I grounded myself.

We were at the final step, the last line of the prophecy.

As if she read my mind, Arin mumbled under her breath, "And in the dusk of Autumn's death, the sword shall be plunged into the burdened spirit, striking the counted clock." The air around us felt still, though we were still leaning on the inn's outer, wooden wall.

We'd arrived in town the previous night, though it was still two miles out from the Spirit grove.

"And we still don't know what the 'counted clock' is either?"

I broke the silence, finally pertant enough for Arin to sheath her sword.

"It might make sense when we get there," Arin shrugged, before kicking the dirt at her feet.

"Hopefully." "Well, did you talk to Carlow about it?" I asked, trying to keep her from growing silent again.

Arin blushed, glancing from me to the inn behind us.

"I mean, we've all talked about it already.

But, yeah, they don't know either." "I though they were supposed to be the smart one," I joked, raising an eyebrow as Arin smiled slightly.

"I mean, they're the one who figured out the Spirit grove thing." Arin nodded, answering solemnly, "Of course they're a genius, we wouldn't have lasted a day without them.

But, their injury hasn't been kind to them..." her voice trailed off as she turned her body around to face the inn.

She stroked a hand on the wood siding, looking up and trying to find the window of the room we'd booked, the room where we'd left Carlow.

Chills ran down my spine as I remembered Carlow's injury.

I'd been the one to help them when it happened, when their leg was torn all but to the bone by the wolves, a few days prior.

Their leg was bloodied and mauled, so much so that they were unable to walk.

Carlow'd lost so much blood that they were barely conscious, and Arin and I had to leave them behind at the inn to finish the quest.

Carlow swam in both our minds, until Arin slapped the sword’s hilt.

“Well, the sun’s setting, so I guess it’s now or never.” “Heh, yep,” I nodded, glancing at the twin knifes sheathed at my hips.

They’d served me well, ready for our final fight.

I pulled one of the knifes out, just enough for the sinking sun to glint off the silver blade.

My knives weren’t anything particularly special, just a pair we’d picked up along the way.

I used to be envious of Arin’s connection to her sword, but I realized that being a fated hero has its own pitfalls.

I put my knife away and pushed myself off the wall, prompting Arin to do the same.

We took a few steps forward, before she swiveled around to face the inn.

I sighed, glancing at the fading sun.

“Do you want to talk to Carlow again?”

Arin nodded furiously, grinning sheepishly as she bolted back inside.

I leaned my weight on my hips, tapping my foot against the ground.

We’d already said goodbye to Carlow, but it made sense to me that Arin would want a moment alone with them.

It was interesting that they still thought I didn’t know.

As if it wasn’t obvious, the way Arin defended Carlow in fights, how close together they slept on the nights we camped out in the woods.

All my suspicions had been confirmed when Carlow was hurt, the way Arin panicked and fretted.

There was no platonic explanation for that. Arin eventually returned, taking a deep breath as she met me.

The corners of her eyes were red, and her cheeks flushed.

She wiped the corner of her eye with her hand, biting her lip as she nodded for us to head forward.

We started walking north towards the Spirit grove, each step carrying more and more anxious weight.

As the town dipped down below the horizon, Arin gripped the hilt of her sword, spinning her fingers around it as she broke the heavy silence. “Tiff, have I told you-” she started, pursing her lips and swallowing.

“That you and Carlow are totally in love?” I finished, raising my eyebrows, trying to restrain my laughter. Arin turned beet red, glancing away as she failed to cover a dopey smile.

“Well, yeah, but I- I wanted to tell you something else.” She slowed her gait, reaching a hand towards mine.

I grabbed a hold of hers, letting her squeeze my palm.

“Tiff, I just want to thank you.” Arin’s eyes welled with tears, and I felt my own start to burn.

Arin smiled, shaking her head and looking to the ground as she continued, “You stuck with me through all of this, Tiff, through the good times-” she reached her free hand up to my upper arm, running her finger down the deep scar that ran from my shoulder to my elbow, “and the bad.” I blushed, shrugging her hand off the old wound.

