The Devil is in the Deal Ralph Emery Barhydt September 15, 2023 “Jenna, please, don’t do this,” Gary was on the verge of tears. In fact, he was crying. He had been up all night and was exhausted, he looked like hell. Jenna didn’t look so good either. They were in their marvelous suite at a five star hotel on Tahiti. They weren’t really rich, they had just saved up a lot of money for that special vacation. They had flown to Tahiti in first class with upgrades from all of Jenna’s work traveling and Gary had tucked away a stunning, brilliant diamond engagement ring. He planned to propose to Jenna while they were knee deep in tropical water then take her to a fabulous nearby restaurant to celebrate their engagement. He thought about it, anticipated it during every single mile of the flight to Tahiti. He finally had felt that he was secure enough in his career, that he was well enough established that the promotions would keep coming and he would not have to be worried about layoffs. He saw a lovely house and two beautiful children in his future. Jenna had slept most of the way to Tahiti. It had been evening when they glided in to Papeete and Jenna was cranky. He was very excited to be there, could hardly wait to get off the plane. They could see from the gateway as they deplaned what a gorgeous evening it was going to be. That just amped up Gary a little more. The hotel was incredible and their room was, of course, sort of a hut standing over the water, large with beautiful appointments. Gary was thrilled and excited. Jenna was wary and on edge. After a few foreplay attempt, Jenna finally said, “Gary, I’m tired and just not in the mood. I’m sorry, this is a fantastic place and I know we are going to love it, but I need to go to bed. To sleep. The following morning, the two lovers woke up both looking like hell. Neither one had gotten any sleep and they were both afraid to look at the other. Gary had planned on proposing at breakfast but one look at Jenna made him think differently. Jenna looked at Gary and thought, “All I want to do is go home. I am sorry we have spent so much money.” Gary turned a very disappointed face toward Jenna and said, “I know what you want to say Jenna and I cannot bear the thought of it. I can’t believe that this is happening but I don’t have much choice do I? Wait, don’t answer. I am going to go for a walk. Why don’t you freshen up a bit and we can get some breakfast—assuming that either of us can eat. I’ll see you in about a half and hour.” He stood up and walked out the door. It was just another stunningly beautiful day in Tahiti. The water was spectacular; blue, clear, sparkling with the sunlight doing arabesques across the surface. Gary sobbed. As he was walking along, he thought he saw a second shadow besides his own. Sure enough, there was another human walking along beside him. At least he looked like another human. He was tall, gaunt, lean and looked just slightly off. “I didn’t think I would see you in the daylight,” Gary quipped. “Ha ha,” laughed the Other. “I am not a vampire you know. And that’s a fairy tale anyway. There are no such things as vampires. I should know.” “Well, that’s news,” responded Gary. “I will make a note of that and tell all my friends.” “I’m sorry Gary but you aren’t going to remember any of our conversations or interactions. Only exceptional people like Faust (or Goethe) remember. Gary, you are not on the level. But, it’s OK. I find that most people are better off not remembering me clearly; or, any of our conversations. I guess it didn’t go too well this morning, huh?” “You asshole!” Gary snorted. “Gary! My my. Calling me an asshole? That takes some guts.” Gary’s vision was blurred with a scene of a fire pit with humans rotating on skewer above a huge trench of fire. Most were screaming. Then, his vision returned. “I know I couldn’t feel any worse than I do right now, asshole. Take your best shot.” “Impressive, Gary. You see which one of those cabins is yours? Yes? Good.” The Other gestured towards the cabin and it burned in flames brightly and disappeared. “Jenna. No, no, what have you done? Please, please, take it back. Take me. Burn me to a crisp. Oh, please” “Touching Gary. You still think I am an asshole. Probably think more so now, don’t you?” “Please. Yes, you are an asshole and you know it. But, please, restore Jenna. Take me, burn me to crisp. Burn me slowly so you can enjoy watching me suffer. Burn me however you can take joy in my suffering, but please restore Jenna. She is too young, too beautiful, too wonderful to die now. Take her when she is 90 after you have tortured me for all those years. Please!. “Good, Gary. That was very good. I am convinced. Here is Jenna back.” He waved his right hand in a flippant little way and suddenly the cabin was standing back in place, lights. Gary started to run. “Wait Gary. She is there and she has no sense of anything having happened. Now, you and I have some negotiation to complete.” “Yes sir, thank you sir, yes, oh god, thank you sir. Yes, yes, what?” “Well, you are going to get Jenna. She will be all yours. I just want a simple favor in return. I will come to you someday and ask you for it. Good deal, huh? There is nothing you have to worry about, you get Jenna and I see children in your future. Someday, who knows when, I will ask something difficult of you. Capice?” “That’s it? That’s all. Are you telling me the truth?” “How dare you question me, of course, I am telling the truth.” Gary almost collapsed in relief. His eyes were full of tears when he ran to the cabin. “Jenna!” he cried loudly as he ran into the cabin. “Oh, there you are. Where have you been. I thought you wanted to jump on me. No?” “No, Gary. We have to wait. My parents are not wealthy, not even very well off. But they love me deeply, have loved me all my life and I love them. I will have to convince them not to spend much money on our wedding and to let us pay for most of it. We’ll get married in the small Lutheran church that I grew up in in Ponca City, Oklahoma. It will be a pleasant ceremony filled with love and joy and it will be as beautiful as it can possibly be. My parents are proud and wonderful, so it will be a little touchy negotiating money. I assume you are OK with us carrying the burden?” “God yes, sweetheart. Use all our money. Borrow more. Just marry me!” Gary was flabbergasted, but excited. “Let’s leave for Ponca in the morning.” Jenna laughed. “C’mon Gary. Let’s enjoy Tahiti. Have a few drinks, a little sex. Try to ride a wave. So, kiss me” The rest of the trip went well. Jenna was puzzled that Gary still seemed a bit on edge, but they had fun and a good time together. A few days later they were in Ponca City, Oklahoma. “Dad, we are eloping. Do you understand what that means? We don’t want a big wedding and we want to pay for it. We want you, all of our family, as many as Gary’s family and friends that can come on such short notice and share with us. Please let me have my wedding. It is exactly what I had always dreamed of. Getting married in Our Lord’s Lutheran Church by Father Richard is perfect. Please say ‘yes’ and be happy. I love you and Mom so much and I would be so happy with this wedding.” What could any father say? So five days later, Jenna and Gary were married in the Lutheran Church. Gary was not very religious so the only thing that mattered to him was that they were married. He did very much like Jenna’s parents and most of her family. She had one really obnoxious cousin. Both bride and groom felt like they had honeymooned in Tahiti, so they went to Mammoth Mountain for a couple of days and then, back to work.

Life sort of just settled in. They started out with a decent apartment in Pasadena, had a baby girl and moved into the Valley. Both were advancing nicely in their respective jobs. Gary was working for Warner Brothers doing CGI stuff and Jenna worked for Playing for Change as their controller. Playing for Change was a non-profit so Jenna didn’t have much room for economic growth, but Gary’s career took off and he earned lots of promotions and was paid exceedingly well. A big house in Santa Monica that was just right for them came on the market and they bought it. It was all happening fast. Gary rose to executive vice president in just over two years. Jenna quit work to spend more time at home with their daughter, Cherise. Then, that Other guy showed up. Gary was in the backyard lumbering over the barbecue grill when the Other popped up next to him. Gary was startled at first, but then terrified. He knew that the Other’s appearance was bad news. He wanted to run, he wanted to vomit, he wanted to scream. He did none of those things and a singular calmness came over him. “What do you want?” “Nice to see you too, Gary. To the point, huh. OK. I want your daughter. She is about to be very sick and pass on. I would much rather have her soul than yours. Your soul is tired and pretty much useless. I can’t remember the last time you did anything noble—-or bad for that matter. But Cherise’s soul is pure, rich and good, So, I will trade her soul for yours. You will get to live at least another 30 years. “NO,” screamed Jenna. She had felt something wrong and had come outside. She could see and hear the Other. “No, no, I will destroy you before I let you take Cherise.” “Ha ha, Jenna. How nice to see you. If you go back inside and check on Cherise you will find that she is developing a little fever.” “NO,” both Jenna and Gary screamed at once “Take Gary,” cried Jenna. Surprised and dismayed, Gary yelled, “Yes, take me. I was the original part of the deal. You can’t change that now.” “You agreed to do whatever I wished. You got Jenna’s love and thrived on it up until now. Now it’s time to pay for it.” “No,” cried both Jenna and Gary. “Take Gary, he made the deal, take him.” “Take me,” cried Gary. Suddenly, a little shimmer of light appeared. Two forms slowly took shape, much like two humans. “Oh no, not you two. Not again.” “Nice to see you again Luke,” said Gabriel. Michael was look somber but smiling. “Damn you, Gabriel. I told you to stop calling me Luke.” “Oh,” returned Gabriel, “that’s right, I just keep forgetting. I guess I just don’t like Lucifer, in name or in form.”