“Of course I stuck with you, we’re friends for life, remember?

It’ll take more than a magic sword and some blood to tear us apart.” A tear fell from Arin’s eye a she wrapped her arms around me, staring the hug that I gladly joined.

We held each other tightly for a moment, reluctantly pulling away after an long minute. We nodded to each other, turning back to the road before us.

We walked briskly and silently the rest of the way, each tensing our muscles as the Spirit grove peeked into our view, a large square-shaped temple built from fine stone.

“What did Carlow say was in there?” I asked, gripping my knives.

“They said the spirits are like ghosts,” Arin started, slowly finding her own hilt.

“Carlow said the there isn’t much known about the spirits, not even if they’re real.” I nodded, and we approached the grove’s entrance with great care.

As we found ourselves in front of the door, Arin turned to me and grinned, “You ready for one last fight?”

I returned a cocky smile, “One last time, then we’re home free.” Arin nodded and kicked the door open, drawing her sword with a final sense of might.

I stepped in behind her, whipping my knives out and flipping them once in my hands.

The room we’d dramatically lunged into was empty.

Completely, utterly empty.

“What?” Arin whispered, lowering her sword as she stepped further in.

I followed behind, though I kept my knifes raised.

We walked around the room, a stone box harshly lit by small holes in the ceiling.

Our footsteps echoed as I shook my head in confusion.

Where else were we supposed to find spirits?

It’s the last day of autumn, the sun is setting, what are we missing? We wandered through the room a few minuted more.

A large boom sounded through the room, and I jumped as Arin raised her sword.

We drifted towards each other as more booms followed, quickly falling into a pattern, two quick sounds before a pause, over and over again.

We stood defensively in the room, our ears filling with the noise, until something in my head clicked, breaking my trance from the booms. “Arin, it sounds like a heartbeat!” I exclaimed, glancing around at the fading light pouring through the roof.

“A heart, a clock-” Arin started, suddenly dropping her sword.

“A counted clock, a counted heartbeat, a fated heart-” her voice started trembling as she slowly repeated the final prophetic lines, “...the sword shall be plunged into the burdened spirit, striking the counted clock.” “Arin,” I called, worry bubbling in my body as Arin clenched her fists.

“Arin, what does this mean?” Arin stumbled away from me, turning back and looking at her discarded sword in disgust.

“Tiff, there’s only two souls in this room,” she started, moving further away from the blade.

My heart skipped in my chest, launching into my throat.

“So the burdened soul-” “Is me!” Arin cried, falling back against the wall.

Her breathing grew erratic and shallow, as she ran a hand through her dark brown hair.

Breathlessly, she stammered, “I need to stab myself.

In the heart.” Every organ in my body contorted, and I dropped my knives and ran to Arin.

“No, there has to be another way, this- this can’t be it.

Arin, no!” Arin’s body trembled as I kneeled next to her, grabbing her shoulder. She closed her eyes, inhaling sharply as she placed a hand over mine.

She gripped it tightly, before dismally pushing my hand away.

I leaned back in surprise, dumbfounded as Arin stood up and shakily retrieved her sword.

Sword in hand, Arin turned back to me, taking deep, calming breaths as her eyes filled with tears.

“I thought this could happen,” she traced a finger on the blade, “but I thought- I hoped it wouldn’t.” Arin shook her head, blinking tears from her eyes.

She masterfully spun the blade in her fingers, her outstretched hand gripping the hilt as the sword’s point floated in front of her chest.

“But I’m ready.” “Arin, you don’t have to do this,” I pleaded, my voice already breaking.

“What if you’re wrong- what if- what about Carlow?” More tears poured from Arin’s eyes as she shook her head.

“Tiff, I think I’ve figured it out.

To save the world, this place, this grove- it demands a sacrifice.”

“The sword is bait,” I finished, standing up to face Arin.

The revelation burned in my chest, and I noticed the stream of my own tears flowing from my cheeks and down my neck.

Arin nodded mournfully, looking down and lining the tip of the wicked blade up to her heart.

I froze as she focused, watching lamely as she pierced the outer layer of her skin, tearing through her shirt.

In an eerily strong voice, Arin looked to me, locking shimmering eyes, “Tiff, listen.

We haven’t seen any ‘spirits’ here, but I wouldn’t be surprised if something happens when I do this.

Tiff, look at me.” I forced my wandering eyes back to hers, reluctantly opening my ears.

“Tiff, I don’t want you to get hurt.

So, when I say the word, I need you to run.

You run, you hear me?” I nodded.

“But I don’t want you to be alone.” Arin gave me a sympathetic smile, “I’ll be ok.

It’s time for me to be a hero.”

Arin lost her smile, finishing, “Besides, I don’t want your last memory of me to be with this, this thing in my chest.” I could only nod, my throat to swollen to speak.

Arin pointed her head towards the door, and I slowly entered the doorway, though I didn’t dare leave.

Arin locked eyes with me one last time, tears pouring down her face like never before.

“Arin, I love you,” I choked, my own face hot and drenched in tears.

My body trembled as I watched Arin tighten her grip. “Tell Carlow I love them, that they mean so much to me,” Arin fought back sobs, choking one back as she finished, “And Tiff, thank you.

For everything.”

A sob broke through, and she gave her last testament, “Tiff, I love you.” I twisted away as her words slipped into my ears, hearing her grunt before I heard the sound of Arin’s body topple to the ground.

I bolted at the final sound, my cruel mind finishing the scene for me.

She’s dead.

Arin’s dead.

Dead.

  There was no room in my heart for anger as I ran from the grove.

Every inch of flesh, every vein in my body pounded with sick grief, an unending pain as I ran faster and faster to the town.

My shoes were made of lead, my head full of knives, my skin covered in barbed wire, yet I sprinted as fast as I could, finally stumbling into the outer reach of the town. I couldn’t breathe as I stumbled back to the inn, navigating through the new darkness of night.

As I finally found myself back at the entrance, I pushed through the door, ignoring the blinding of the interior lights.

I tore through the hallway towards our room, flying past the other patrons as they gave me worried glances. I almost kicked the door down, jerking to a stop as I clunked into the room.

I whipped my head around to find Carlow resting on a chair in the corner of the room, a book fallen at their side.

They looked up at me, their face melting from confusion to horror as they started to put the pieces together, examining my tear stained face and horrified eyes.

Carlow tried to stand up, failing as their leg kept them from approaching me. Instead, I tripped over to them, toppling to my knees to be at their height.

Carlow met me halfway by sliding down to the floor too, though they winced as they landed next to me.

Once they’d looked back up to me, I pitifully wrapped my arms around them, and I felt as they embraced me back.

I squeezed Carlow tightly as more tears fell from my unrelenting eyes, even feeling some of Carlow’s as they dripped onto my shirt.

I bit my tongue, spending a moment of silence with Carlow before whispering in their ear, “Arin loved you so much, Carlow.

You meant the world to her.” Carlow sobbed into my shoulder, holding me tighter than ever, as I held them back. We’d both lost Arin, our hero.

We sobbed. And sobbed.