Michael stepped forward. “Luke, guess what. ‘He, whose name can’t be spoken, disapproves of your actions here and forbids you to carry them out.” “Why, why? What does ‘He’ care about these two worthless humans. They have betrayed Him thousands of times, have contributed nothing to the welfare of mankind and only love themselves—and marginally at that. They are worthless and they are mine. And, you too Michael, stop calling me Luke.” “Luke, my man…” “Stop it, I am not your man.” “OK. You know how this is going to turn out. Save your self some agony and turmoil, and just go back to your hell hole.” Lucifer raised his right arm and start to curse. He was immediately bound in a golden chain, which glowed wildly for a second, and Lucifer and the chain were gone. Michael and Gabriel turned to Jenna and Gary. They had both fainted and were lying on the ground. “Wake them up asked Gabriel?” “Let’s let them sleep. They will wake up in the morning remembering this as a dream. They were headed toward a troubled life and Cherise was going to kill her husband. Now, they will love each other deeply. They both will appreciate each other far more than they ever imagined and Cherise will grow up blessed. She will make a real contribution to mankind.” Michael smiled and passed a hand over the unconscious forms. “Pax vobiscum.” He smiled, “I’ll put the fire out in the barbecue, our work is done here.”


The walls are alive with zipping current, the refrigerator hums its third-shift duties, the floorboards moan from the day’s trample of little feet and purposeful strides. Be silent! he had yelled when I’d asked about the smell, and I shut my mouth. I can be silent. This house, though, that had once helped nurture the first-time homeowners as we grimaced through the undigested milk and Gerber’s reflux that was commented upon by our coworkers, enjoy it while it lasts ; that had once heard delighted squeals, that had once absorbed the pounding of knees with the vroom of Matchbox races and the squeaking of unsure bedframes-as-trampolines, to the pitiful can we come downstairs yet? on Christmas mornings as Tom and I savored the last of our peaceful French Roast, this house that was then a home is now settling with the night in a stuttered sigh of what next? I’d tiptoed out when the snoring became too guttural, glottal; when I knew the phlegmy gurgle would again cause fright, mommy IT came back again . I switched on their Beethoven at Bedtime and shut their doors, and tiptoed downstairs for the relative silence of the sanitized, lemony-fresh kitchen, I won’t have MY house smelling lived in , to sit by the window, to settle into silence with a house that cannot be silent, for it still has responsibilities. Enjoy it while it lasts , my coworkers had said, referring to my neck-vomit residue, but which I now sorrowfully liken to that honeymoon phase, to morph into a particular time, a turning point that I cannot define, like the boiling frog: when exactly did my husband begin to smell ( the ability to smell can begin in the womb, da-DUH-dum ); when did that voice begin to rise, that temper to flare? It seems it all just folded in, like how we were taught to mix batter, add the eggs gradually , when Tom said I needed classes, your food sucks, you cook like a peasant . I’d presented my first chocolate soufflé the evening of our fourth anniversary, soufflé means ‘to breathe,’ I’d proudly informed, we can do that now , now that we’re homeowners, doncha think? The soufflé’d splattered against the wall like a wet car-wash sponge. He didn’t throw the ramekin, just scooped the dessert out with his hand and launched it, Why do you always have to be so damned extra? There was Grand Marnier in that, just for you, you sot , I wanted to scream . But I didn’t know how to scream, not with our children in the house. HOME FOR SALE is what I’d heard from the realtor. Home. Like, melt ing cheese to advertise the burger, or scratch-made to sell the biscuit, or even START YOUR CAREER to advertise the gas station sales associate position, a home was what I’d wanted, that nasal mmmmm sounding like the refrigerator pulling third-shift responsibility, like the current running through the walls as I sit in this kitchen in the glow of the stove lamp, quietly asking: what next? It is snowing. I notice this now. Silently snowing, which is redundant because snow makes no sound, but it does have a smell, and that smell is chill, and the smell of chill slaps me as I open the back door. I breathe in deeply, and like cold water down the parched throat or the heavy duvet over the trembling body, that chill delivers a wave of relief, of betterment; God’s icy breath, I’ll tell you what next . God. Tom had said I needed to find God. Tom had said only God could relieve me of my delusions. We were sitting in church and Tom was breathing heavily, which he usually does because of his deviated septum but this morning it was more labored; as I reached over him to hand Jeb a crayon I snuck a quick glance, and not only was he breathing through his nose —which he never does, because of his deviated septum— but he was sweating, which was odd, because it was November and he’s from Duluth. You sound like a hippopotamus , I giggle-whispered and playfully nudged, trying to keep it light. You look like a hippopotamus , he mouth-breathed, maintaining his upright posture and not at all pivoting but still the smell of sour mash found its way upstream. I wanted to scream, right then, you don’t need your mouth closed to stink, you lush , I’ve been smelling you all morning . But, I didn’t think screaming in church was a good idea, let alone even bringing it up, there. Much better to be silent. I knew how to be silent. I stand in the doorway, breathing deeply, in through my nose that is free of deviation; a clean nose, polyp-less, no whistling at all, now (that is) that the swelling has gone down. It wasn’t the punch that shocked me so much as how little damage it did. A crunch, and a nice flow of blood. That was all. Wimp , I wanted to scream. But I’d already been punched once, and I didn’t want to scream. Not with the kids in the next room. Be silent , he’d seethed through clenched teeth. It’s all in your head .

At first, I did. I shut my mouth. But I knew what I’d smelled, when he’d returned from work, his tie askew and his shirt tail out, his eyes like he’d swum without goggles. You cannot unsmell it. You’re telling me you haven’t been drinking? And that’s when it hit me, fast…lightning, then deep-ocean sonar ping. Then, the silence he demanded. Very much like the silence now, as I walk back with new resolve into the kitchen from the brisk chill, the house humming its responsibility which is not at all silent. I have learned from the house; I’ll show you ‘delusional.’ As I ascend the stairs, on tiptoe because I will be quiet, he sounds like a beast from Mordor. It is swampy up here; the air is thick with bourbon stew. I steal into the boys’ rooms; I bundle them in swaddling clothes even though they’re well past the age of swaddling, and one by one I lug them to the car, idling in the driveway, lights off. I worry not about their clothes, or their toothbrushes or teddies or boythings. We will not be gone long, I think. The car is running. It is warm in there. I lock the doors, then head back inside to finish the job. I go to the heavy pantry door, and slam it hard several times against my temple; with my own right fist, I punch my right eye very hard, several times. I feel my fragile nose shift from Tom’s initial punch, several days ago. I take a knife, the Cutco he uses for meat, and slice my palm, and a nice streak down my arm. With my other hand, I wipe the handle, then making certain the blood drops on the stairs as I ascend, I place it in his outstretched hand. Yes, I wore his shoes as I went up those stairs. And yes, I scaled the banister as I went down. Probably unnecessary, but I am no stranger to crime television. I check myself in the mirror, and give myself two more healthy pops to that eye. My cheek runs red from the bloody palm, the hand that tried to stave off the knife wielder, but that is okay. It’s all in the name of defense. Of delusion, you bastard. Being certain first to smear blood over the children’s swaddling clothes, I let out a scream and I run to the neighbor’s. There is enough adrenaline running through me from the wounds to make this look real. The tears are certainly natural; I’d cut deeper than I’d planned. Mrs. Rogers sorry to bother you would you call the police I have to get the boys out of here Tom’s upstairs and… The house is settled, quiet when we reenter that evening, but not silent. And I too am no longer silent. I have responsibilities that resumed when the officers thanked the neighbor for not letting me drive in such a panicked condition, when they’d found Tom passed out on the bed holding the bloody knife, when they took him away to be processed. It was then that I was informed that my husband of five years had priors. Several of them. Delusional, he’d called me. Well, that’s now settled.