He comes to her in August, darkly-coated with a swift step. He comes to her and that is the beginning. He steps into this motel. *‘The Grand Motel.’* It is a dim and minimal sight, the colors muted and homely. It is as grand as a lobby can be. A cough is heard. It is small but grating. From the lobby counter, a girl appears. Thin-boned and blemished, she coughs again. The hacking is hoarse and stubborn. Her lungs are not kind. ”You need a room?” The girl sits on the counter. ”Fifty a night.” ”I’m here to introduce myself.” he puts himself in a chair that cannot possibly be made out of real velvet. ”Sure?” Stiffly, the man introduces himself as Death. There is silence. Death thinks about a reflection of himself as the earth crumbles. The girl laughs hard. Then she coughs hard. Death stares and wonders how the moon views the sun. She says it’s just a cold. He says it's cancer. Sitting and strangled, she introduces herself as Jessica. She speaks about her father and his own cancerous rhythm of breath. That’s all breathing is to Death, a rhythm. She talks about Jackson, her brother. Her timid-toned guardian. He does not know about her cancer. He does not know that the girl will end up like their father. He’ll be angry. Jessica isn’t, she is tired and does not ask one question to Death about his existence. She seems content with what everybody knows about Death. She’s just surprised that Death is a he. Jackson arrives and Death knows he is not a boy for confrontation. Their confrontation is only expected. Jackson is made of clenched fists, his rhythm droning with hope that this is a mean joke. Death could never be that rude. But he is not gentle, just an outcome. When Jackson is finished with the attempts at emotional punches, he tells Jessica to get off the counter. She does not. Jackson asks too many questions. Death thinks about cellars and screams of the damned. He asks for a discount on the room. Jessica coughs with a wink and Death feels a twitch in what would be his bones. In the night, Jessica decides that chemotherapy is overrated. Jackson is less than happy about her opinion. Death figures out why most people would not want to die in a motel. The girl explains that it’s because it didn’t treat her dad too kindly. ”Anything that has to do with cancer wouldn't treat anyone too kindly.” Death quips, he has existed too long to not be cheeky. Jackson scoffs. ”You would know.” It rings true. Death imagines a paper mache moon. Jessica believes her lungs must be made out of acid. Jackson knows that Jessica will not change her mind and that she’ll hate him if he forces her to. He won’t try. For the next three months, Death’s existence is all checkers and realization. It starts with the dead father. On day five, Death needs a change of clothes. To Jackson’s dismay, Jessica remembers their father’s suits. There, he finds out that Jessica carries herself with the quickness of a bewildered child. The suits become routine. Jackson asks him if his father came to him standing. ”Yes,” Death lies. The truth of the end for cancer patients is not a comfort. It snows on day eleven. There, Death finds out that Jessica is the worst at checkers. He laughs at where she places her reds. Day twenty is when Jessica teaches him how to play the spoons. Jackson smiles and it is not one of spite. Day twenty-nine is when they play in the snow. There, the girl was suspended and open, in a way Death couldn’t understand, she found a way to burn and be open. Death forgets the reasons why he’s here. Month two is when Jessica does nothing but sleep. Her tumor is quick. Death sees her suffering as a burden and it scares him. Day fifteen on month two is when Jessica winks at Death as she sweats out five pounds. He asks her why she did. ”Just because.” He imagines her as a beast in a forest. This stubborn child who he thinks of in the snow. He smiles at her like he knows her. It is month three and Death knows that it is time to be the outcome. Jessica is shrunken. Jackson does not know that this is the end. Death can only pity him. These months between them have only been the cargo of second-hand illness. ”I’m heading to bed.” Jackson slows his rhythm. Death needs to give him subtle closure. They have been discreetly lonely for so long. ”You’re doing a good job.” At that moment, Jackson looks like Jessica. He assumes he looks like the father too. They share a look of knowing and the boy is off to bed. He makes his way to Jessica’s room. He thinks about a tree that weeps seed. The door creaks. With an unsteady standing, Death enters. The room is stained with sickness and he can only stare at this thin-boned girl, heavy in her bed. She is all aching limbs, all frailty. She has made him quiet, all desperate. All her, all her. She looks as if she’s never winked at someone for no other reason than to make one curious. She looks as if she’s never sat on lobby counters when she’s not supposed to or has never learned how to play the spoons. She only looks like she’s only ever suffered. She looks like she’s ready. Her breaths are rattling, something made for a sharp epilogue. ”Jessica.” He whispers her name like it’s a secret. Her eyes shift to his frame, the suited silhouette. Silence. A clattered breath. ”Dad?” Death is still. The name is a knife. It is a weapon that Jessica grips with delirium. He has seen this all before and he cries. It is not a burden and he cannot decide if that was progress or grief. ”Dad, you’re home.” He’s seen this all before, he knows all you can do is pretend. Brittle, he pretends. ”Yes, I am.” Jessica gives a jangled smile and wheezes out a laugh. ”You don’t seem happy about it.” she chuckles and hacks away at her lungs. That’s the loop. A laugh, then a cough. Joy despite disease. Death laughs despite the inevitable result. For her. ”How can I not be?” She reaches for him, a paternal reunion. Death seeps into the bed. Jessica only smiles. ”You’re here.” Her head falls onto his shoulder. ”I’m here,” He holds her and he can’t stop crying. He holds her because he knows her and he knows she’s ready. ”I’m here.” ”You’re here,” She says once more. ”You’re here. Her rattling rhythm speeds up. The girl wears a shadow of a toothy smile. Death begins, collecting her softly. ”I’m here.” he whispers. It’s not a secret. The rhythm is rasping. ”I’m here.” It does not scare him. He collects every part of her and hopes that he was kind and simple and gentle in all aspects. He hopes she knew that she was easy to know and that he knew her simply and whole. He hopes that her soul will haunt him. He hopes that Jackson will forgive him. He hopes they know that they showed him perfect love. The rhythm stops. ”I’m here.” he says. Her soul is bright and only in his arms for a moment. He hopes they know he will be burning forever. In the morning, the brother woke. He sat up in his bed and he knew. He makes his way to Jessica’s room. When he sees her in her bed, sleeping but not, he remembers her laughing with all of her chest. He does not attempt to revive her. Jackson looks at his little sister, sleeping but not, and calls 9-1-1. Death is nowhere to be found. Jackson is too tired to be angry and he is trying to figure out if the hard part is over. He sits in the hollow noise of others. It is not comforting. Two months later, when he goes through Jessica’s belongings, he weeps. It’s the spoons that get him. He laughs, wondering if Jessica is teaching their dad how to play them. He knows that grief feels like everything. A guest above plays a tune that is reminding of smiling voices. He opens the drawer of the nightstand. He thinks there might be more spoons. There sits a small note. *‘Thank you. Look at the sun and remember her. Stay brutal.’* *- D* Jackson realizes that the hard part is not over. \_\_\_ Death lingers on a train filled with boys who believe they are ready for war. He disagrees. The morning star begins to rise. He looks towards the east. He remembers. Then he burns.