As they neared the meeting point with Billie, Madeline got her map out of her backpack. She’d marked the coordinates on with a small pencilled-in cross — a shopping mall on the edge of the city. She and Lena agreed to approach from opposite sides, each taking a separate entrance. As she walked through the empty parking lot, Madeline stared up at the towering structure looming over her. She hadn’t exactly liked malls at the best of times. Blaring lights and loud music, masses of people meandering around mindlessly… She preferred the quiet comfort of a library or a cafe. But somehow it was even worse now everything was silent and still. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there were too many rooms and too many entrances. Sure, that meant hiding places and escape routes for her, but it also meant places Poiloogs or people could spring out from. Still, Billie was waiting for her in there. She had to trust her friend knew what they were doing. The main advantage — and the reason she supposed Billie had chosen it — was that with a building this big, they could all be inside and still not be close enough to trigger whatever it was the Poiloogs detected when people gathered. Madeline paused when she reached the entrance, looking around before peering inside. Everything seemed calm. She stepped through the shattered automatic doorframe, wincing at the sound of glass crunching underfoot. When no one came to investigate the sound she relaxed slightly, edging further inside. There were a number of shops to choose from when it came to picking a location to settle in and wait with her walkie-talkie. There was a jewellery store to her left that had been pillaged of everything valuable before everyone realised that gold and gemstones weren’t as important as food and water. Multiple clothes shops caught her eye — she could probably do with a change of trousers, a T-shirt, and… well, everything. Then, of course, there was the bookstore. It was hard to ignore the beckoning of all those stories, worlds she could lose herself in and words weighty enough to knock out any foe. She wondered which Billie had chosen. Her friend was presumably already here. Madeline had given up trying to beat them to a meeting long ago. She chuckled to herself as she imagined them squirrelling themself away in some sporting goods store, getting excited about all the new ways to tire them both out. Figuring it was best to stay near the entrance, Madeline eventually chose one of the clothes stores. She wove her way through the display, carefully poking at the larger piles of items, until she reached the back of the room. Once there, she tucked herself away between the shirts hanging on metal rods protruding from the wall and took out her walkie-talkie. “Hello? Lena? Billie? It’s Madeline here.” “Mads?” Billie’s reply came almost instantly. “And did I hear Lena’s with you?” “Glad to know I still warrant some attention,” the medic’s voice came through, dripping with amusement. “Half of me thought that both of you would forget I existed as soon as you were back together.” Madeline rolled her eyes. “Like I could forget the woman who saved my life.”. “Well, it’s good to hear you’ve been looking out for each other,” Billie said. “I was worried we’d lost you for a minute there, Lena.” “You wish!” the woman replied. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.” Warmth swelled in Madeline’s chest as she cradled the radio in her hands. It felt good to be back together, all three of them. Though they might mask it with bravado and jokes, over the past few days, she’d worried first that she’d lost Billie for good, and then that she’d lost Lena. She hadn’t realised how used to them and their banter she’d grown. But as much as she wanted to revel in this moment, she knew there were more important things to discuss. “So, now that all that’s out of the way…” she said. “How did the meeting go?” There was a brief pause during which Madeline thought her heart might climb up out of her chest and into her mouth. “It went well,” Billie replied. “The plan is all ironed out. Now we’ve just got to enact it. After one final meeting, of course. You know how we love our meetings.” Madeline chuckled, grateful as ever for her friend’s ability to ease the tension with a little humour. “Where’s the meeting?” “Back where it all began. After all, if we want to make sure we’re finding where Liam and Joe — and everyone else folk in the group lost — were taken, we figured we should start from the same location.” Madeline nodded to herself. It made sense. It was what they’d agreed between them. She just hadn’t quite realised they were there yet. Everything had happened so fast while she’d been stuck on the sofa healing. “There’s just one more thing I wanted to… errr… clear with you, first.” Even through the static on the radio, Madeline could hear the nervous quiver in Billie’s voice. It squeezed at her chest and set her heart racing. “Yes?” she prompted. “So, you know that the plan requires someone to get captured for us to track them?” “Yes…” Madeline could feel the tension winding tighter and tighter inside her chest, tying her heart in knots. “We said that naturally one of us would be the one to do it.” *Of course, when we said that, I’d fully expected to be at all the planning meetings so that I could make sure it was me,* she added to herself. “Well, with you being injured and everything it just made sense…” There was a brief pause, but it didn’t matter, Madeline knew what was coming next. “I said I’d do it.” Madeline clenched her fists and pressed herself back even further against the wall, swiping at the shirts hanging around her in an attempt to hold back a scream of frustration. “And you didn’t think to check with me first?” she asked through gritted teeth. “You just made this decision for the both of us?” “Well, we weren’t exactly on speaking terms at that point. And it wasn’t like you were around to check with anyway…” “So it’s my fault?” Madeline was surprised at the fire in her own voice, the words burning a path from her chest and trembling in the otherwise still air of the abandoned store. “Of course not! You know I didn’t mean it like that. Look, I’m sorry, okay? But it’s done now so—” “I’m coming with you,” she said firmly. She knew Billie too well to try and persuade them out of it, but that didn’t mean she had to let her friend go in alone. Besides, if any part of tracking the captured volunteer failed, this way she didn’t have to lose someone else. And it was probably her best shot at finding Liam without having to rely on anyone else. A long silence followed. Madeline could imagine the cogs whirring away in Billie’s brain, tucked away in some other corner of some other abandoned store in the mall. They’d be trying to think of anything they could say at this point to persuade Madeline to stay safe and let them take on the risk. Then, if they were as smart as she knew they were, they’d be realising there was no point even trying. It would have made her laugh if she wasn’t still so full of rage. Eventually, the hiss of static came. “Fine,” they said. “Excellent!” Lena’s voice over the walkie-talkie made Madeline start. She’d allowed herself to get so distracted she’d almost forgotten the medic had been listening in the whole time. “We can all agree that you’re both reckless idiots with more bravery than sense… So, what now? I hope you’re not both expecting me to volunteer to join you too because I personally *like* being alive and free.” This time, Madeline did laugh. She was sure her friend would have plenty of choice words about everything she’d just heard the next time they were alone together. And probably for Billie too. Oh, how she wished she could be a fly on the wall for that conversation. “Now?” Billie’s voice came over the radio. “Now I suppose we set off back to where Liam and Joe got captured. That’s where we’ve arranged the final meeting to take place. And that’s where me — and Mads, apparently — will get ourselves caught.” A tingle of static ran over Madeline’s skin, her body filling with nervous excitement tinged with a healthy dose of fear.


Again.

It's the first thought that goes through Alice's mind, when a text of her boyfriend pops up on her phone screen. — ‘I got caught up on something. Gonna be a little late. Love you.’ , — it said.

There comes a moment when you see that things aren't how they used to be, and you have to decide if they're worth fighting for or if it's better to just let go.

Alice's mom's voice echoed inside her brain as her fingers wavered on the call button. No. She wouldn't call. It's been a long time since he called to justify his actions. Or even to ask how she was doing.

The woman's freezing hands clasped the phone together, as if keeping herself to giving into the anger flowing inside her body at the moment.

Again.

Alice didn't get up from the bench beside the fountain, using the excuse that the big warm coat she was wearing kept her there, not letting her move. She was so tired.

Tired of waiting and waiting for him. Waiting for someone who would never be on time on her life in the moments she needed most. Or to simply just be there, without a reason to.

She doesn't remember the last time they said I love you with actually meaning and not because they were used to say the three words.

It was always rushed. The last thing to say in a call. The last thing to type in a message. The last thing to say when one of them left the house. But it hadn't actually meant something in quite a while. Like a forgotten letter left to waste in a pile inside a box somewhere in your moving stuff: it must've meant something to you some time in your life, until it stopped being important. Later on, you probably won't remember it anymore. Or need it.

The worst part was that she was the one feeling those things. Alice didn't remember what loving Harry felt like, not anymore. She wanted to. She really did.

So, as her hands played with a butterfly sticker some kid must've glued on the bench she was sat at, her mind wondered through possible outcomes their conversation would have once he got there.