They had her kneel on the bare floor. Allie pulled the hood off her head and looked around. Three shadowy figures stood before her in the dimly lit room. Jason said, “Boo!” “Of course, Jason. I knew you had to be part of it. Where’s your goalie mask?” Diego pointed at him. “He forgot!” The three boys standing over her burst into laughter. Allie said, “Not wearing it doesn’t help you. Don’t leave home without it.” She and Jason dated briefly in their junior year. But his insecurity and immaturity formed a toxic gumbo. When they first led her in she heard keys rattle. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she spotted them lying on a side table by the door. Walter asked, “Did we scare you?” “Yeah, teenage boys always give me the shivers. Is there a point to this?” They laughed again. Offering his hand, Diego helped her to her feet. She brushed herself off. “Thanks… C’mon, guys. What’s this about? Where are we?” “Morfey…” They looked at each other with wide grins. “What, the old Morfey place? The ‘haunted farmhouse’?” “You got it…” They laughed again. She couldn’t believe it. “This is a haunted house?” “The ultimate haunted house, Allie.” She scanned the room. Once home to the Morfey family, only spiders had lived there for decades. Things went south and took the whole family in a single night. No perps were ever caught. Police sealed the records. Superstitions filled the gap and over fifty years, the stories multiplied. No one knew the truth. Allie didn’t believe in ‘haints,’ as kids called them. “I guess, if dust scares you...” Walter pointed to a wooden chair. “Have a seat.” She brushed off one of the four, straight backed chairs set in a circle and sat. “I hope you don’t think this will make me like you geeks. Kidnapping is a crime, you know.” The others sat too. The lantern, in their midst, lit their faces from below. Shadows loomed eerily against the ceiling and walls. They looked around at the sound of wind buffeting the house. Walter said, “Bear with us for a few, Allie. We have a challenge for you.” “How fast I can dial 911?” “No… This is the season for exploring the dark side of things. And you being the biggest skeptic we know, we wanted to scare you.” “Cut to the chase and ask me to marry you. That’d give me the willies.” Jason said, “We wanted the right atmosphere for our challenge. No point trying to scare you in the comfort of home. Why not someplace classic?” “An abandoned house? Charming…” Walter said, “Everyone agrees it’s haunted.” “Right. Everyone but me. So, it must be true.” Jason said, “Exactly!” Walter leaned in. “We’re going to give it a try.” “Gee, whiz. And here I planned to polish my nails tonight.” Walter unfolded a list. “Let’s get started.” Jason said, “We want you to feel like you have some choice, Allie. Which do you want first? The locked attic door? Or the rats?” Allie clapped her hands. “Oooh, I love to choose… Is that the Jane Eyre attic door? With the crazy lady?” “That very one.” Diego shook his head. “Amazing… So literate…” “How about I pick none? Rats don’t scare me, too cute. But I won’t let animals get mistreated for entertainment’s sake. And I don’t believe you locked someone in the attic. That would require organizational skills I’ve seen from exactly none of you.” Walter said, “We’ll warm you up with a quiz.” Diego said, “I’m sorry, Allie. Are you thirsty? Can I get you something?” “With poison or not?” “We have bottled water and Diet Coke.” “Coke. Unopened, please.” He pulled a can from the cooler and handed it to Allie. “Thanks.” She popped it open, tipped it back and gulped thirstily. Walter said, “So, which is scarier, Linda Blair in the Exorcist? Or a severed head?” “Yeah, that was kind of a career defining moment for ol’ Linda. She never reached her full potential after that. But scary? Not so much. Kind of laughable, I’m sorry to say.” “So, severed heads then?” “If they weren’t so over-used and unimaginative! The French Revolution went way over the line. But now you can’t watch the news without seeing some attention starved douche-bag getting his fifteen minutes.” The boys looked at each other. “Okay, next. Chainsaws? Or razor blades?” “Depends on the application. For shaving my legs, I prefer…” Jason said, “She’s not taking this seriously.” Walter held his hand up for silence. “We’re warming up. Give her time.” Diego offered, “Torture devices… The rack, or the Iron Maiden?” Allie couldn’t resist. “If you’re into metal music…” Jason blurted out, “Number of the Beast!” Diego did a fist pump and cheered. Walter shook his head. “Focus guys. We’re trying to wear her down. Scaring her, remember?” They settled and looked at the floor. Allie yawned. Walter continued. “Which would frighten you more… if the house was built on an Indian burial ground, or on a toxic waste dump?” “Don’t feed me tomatoes from the garden either way. But scared? I worry more if my make-up gets discontinued.” Diego offered, “Evil clown? Or evil doll?” “Guys, don’t you follow the news? Clowns are in fashion. I don’t get it, but not scary. And not sorry.” She cocked her head. “Evil dolls…? I never met one, but the best way to defeat them…? Don’t take them out of the box. Easy peasy… Though I’ll admit Barbie is formidable. That girl has style…” Jason grew impatient. “Allie, you must agree, Frankenstein’s monster is scary.” She paused. “Not as cute as King Kong. The classic monsters were either sympathetic, or boring. The Mummy? What a snooze fest. Face it. Mummies, zombies, vampires… all those ‘undead’ types are seriously not scary. What’s scary is how many clichés you guys love.” “Come on, Allie. Birds? Or sharks?” “Since you don’t even have running water here… Do you…?” They shook their heads. “…I doubt sharks are a threat. As for birds… too flighty. Don’t scare me.” Walter said, “How about psychokinesis?” “You mean like with Carrie?” Walter nodded. “Now, Carrie had it going. She taught those soshes a lesson they’ll not soon forget. You want envy? Sign me up. I’d love to rain vengeance down on some people.” She gave them a look. “But scared? Not really.” Jason said, “Hey guys, come here. Let’s talk for a minute.” He stepped into the gloom of the ancient kitchen. The others followed. Diego turned to Allie, “Don’t go away. We’re strategizing.” She called out. “Hey, guys?” They looked at her. “All that talk about sharks and running water… Is there anything like a bathroom around?” The guys looked at each other and shrugged. Walter pointed. “Around to the left. Past the front door.” “Great… I’ll find it.” Allie moved to the front door and waited until she heard talking. She grabbed the car keys from the table and ran out the door, into the storm. The rain hit her cold and hard. She ran blindly, as fast as possible, in complete darkness, until she slammed into the car. Groaning, she groped her way to the driver’s side door. ‘ Unlocked! ’ Allie slammed the door behind her and locked the other doors. “Whew!” She hit the wheel. “Yeah!” She jammed the key into the ignition and pumped the gas pedal. The engine spun, but didn’t catch. ‘ Did I flood it?’ Continued tries only drained the battery. Stuck. Surprised they hadn’t pursued her, she pondered her next action. The rain varied between hard and harder. Allie was wet and cold. But at least she was out of that house. ‘ Better alone than surrounded by those creeps.’ She felt the back seat for a blanket or jacket. She could sleep in the car until sunrise. The back seat was empty. And chilly. ‘ Why didn’t I grab a jacket? ’ She looked toward the house, unseen in the darkness. The sound of rain on the roof made her shiver in her wet clothes. Not afraid, she was more annoyed than anything. She knew her way home, but walking in the storm was out of the question. There wouldn’t be street lights for miles. In this rain, she might drown standing up. ‘ How stupid can people be? ’ Allie pounded the steering wheel and screamed in frustration. Her shivering had become constant. Her teeth chattered. She didn’t want pneumonia. At least it was dry inside. They weren’t threatening her. Just stupid pranking. ‘ What does it take for people to grow up?’ She thought, ‘What’s the point, guys? Why spend precious energy pursuing darkness and fear? Wouldn’t life be better working toward something better? Beauty? Or truth…? Free yourselves…’ “I’m telling them.” Throwing the car door open, Allie sprinted through the torrent back to the house. Drenched, she shoved the door open and called out to the boys. No answer. The house was silent. ‘ Trying to scare me again… ’ The storm raged. A loose shutter banged against the side of the house. The dim, but warm glow from the living room, drew her in. Allie called out. “I know you guys are in here. Cut the crap. Let’s go get some dinner.” She stopped in the doorway and stared in shock. Sounds gurgled from her throat. She gasped and leaned against the door frame. Feeling a warm wetness she looked at her hand. Allie knew the truth. She couldn’t stop screaming.