A few minutes later that felt like hours, a panting and grumbling sound startled the thoughtful woman sitting alone by the water fountain, evoking her to search for the unknown source of it.

A man on the oposite side of the monument had his hands on his knees and breathed heavily, as if he had just finish running a thousand miles marathon.

Alice would recognize that worned out shoes anywhere.

He must have sensed the stare and looked up, finding her dark brown eyes in a flick of second, before she swerved away. A curl falling asleep on her face due the action.

Harry walked to her after straightening his back, not realizing the gloomy atmosphere he had brought with the moment he stepped into the park.

“— I'm sorry.” the man begun, ready to apologize like he was so used to “— I had an emergency meeting to attend and I couldn't miss it, when I looked at the time it was way past nine and no reservations could be available at this time...” Harry sat down beside her, sighing. He sounded defeated, apologetic.

She was glad, he should be. But why would he schedule a reservation today?

“— I didn't forget our anniversary, okay?” Oh. “— I just didn't have any time to- actually, that sounds worst, doesn't it?”

Alice blocked out everything he said next due her mind alerting today's date: 7th of July, when they made it official.

“— ... if you want. ” Harry's voice came alive to her again. She blinked, staring at the ground. He wasn't the only one forgetful in this relationship. “— Love?”

“— Hm?”

“— Are you mad?” He moved to put a hand on her tight the way it used to always sooth her no matter what had happened, then deciding against it. That reminded Alice something had changed.

“— No.”

She just didn't think they were worth fighting for anymore.

When she finally glanced at Harry, he seemed conflicted on feeling bad or relived about her answer. He was inclined to feel relieved. It was an easy way out, anyway. She didn't blame him.

He took a glimpse at her hand resting on the bench, contemplating whether or not should intertwine with his. Why is he hesitating?

“— I can't do this anymore.”

He paused his fingers from reaching out, eyebrows furrowing. “— Do what?”

“— This.” she said as a simple conclusion in an essay.

“— What?”

Now the woman really didn't know if her boyfriend was just playing dumb or trying to absorb what she was talking about.

“— Alice?” he questioned after a pregnant pause, tone getting desperate to grasp the why's of that conversation. “— It's okay for you to forget a few traditional movie nights,” Alice said, resting against the bench after feeling discomfort on her back for the previous position. A cold wind breezed past them and she grasped onto the memory of he holding her against his body to warm her up in the cold streets of the city “— or a few walks in the winter.”

Harry suddenly felt the need to interrupt, but his tongue seemed tight as a rope.

“— Even two dinners at my mom's during the last weekends. That's okay.”

Harry knew it wasn't.

“— It's okay for you to keep me waiting on friends gathering or dinner dates for most of these last two years,” she bit her cheek, he saw it. “— Or at home, because you had something important to do and I missed you.” his heart clenched at the last sentence

“— Alice-”

“— It's not okay...” her tight voice interrupted him abruptly, not really caring for what he was going to say “— For things to stay exactly how they are right now.”

She turned to him completely, pursuing her lips, ready to throw the bomb

“— I can't, no, I won't, keep waiting for you to realize these things or waiting for you to have time to talk about it.” Harry stared, not reacting at first “— I won't keep waiting for you when there's nothing to wait for anymore.”

He back away as if he had been slapped.

“— What? Alice-” he sputtered out “— What are you talking about? We can work this out. Do something else tomorrow-”

“— You still think I care about an anniversary, Harry?” she shook her head, avoiding the hurt look on him when she said an anniversary, as if it was no longer an important matter “— I'm just tired. We both stopped putting efforts in this relationship a long time ago.” Alice concluded, getting up.

Harry shook his head, quietly protesting inside his head and leaving his hair disheveled.

As her hands seeked comfort and warmth on her overcoat, he eyed the girl he was supposed to be in love with for the rest of his life, but that was long forgotten too. She was right. He didn’t want her to be.

“— I’m sorry, Harry.”

She really was.

“— It’s okay.”

He really was. And she heard on his voice and saw in his eyes that he was tired to.


Wife, daughter, sister, mother, friend, grandma. Of all the names I’ve been known as throughout my life, none have meant more to me than Grandma. The day your mother told me she was pregnant was the happiest day of my life. The day you were born put every other day to shame. The day I first held you in my arms made me feel more alive than any other in my long long life. Because you see, my grandchild, the first time I saw you I knew everything was going to be all right. So as the snow makes the rest of the world look empty and you sit here in my home, I want to tell you that everything will be all right. I wish I could tell you that everything will be all right. Wife, daughter, sister, mother, grandma. That day, oh that day, I remember every detail, isn’t that ironic? Winter was fast approaching and the skies blushed pink. The sun had gone into hiding and fog hung loosely around the streets. The doctor’s room was a stark contrast to the world around it. The fire was lit, giving the room a warm glow. Two leather chairs were placed opposite each other. An old coffee table separated them, decorated with a single vase holding a single flower. A single petal had fallen onto the stained wooden table. Quite informal compared to most doctors, but it fits perfectly in this ancient town. Wife, daughter, sister, grandma. The doctor’s voice was soft, gentle, comforting as if it was designed specially to make bad news seem less bad. He welcomed me in and offered me a seat. I took it willingly, glad to let my bones rest for a while. I wore my famous blue coat and the floral dress your parents had got me for my birthday. My hands clung to my stick as I lowered myself into the seat. He walked to the other and sat down with ease. My breath was shaky and my hands matched, my heart raced as I waited for the words to leave his lips. After a week of looking over my results, he had finally come to a conclusion. “You have dementia.” Wife, daughter, grandma. You see, my brain is starting to fail me. I’m forgetting the past and muddling it up with the present. I try not to let my age defy me but I keep losing my keys, my purse, my name. Some days I go to feed Buddy, not realising that he’s no longer here. Sometimes when the clock strikes 5, I expect to see Grandad walking through the kitchen door, forgetting that it’s been 27 years. My brain is starting to fail me as I forget time, and days, and loved ones. And all my old names. Wife, grandma. But my grandchild, as the snow causes the world around us to fade and this disease causes my memories to go, I want you to remember this: Every time I see you, every time I look into your eyes, I remember. I remember the first time I saw you, the first time I held you, the moment I knew everything would be all right. So, while I may not remember when your birthday is or the last time you came round for tea or, some days when my memory is at its worse, your name, I will always remember that I love you and that everything will be alright. Forever and always your Grandma.


I felt something stir in me and my eyes snapped open. ‘No.’ It was only a whisper against the stark silence of the night. This couldn’t be happening – not right now. I’d taken steps to make sure this didn’t happen at a time like this. I wasn’t ready and it was already too late. My muscles were already starting to clench and I doubted I could make it out. I had to try. I rolled off the bed, taking the duvet with me as it wrapped loosely around my waist. Fuck – that could be a problem but I could always replace it. I got onto my hands and knees, not trusting my legs to carry me. I could already feel my feet starting to spasm and I gasped when one of my calves started to cramp. When the cramp eased, I crawled toward the door as quickly as my stiffening muscles would allow. When I got to the door, I lifted my hand towards the handle and dropped it as an electric shock shot down my spine and held me down for what felt like minutes. I writhed and groaned as my body contorted - nerves wildly firing. Trying not to fight it, I tried to breathe but my chest felt as if it was held by iron bands. My mind raced to explain how this could have happened but to no avail. I just needed to get out. I screamed and howled in frustration, frozen in front of the bedroom door. I reached up, grabbed the door handle and pulled it down. Thankfully, the door swung out and I started to pull myself out. My legs had become useless now and sweat beaded on my forehead with every painful movement I made towards the front door. With every panting breath, every passing second, I inched closer and closer to safety. All I could think about was getting out before it was too late. For a second, I pictured what this would look like to anyone who was looking in – me crawling slowly across the floor, drenched in sweat, helpless, but using every ounce of strength I had. It was almost out of a B-horror film. I had to stop when another jolt in my back stopped me dead in my tracks. It felt like I’d instantly turned to stone and time halted. If it wasn’t for the blinding white-hot pain pulsing through me, I could have laughed at the ridiculousness of this. Years! It had been years since I’d been caught off-guard like this. I did everything I was supposed to and took my meds every day until they ran out every two months and I had to find myself in the woods to allow this to happen. I was sure I wasn’t anywhere near the end of this round, but here I was, in the middle of the night, straining against my own body’s change. Something was wrong but I couldn’t think about that now – I had to get out. A gasp escaped from my mouth as I regained control over my ever-useless body. The door started to blur around the edges and it took me a moment to re-focus. It was close but I could make it before I passed out. Nearly there. With arms and shoulders screaming at me, I closed the gap to the end of the hall. I felt the fire in my bones and all I could hear was the blood pulsing in my ears. My mind started to drift and the door got further and further away with every second. The darkness in the edges of my view was closing in fast. I wasn’t going to make it. I got this far, only to fail. I had been so close. I reached out - frustrated, desperate - before the blackness took me. ====================***==================== From the rooftop across the road, Lewis had watched it all unfold. The bugs he’d planted in the apartment told him when it was complete and he made his move. He crossed the street and made his way to the apartment and let himself him in with the key he’d copied a few weeks ago. Amazing how easy it was to clone the building and door passkey in a restaurant – dressed as a waiter, standing by a jacket for up to 2 minutes, while taking the orders of a very indecisive date. Natasha had played her part perfectly. A smile spread across Lewis’s face – it was unbelievable how easy this had all been. Considering what he was getting paid by his client, he had expected more of a challenge. A week of sugar pills and it was only a matter of time until his target was vulnerable. Lewis stepped into the hallway and approached the black cat. He looked deep into the cat’s amber eyes, looking for anything human, but, as he’d been told, there was none. He stroked the cat’s head and the cat leaned into his palm; eyes closed in pleasure. A quick movement and the tranquiliser dart was deep in the side of the feline. It let out a gentle yowl but it was already becoming drowsy. Minutes later, Lewis was walking out of the building, holding the sleeping creature. He knew how rare werecats were these days and his client had amassed quite a collection, maybe the largest ever seen, but in the end it didn’t matter – protected species or not, there was money to be made when dealing with exotic animals.


Mama was a superstitious woman. She hung the dreamcatcher with the bristling white feathers above her bed, and her wooden bedstands were brimming with opalescent stones brought by mysterious vendors to ward off the pernicious spirits, the entry ways were lined with salt, horse shoes were hung on nails, and in the center of her room was the Hamsa, the evil eye watching over her. Despite all her protective symbols, Mama was never content, she always needed more. Mama loved to say she knew the future, specifically my future. I remember days in my youth, sprawled under the sun-kissed garden, her angelic voice calling me, running through our field of lilies and roses, the chickens cooing and pecking at the floor as I strolled by. Those sweet summer days when the rays of light shone through the full branches really gave mama’s garden an ethereal glow. I saw the sunspots, marks of heaven, across her face, and she would smile at me, but somewhere hidden behind those eyes was always a glimmer of fear. In the night, under the guise of her protective symbols, we sat out in the twilight, and looked up at the stars accompanied in complete harmony with the cricket’s chirping, hidden in the leaves, and the crackling of the wood, the maple burnt scent, and the ash rising upwards. She got deadly serious. I remember the reassuring face vanish. Her face went pale and still, as if she saw a vision. Her eyes went dead, beady, and she spoke with a voice I never heard before. She was visited by a famous seer who lived in the mountains, the hooded man only appeared on rare occasions. He came to see her when she was pregnant, all those years ago. Mama boasted of her talent in the prophetic arts, the celestial bodies spoke to her and she listened. The famous seer laughed at her. Mama could not see the future. She did not know the man she loved would leave his seed with her. She did not know he did not love her. She did not know he would vanish before dawn when he found out. She knew nothing. She must stop her false prophesizing. She was angering the spirits, the nights were growing colder, the winds were growing bolder, dark days were coming, people were disappearing. She needed to stop. In return the seer, who was a kind man duty-bound to the people of the mountains, would give her a vision. This was her reward for her cooperation. Mama smiled and wished for one thing. She wished to see my future. The seer took her to this very spot, he waited for the right moment. While the fire was burning, he pulled out his seer’s bones and scattered them into the fire, the bones hissed and moaned, a teakettle of pressure building until the bones grew dark and grey and Mama got the vision. Her eyes were mesmerized, unmoving, even when the smoke burned her eyes, she kept still, and she wept. I asked Mama what the vision was. She told me, under the light of the fire, my life would be beautiful. It was foretold my life would have purpose and meaning beyond my understanding and that I would be happy. This happened a year ago. Ever since that day, when she told me of the vision, Mama began to change. The next coming days her spine began to curve, her shoulders would bend. Mama would say nothing, but I knew she was afraid. Below her eyes there began to grow blotches of green and purple. I wanted to call the doctor, but Mama said no. Within weeks Mama looked like she had aged years. I noticed clumps of hair fallen on the ground. I do not know if she ripped them out or if they fell on their own. Mama stopped getting out of bed one day. She stopped wanting to move. Her bones became so stiff I could not budge her at all. It was like she was nailed down. Her arms and legs started to grow thin and she would not eat. I brought her soup, but her teeth became so brittle sometimes I found a tooth swimming in the broth. I took care of her. When the nights were cold, I brought her more blankets. When she was hungry I made her food. Mama is growing deathly sick and tired. When she thinks I am not looking I know she has her painful tears because I have to clean them later on. It was a Tuesday. I was twelve years old. The sky was an ominous grey, not the grey of a light rain or a pleasant windy day, but the dark monstrous grey of amassing clouds, the grey of a tumultuous thundering storm. I awoke early that day with the feeling of falling. I felt something was terribly wrong. I went to the kitchen to make mama her green tea. I was heating the water to a boil on the stove, watching the singular bubbles come to the surface, warming my hands over the heat, and I felt something. It was behind me. Something watching me. At first I was scared but it was not there to scare me, it was there to pity me, and I grew sad, and the water began to bubble and the loud hiss came, and I heard a quiet croaking groan. It came from mama’s room. I went to her door and dared to peek in. A chilling cold wind washed over me. I will never forget that chill. The freeze in every bone and joint in my body, tingling from the base of my spine up to my neck. I opened the door and saw Mama there on the bed. She was sitting upright. She had on her all her jewelry, the spellbound stones, the phantasmagoric display of gems and crystals adorned on her neck and arms, the enchanted blanket with the five pointed star, the dreamcatcher stood still, the bed was overflowing with the minerals which were promised to protect her. Mama was dead. She was grey, pale, and still. “When Mama?” I started breathing heavy. I felt a boiling hot surge of anger poured over me, pin-needles poked every inch of my skin, the universe was prodding me. “When will my life be good?” “When mama?” I started to yell “What use was the gems and the crystals?” “Mama?” “ANSWER ME” … And the boy grabbed the mother by shoulders and shook her violently, the jewelry spilled on the floor, the stones cracking under the pressure, and he yelled at his dead mother, and the evil eye, the Hamsa, stood in the center of the room, watching.