I live in the Suicide Tower. It has another name, of course, but no one calls it by anything other than the Suicide Tower. It’s because out of all the buildings in town, they jump off mine the most.  It was startling enough when I first moved in. I was sitting at the kitchen table, eating breakfast, when I saw a body falling from the sky. Perplexed, I went over and opened the French doors, stepped onto my little balcony, and looked down on the body that was now splayed out on the sidewalk.  The EMTs seemed pretty nonchalant about it. They pronounced the man dead and stood around, chatting, until the morgue guys got there. I shouldn’t worry too much about it, they said. One of them, sitting on the steps smoking, claimed it was his third time here in a week. I looked down at the pavement, where the body laid starfished and covered in a white sheet, staining the concrete crimson, and back up at the men. The one smoking smiled sympathetically. “If I were you, I’d find a new place to live.”  But I stayed, and in time got used to the sight. I suppose in some places it rained water, but here it rained people. I might be sitting on the couch watching TV, or reading, or sitting at the table eating, and out of the corner of my eye, I see a falling body, a jumper on his way to meet his Maker. Sometimes, I turn at the right time and catch one of their eyes. It’s strange to be the last living human a man sees before he dies.  Perhaps I should go up there and talk to the jumpers. Try to convince them not to. That someone out there loves them. Maybe then it will make a difference. I might even get a medal for it. But I don’t. Because I don’t know what to say to make someone step away from the ledge. How to convince a man that life is worth living. So I stay in my apartment and bear witness to their demises like the angel of indifference.  Whenever I mention to someone where I live, or I invite people over, they always ask me why I still live here. “Isn’t it horrible,” they say with their eyes wide open “to see so much death?” “Well,” I tell them. “The rent is cheap. There are no neighbors. And the view is nice.” And it’s true. The rent is cheap. No one lives here but me. And you could see all the way to the ocean from my windows. I like the ocean. No one really comes over anymore. Sometimes I invite the EMTs, whom I’ve gotten know since moving in, up for a cup of tea. They always decline.  One day, when I was arriving home from the store, I noticed a woman coming down from the stairs leading up to the roof. That was an unfamiliar sight. No one ever comes down the stairs. She was middle-aged, with red, irritated eyes and a runny nose. “Hello,” I said as she passed. She stopped in her tracks, looked at me. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t think anyone lived here. I don’t mean to trespass.” “No, that’s okay. Would you like to come in?” That was impulsive of me. But I hadn’t had anyone over in a long time and was excited at the prospect of company. “I don’t mean to intrude.” I took that as a yes, and asked her to hold one of the bags while I found my keys.  I gave her the chair that I called the company chair, since I strategically placed it away from the wide french doors and windows. She swallowed, looked around while I made us a cup of tea, fumbling with the fancy teacups I never get to use anymore. “This is a nice place.” I nodded my thanks, pleased by that. I take some pride in my home, even though I don’t have much in the way of furniture. What I do have is nice and clean and I always buy fresh flowers. “I’m sorry I’m such a wreck. My son…” She sniffed loudly “The cops called, and I insisted on telling me where they found my boy. And I had to see where he jumped. I had to see where he fell, what he saw before he…” She cut herself off, taking a sip of tea. “He left a note you see.” She placed the teacup on the end table and picked up her purse, nervously rifling through it. Behind her head, I could see the dark shadow of a falling body. I broke away from the sight as soon as she lifted her head up, holding the note in her shaking hands. “Can I?” She asked, and I nodded, slightly distracted now, hoping she wouldn’t turn around. “Dear Mom,” she began. “I’m sorry to do this to you, but...” To my surprise, another one fell, distracting me again from the note reading. She looked up from the paper, and I snapped my eyes back to her. If she saw anything worrying on my face, she must have attributed to the content of the note because she went on, describing her son’s troubles in his own words- I wish I could give you the specifics, but I don’t really remember- as another body fell. The EMTs were going to have a field day. Three in one day. That hadn’t happened since last December.  She finished in a sweep of tears “Love, Billy” and looked up at me, blinking her eyes. “I’m sorry,” She said. “You probably didn’t want to hear this, but it helped a lot just to have a stranger to talk to. Thank you for the tea. But I think I’ve overstayed my welcome.” I nodded, sorry that she was going. I walked her out. In the hallway, she said “I hope I’m not out of line, but why do you live in such a horrible place? I mean, your apartment is nice, but what goes on here...” she shuddered. “Well,” I said, as I always do. “The rent is cheap. There are no neighbors. And the view is nice.” I shut the door.