God died for me a hundred times. once, when i was 5 and my sister died in front of my eyes. attached to a metal grill, stuck in the same position for minutes. on the gray, rainy day, when it was the age of counting stars, i started counting the hardships felling on us. the electric shock, the sudden darkness in life, my light vanished and so did the God. second, when we four had to leave school and stay at home for an unknown period of time, when my father was away, miles away. struggling to earn, struggling hard to bring us there with him in a foreign land. we waited and waited and saw the day turn in to night and the nights in to days. i had nightmares, maybe my father was a laborer or followed rich people with his files. my childhood wasted counting the best moments i had before in my life. third, when we had to return from the land we died waiting to live in. the land where it felt like even my most bizarre dream would come true, we had freedom of youth, freedom of dreaming and freedom of living normally. my hands are the witness of wiping all the tears and dreams escaping from my eyes the time when the pilot announced landing. fourth, when i couldn't go to my dream college. after years i saw a gleaming ray before me dancing. i thought i could catch every single nightingale, i can go to my dream college. i can start things from the bottom all again and forget the haunting past in my brain. i can walk those classic halls and sit in front row of my class, be good student who respect her teachers. i show them the spark in me gradually increasing in to the brightest fire of youth. fifth, when my grandfather left us although we weren't close. the absence of my paternal grandmother was grand and worst than anything, having him no more was no different. humans are bad yet humanly absence is worst, my dear. its weird to have things living longer than humans. we had one less human heart. what kind of failure. sixth, when my favorite publisher rejected my book, left me on seen and blocked me from every where. my first novel had my heart, i tried to put my best vibes in to it, my silver lined hard work in it, my burning patience in it. my broken thoughts and love in it. my heart of glass in it. it shattered in to pieces, the moment a stranger with black eyes and hair rejected my work. i could hear the shattering of glass, i walked on those pieces back to my home. seventh, when my mother got diagnosed with diabetics, i couldn't believe it, she spent the entire night staring at the bare ceiling asking why me? she loved eating sweets and fruits and cakes and ice creams and what not. and now suddenly she has been prohibited with it all. "how can she live like that?" i cried in the darkness of nights. eight, when my brother failed his college exams. he sat in the corner quietly listening to my mother complain how it feels the end of everything. i never saw my brother this quiet before, as if he can not do it anymore. can not handle the pressure to be successful, study anymore. the excruciating pain in his eyes, i think i will never forget it. ninth, when i finally fell in love with this perfectly molded human being. who sat in front of me for two weeks, without uttering a single word and watched me study and complete projects. he too did his work and in the end left a coffee, with a note of 'be happy life is short' and a smile until one day, i talked to him and we decided to visit every single museum in the country. it was a planned love, a prayed love, a wanted love, a love more than just a desire, i-want-you-here kind of love. the feeling of touching and being touched is exclusive, its indescribable. with very tracing, a new love island is made. but it didn't last long. i got a call at 12:00 am one day, my lover died in a train crash. 120 people dead and several missing. the agony inside me watched the clock until days passed by, reminding me of my childhood. my sister's death, my grandfather's death. next day, i rushed to the hospital, searching him in room to room, from hall to hall. from doctor to doctor. but all i found was h=other hundreds of people searching for their loved ones too. until today, god for me, took a birth for the first time. when i saw him waving at me with a fractured hand inside my favorite person, my lover. i never saw God any where except in him, except in humans. "you thought he was dead, but there he is, right in front of you on the street, smiling at you." the air whispered in my ear, in my paused body. we hugged hard in middle of no where, "i missed you and the God in you!" i muttered. and suddenly, i saw my own bleeding body in middle of the buzzing street, the cars screeching to stop and the women screaming on top of their lungs. the kids crying their heart out as if mourning on my death. people gathering when they lift the coffin, people praying for my here after. and soon everything is fine and back to their routines. sometimes, people die suffering. sometimes everything ends like that. sometimes death is way better than living. sometimes crying your heart out looks the best option. sometimes my heart get numb. sometimes i want to talk to every single human on earth and tell them how unfair my life was. sometimes i want to watch people be happy. sometimes i sit by the tree watching the passerby s. it wasn't my fate, I inherited it all.


Amari had been four when she had been taken in. The person who’d found her and then offered her a life of luxury and greatness had had really smooth skin. Not a single wrinkle, like a canvas stretched too thinly on flesh. She listened when he told her how powerful she could become, but was wary to go with him. Strangers were dangerous. But really, could someone cause her more hurt than she already had? She wanted out.

She knew she should have waited, given more thought to it, checked if he was reliable, but when the man offered his hand to her, she took it, and told herself it was just to see if his skin felt as smooth as it looked.

—— “What’s

your

name?” Amari asked. She was standing with the smooth-skinned man inside what seemed to be a mansion, her hands fisted at her sides. She might’ve come with him, willingly, but she could still be careful. Her eyes were pieces of coal set aflame.

The man grinned. “Call me the Magister.” “Can I sleep now, Magister?” The Magister ruffled her hair. “Of course, you can. Come with me, I’ll show you your room.” He took her hand in his, and pulled her up an endless flight of stairs, past torch lit hallways and stopped in front of a huge oak door. He pushed the door open, picking Amari up and plopping her on the four-poster bed.

“Lie down. You can sleep here.”

Amari spread a wary hand over the silk covers, searching for harm in the bed or his words. Finding none, she lay her head down on the pillows, slipping inside the duvet. The Magister sat himself down beside her. He watched as the fire in her eyes lessened, reducing slowly but surely until finally she mouthed a silent “g’night” and the flames were put to rest.

Long after, when the Magister shut the door behind him, he smiled to himself. He had found her. He had found her.

—— The Magister laughed when she asked to be taught how to make herself invisible first, but she pouted and didn’t move. Eyebrow raised, he asked her why she wanted to hide herself. Was there something she didn’t want the Magister to know? Before she could reply, however, he laughed it off and agreed.

Then he walked a few steps forward before turning back and looking her in the eye. He knelt down to reach her height. Assuming he wanted a hug, like he had many times before, claiming it was for his own sake and not hers, she went forward and put her tiny arms around him. As she leaned in, suddenly a shock went through the tip of her ears where they grazed the Magister’s skin. A string of broken sentences flowed into her mind - a few more years and... incredible power the likes of which no one has seen before... I’ll make her a... she’ll be my pawn-

but just as quickly as they’d come, the flurry of thought cut off.

She jerked back out of his grasp, and stared at him, eyes wide. The Magister slowly raised his hands to the side of his head, his eyebrows furrowing.

Before the Magister could figure out what happened, Amari had already disappeared to some far corner of the mansion. —— When she was seven, the Magister tested her. Said that he needed to evaluate if what she had learnt for three years could pay off or not. She remembered climbing over mountains, crawling through the jungle, summoning that deep blue power inside her, like she was reaching into the depths of an ocean, and seeing his face as he beheld the yellow rays that then burst out of her hands, like the rays of sunlight that pierced the darkest ocean. The Magister had asked her then,

You see what you’re capable of?

She thought of the dark, shadowy area beneath the stairs, where she invariably found her way to every day, hiding and using the golden wisps that sprouted from her fingertips to overhear conversations in the grand hall.

The Magister often talked with his friends there. They talked a lot. The Magister talked a lot to her, too, but always about simple things. About how she was feeling and what she would like to have for dinner.

With his friends, however, he did not mention food. He spoke about battles and wars and revolutions. Of magic and peace and love. He spoke about how Amari would be the key to everything, the piece that would tip the scales in their balance.

Amari heard, but she could not say anything. Not even when they were alone again, and he was asking her if the bed was comfortable enough for her.

Every time she thought about voicing her own opinion, she was hit by a painful reminder. She’d been on the streets, scrapes on her hands and knees from falling over at every stray pebble, little feet struggling to, but unable to do more take a few more stumbling steps forward. The leftover food she’d scavenged from dumpsters always left that bitter taste in her mouth, like she was being abandoned on the road all over again, wrapped in a measly blanket, not understanding that no one would come for her no matter how much she cried. She had been weak. Pitifully weak. Unable to fend for herself. Yes, she had been weak, but now? Now she wasn’t. She wouldn’t ever be if she simply continued to listen to the Magister. Whatever he told her, she would do, because he had saved her.

So, when the Magister asked her, even though some part wanted to tell him she didn’t truly wish to take part in all the things he talked about, she simply said,

I see. —— Amari was the most powerful mage in the world. That’s what the Magister always said, that’s what his friends all believed. Amari believed it too.

With a flick of her fingers, she could slice the mountains she had climbed up, panting, just a few years ago. She could clap her hands, entwine her fingers, and the same mountains would stitch themselves back together, as if nothing had torn them apart in the first place.

She thought of herself as those mountains. Always appearing calm and stoic, both unstoppable force and immovable object, when in reality, she could be torn apart just as easily as-

She jerked her head, a sharp movement. How did it matter if she could or could not?  She’d just stitch herself back up again. —— “Sixteen thousand of them,” one of the people in the hall gleefully started. Amari was 11, in her spot under the stairs, with extra shields and wards placed over herself to avoid detection. The numbers the speaker quoted sent a chill down her spine, and she wondered if it was possible the numbers did not mean what she thought they did. “Sixteen thousand of them eliminated in one attack! It was definitely a good idea to use her,” they finished.

When the speaker cast a glance at the ceiling, right at the area where Amari’s room would be, she realized they meant her. And then realized that her worst fears had been answered. She immediately cut off further sound. Something threatened to regurgitate up her throat, like her stomach was turning itself inside out.

She had been told to collapse a building, and she’d done it without feeling, assuming it was one of the many exercises she performed every day to strengthen her power. She had not stopped to think that there might be people inside.

No.

No.

She had to be true to at least herself. Although she had not known at that time that she was committing a crime, she

had  suspected that sooner or later they would instruct her to do something like this. She had been negligent, not checking whether she could sense life forces inside, wanting to get through the task as soon as possible.

“Sixteen thousand people,” she whispered to herself, wondering if the gold strands she weaved in the air weren’t actually cruel, dark black. “I’ve killed sixteen thousand people.” She felt herself begin to come apart. She wondered if it was actually possible to stitch back humans just like she could stitch back mountains. She wondered if she had any reason to not do what she really wanted to anymore.

—— The Magister found her, like he always did. “You were listening, weren’t you?” “How did you know?” Amari asked, her voice hollow.

The Magister smiled, “You forgot to hide the traces.” So, she had. In her revulsion over what had happened, she had carelessly forgotten to hide the traces of her magic after muting the voices off. “I’ll be more careful next time.” That was supposed to be the end of the conversation, but the Magister lowered himself on the bed she was curled up on. A distant memory flickered through Amari’s mind, one where the Magister had given her a bed to sleep on for the first time, and sat on its edge, the comforting weight beside her lulling her to sleep. Even now, his presence soothed back the edges of her that had begun to fray.

She felt something inside her calm down considerably. She knew he knew that she calmed down in his presence.

She hated it. She hoped that one day she would be able to escape from here. From him.

—— It wasn’t a whole sixteen thousand the next few times. It was two, maybe three people, a group of travellers, a family living in the outskirts. No, not even a thousandth of it, but it felt much heavier. She wondered if Atlas, holding the sky felt the same weight on his shoulders. She thought holding the sky would be easier.

—— She did wonder, sometimes. All the time, really. She wondered about herself and her magic and what if she had never been born and why the world was as it was but mostly, she wondered about the Magister.

She wondered if he thought of her as a daughter. Probably not. Maybe he did. Why else would he care for her? She thought about him as a father- or at least the closest equivalent. Or maybe he simply wanted to ensure she was happy and healthy, all the better to use her as a weapon later. As his pawn.

She wondered. She wondered if she could leave him and go away, just as her biological parents had once. Would that be the tearing apart event? She wondered.

—— She toppled mountains over a valley. There seemed to be a caravan traveling there then. She saw it too late.

That night she dreamt of her golden magic turning black, an ink that spread through everywhere, staining the world. She couldn’t see anything but herself, and the darkness left by her own hand. When she woke up, she found that the black had seeped into reality. When she flicked her fingers, she found she controlled the shadows.

And the shadows were easy enough to work with.

—— The seventh time, it worked. When the Magister came to her, she felt only disgust. A little bit of fear. A wave of fury that threatened to spill out of her and seize him.

He stepped forward. She stepped back.

He took a larger step forward. She moved quickly and stepped forward too. Before he could understand what was going on, she slapped two hands to the sides of his head.

(A/n: “Before he could understand what was going on, she slapped two pieces of bread to the sides of his head.” WHAT ARE YOU? AN IDIOT SANDWICH.) —— It hadn’t taken long to send the black wisps into his mind. She found a few barriers, a few walls to keep powers like hers away. For those few seconds it took, she saw his eyes widen, something akin to panic course through them. So, he had suspected, she thought. He had suspected that she would try reaching it to his mind one day- to do what, who knows? But the few seconds passed and she found easy access to his memories, to his knowledge, everything that ever passed through his mind.

She could take her time, for he was in limbo and she could go through the contents of his brain leisurely.

She paused.

Should she? What was she hoping to find? Did she want to confirm that the Magister had had paternal feelings towards her? What if he didn’t? What if he did? Would that mean she would be willing to go ahead with whatever he told her to do? Did she really want to know what was in the mind of someone who not only condoned but encouraged killing?

She thought for a while.

And then she decided. No. Even if she did find something, was able to look at their conversations and interactions through the Magister’s point of view, it wouldn’t change anything. She didn’t want to be the cause of death of anyone anymore, and she didn’t want an excuse for her past actions. She would accept it as it was. And that was the end of the matter. She reached further with her power, found the connections in his mind with the other mages, his friends who believed with him that she would be their pawn to achieve whatever they wished to. Laughing silently, because she was using her powers to do something, she was sure they would be awed at, she erased their memories. She erased everyone’s memories who had ever seen her, heard of her, used her.

And so, she ceased to exist in their lives, a weapon that had decided that it was better off not being used like so. —— Amari lived on the streets. She didn’t have a home, or a set of clothes. She didn’t have somewhere she could cook or go to find food. She worked hard to conjure up sustenance and homes for everyone else- they were the families, the ones like the people she had killed. This was her way of making peace with them. She never let herself rest, even if it meant looking at the dark black spill from her fingers all the time. It made her sick, yes, but in spite of all of that, she was happy. Because just the other day, she had found just a little bit of the golden slip back into her magic.


It was always so peaceful in the tub. I’m not sure how or why but it was like clockwork – get in the steaming bathtub and suddenly, the mood was perfect. The sun would lay low in the sky and cast long drawn-out shadows along the floor tiles, there were never any sounds from the outside world, just me and the bubbles. Today was no different. As I slowly lowered myself into the water, it was like the surface cleansed my very soul with every inch I submerged. It was glorious. It was exactly what I needed. I let out a deep sigh and closed my eyes. It didn’t matter how many times I did it, soaking in warm water was always the answer to everything. I don’t know how long I was there for but the warm summer sun was still up; couldn’t have been long. When I opened my eyes, I saw my bruised and scratched legs. They weren’t bleeding anymore but they were still tender. There were covered in large, angry purple bruises. One look and I started to sob, not from the injuries – I’d been numb to them for a long time – but from the sadness and emptiness I felt. I cried and cried. Hot tears poured from my eyes into the hot water. My whole body heaved with every gasping breath. I wailed and wept until the moon was high in the night sky. It watched as my eyes dried up and I could cry no more. I sniffed and composed myself. I gathered water in my palms and rinsed my puffy face. Crying was never pretty but I could make myself feel better. The water had gone cold but I didn’t want to get out. I felt safe in the water and didn’t want to leave the embrace of the still fragrant liquids. I stirred it with a finger and, for a second, I thought it had started to warm up again, to recapture the energy that had been lost. How stupid of me. How could I think that *anything* would ever come back? Years of coming and going and this was where it all ended. Or where it would all begin. Who knew? I just knew I was going to have to figure out a way to make this work; I was going to be here for a while, after all. I gingerly raised myself out of the water and looked out to the old world with new eyes. Yup, this was my home now and I was going to have to learn to love it. I stepped out of the water and stretched. Aches and pains screamed out all over my back, begging me not to move, but this was just the first of many trials I was going to face, and physical pain would be the least of my problems. I walked into the bedroom and up to the mirror, naked as the day I was born. I stared at my battle-scarred body in the bright light of the full moon. It was impressive. Lithe, long, slim limbs held strong arms and legs that had been shaped by centuries of fighting. It was almost perfect. But one thing stood out, something that I’d lived with my whole life. The emptiness screamed at me. I reached out and traced arches over the shoulders of my reflection. Although they were no longer there, I could still see my wings. It would take some time but I would eventually forget that I no longer had their familiar weight on my back. I stepped back and faced the night sky. I would never soar among the stars again. I would never plummet to the earth and catch the wind beneath me at the very last second just for thrills. But that was the old me. The new me was going to fight a different battle. The new me was going to win. I’d lost and already paid the ultimate price; life as a human for eternity. I made a promise there - if this was what I was going to be, then I was going to do it on my terms.


When the clutter in your basement looks more like rising floodwaters, it's time to go down there and deal with it. Building an ark to escape in would only be a way of avoiding the inevitable. And, besides, God would probably want me to go out into the world and collect all the animals, two by two. No thanks. I'd rather deal with the clutter. I opened the basement door and looked down the stairs. The only clear area was the path from the bottom of the stairs to the washer and dryer. The path was walled-in by piles of clutter almost up to my hips. I sighed and made my way down the stairs. About halfway down, I spotted an old shoe-box on one of the steps. I picked it up. There were words written on the side in magic marker: Box of Memories, 1987, for Quentin Ngoro when I'm grown up. Going through the rest of the basement's clutter was going to have to wait a little longer. Upstairs in my bedroom, I sat on my bed and placed the shoe-box in my lap. After I removed its lid, I saw a small disorganized collection of old photos, baseball cards, playing cards, a small red rubber ball and a set of jacks, and an old baseball. Somehow these all belonged to me, when I was a child, but I had no memory of putting this together. Digging through the collection, I noticed a sheet of 8x11 paper, folded in half. I unfolded it and saw that it was a handwritten letter from the boy I used to be to the adult I would one day become. To the future Quentin, Today is Tuesday, July 21 st , 1987. I'm about to finish my box of memories. Once I'm done with this letter, I'll fold it in half, put it in the box, close the box, and then store it somewhere where it hopefully won't be noticed until I'm older. I didn't want a big box. I wanted something you could put in your lap and rummage through on a rainy day, remembering the boy you used to be. The baseball is one that I caught during a Baltimore Orioles game, when Reggie Jackson hit a home run into the stands where Dad and I sat. After the game, Mr. Jackson kindly autographed it.. The photos are of me at different times in my life. The earliest one is of a baby in a bassinet. I can't believe that the baby was me. How small I used to be! Another one is of when I was six. I'm sitting upright in a hospital bed, with a toy yellow bulldozer in my lap, a bandage wrapped around the top third of my head. That was after a dog bit me in the forehead and a doctor had to stitch the skin on my forehead back together again. The toy bulldozer was a get-well-soon gift. There are some other photos, too. At the bottom of the box is a book that I bought at the school library's book sale last year. The Black Cauldron by Lloyd Alexander. I didn't want to part with it, but I wanted you to have it. I hope you'll like it, too. I didn't want this letter to be as long as the ones I write each December to Santa Claus, so guess this is it for now. I hope everything turned out well. I wish I could look at you and see what I grew up to be. Were you a pilot, astronaut, or doctor? I hope one of them. But if not, I guess that's okay, too. From the past Quentin I smiled to myself. Much had changed in thirty-three years. I didn't become a pilot or astronaut or doctor. I went to law school and became a lawyer instead. Why? Because I was inspired by a book, To Kill a Mockingbird , and a fictional character in it named Atticus Finch, who was himself a lawyer. There was a knock on my bedroom door. “Come in,” I called as I closed the shoe-box. Cat came in. She was almost as tall as I was, with long dark hair and dark eyes. She wore a plaid button-down shirt, jeans, and was barefoot. An echo of her mother, right down to the lack of fingernail and toenail polish and no rings on her fingers. “It's almost lunchtime,” she said. And then she saw the shoe-box in my lap. “Where did that come from?” “It was on the basement stairs,” I said. “I meant to deal with the clutter down there, but I got distracted by this shoe-box instead.” “Maybe I can help with the clutter,” she offered. “That would be very kind of you,” I said. “Mind if I join you?” she asked. I nodded and moved over, so that she could sit down next to me. Cat touched the shoe-box's lid. “So what is this?” “A box of memories,” I explained. “Something that people used to make long before MySpace and Facebook existed.” “Sort of like a scrapbook?” Cat asked. “Sort of,” I said. “Can I see what's inside it?” she asked. I nodded and handed it to her. She carefully opened it and carefully went through the shoe-box's contents. “Seems to be the sorts of things that a young boy would've been interested in. There's even a folded sheet of paper. Probably something he doodled on. Who did all this belong to?” “It belonged to me,” I said. “Apparently I created it when I was ten years old. To be stored away until I was grown up.” Cat glanced at me. “You mean, like a time capsule?” I nodded. “Something to remind myself of who I used to be. I even wrote myself a letter.” She removed the folded piece of paper. “Then you didn't just doodle on this.” “Correct,” I said. “May I read it?” she asked. “Or is it too personal?” “Be my guest,” I said. Cat pushed her hair behind her ears and silently read the letter. When she finished, she said, “That's quite a long letter for a ten-year-old. I'm not sure if even I would've written anything that long when I was his age.” She refolded the letter and put it back inside the shoe-box. “It's kind of like finding a bottle on the beach with a letter from 1987 inside it. An echo from a different time, a different world.” Then she noticed the book and took it out. As she did so, something small slid out of it and fell on the bed. It was a small photo. She picked it up and looked at it. “Is this Ma?” she asked. But then she turned the photo over and looked at its backside. “No, it isn't her. It's someone else. Someone named Sharon Ferguson, or 'Sunny' for short. It's dated 1987. A girlfriend of yours, maybe?” “I didn't have a girlfriend back then,” I said. “May I see it?” She nodded and handed the photo to me. The photo was of a pale-skinned preadolescent girl with freckles, green eyes, and red hair in a ponytail. At first I didn't recognize her. But then, like a recording, I could hear a girl's voice coming from deep within my memories. A voice I hadn't heard in over thirty years. * * * * * * * * * * “Quentin? It's Sunny. Why don't we go outside and play?” “I don't want to,” I heard a boy grumble. He sounded familiar. “Why not?” she asked. “Because I don't want to play House again,” he said. “It's dumb.” “Okay – then what do you want to play?” she asked. The boy's face came into view and I saw my ten-year-old face. Probably not what you'd call good-looking, but nothing too scary. And then I saw her face. She was very pretty. But why wasn't she hanging out with other boys, the popular ones? Or maybe she was bored with them? “What if we went to the park?” I suggested. “It was a new playground. If it gets too hot, we could sit in the shade near the duck pond.” Sunny looked thoughtful, then nodded. The park was about a block or two from our elementary school. You could get there either by the street side, or through the field and woods on the other side of the school. We chose the latter route. As we walked along, she asked, “Do you ever wonder what you'll be when you're a grownup?” “Sometimes,” I said. “Maybe a pilot, because they get to fly to faraway places. Or an astronaut, because they get to travel in space. Or a doctor, because they help people. What about you?” “I think I want to be a scientist or an engineer,” she said. She was definitely smart enough. Compared to her grades, mine were awful. Not as bad as my father's were, but that's not saying much, since he almost flunked out of school. “I wish I could be one of those,” I said. “You could,” she said. “You're pretty smart.” I shook my head. “Not like you are.” “Maybe you just need some help,” Sunny said. “But who would help someone dumb like me?” I asked. “You aren't dumb, Quentin,” she said. “I know you aren't.” “You're just trying to be nice,” I said. She frowned. “No, I'm not. I bet with a little tutoring you could improve your grades.” She grabbed me by the arm, and we stopped, facing each other. “ I could be your tutor, in fact.” “Why would you do that, Sunny?” I asked, puzzled. “Because we're friends,” she said. “And friends help each other.” “If you think it'll do any good,” I said. “I sure do,” she insisted. “I could start helping you today. in fact. After we get back home, I mean.” “All right,” I said. “If it's not too much work for you.” “It isn't.” Then she smiled and tapped me on the arm. “Tag! You're it!” She ran ahead and I ran after her. In the park, parents were seated on benches that were in the shade. They talked with each other while watching children and dogs play. The fountain in the middle of the park was on and some of the kids were running in and around it, getting wet as they cooled off. “Hey!” someone said, giving me a shove from behind. “Lookee here, it's Quentin. The school idiot.” His two best friends stood nearby, snickered and hooted with laughter. I recognized the voice as Dwayne's. One of the school bullies. I kept my back to him and tried to ignore him. Sunny turned around, though, and said, “Don't call him that.” “Why not?” Dwayne asked. “It's his name, ain't it? What else do you expect me to call him? Moron? Mental retard?” “He isn't stupid and you know it,” she said. “Then why are his grades so bad?” Dwayne asked and laughed. “Have you seen 'em? They're even worse than mine are.” “I don't care,” Sunny said angrily. “You just leave him alone. You hear me?” “Isn't it a shame?” Dwayne teased me. “Too weak to defend yourself, so you have to have a girl protect you.” I turned around to face him, fists clenched, arms held against my sides. “Don't give in, Quentin,” Sunny warned me. “It isn't worth it.” “What choice do I have?” I asked. “Yeah, if you're so smart, Sharon, you should tell him what to do,” Dwayne said. “Mama's boy don't know how to stand up for himself, anyway.” His insults and teasing were having the desired effect and he knew it. I stepped past Sunny, my fists raised. She tried to pull me back. “No. Don't do this.” “Maybe I want to,” I said. “You wanna go home with a black eye?” she asked. “Maybe I do,” I said. “It would be worth it just to plant one on his stupid face.” “Hey, Carrots, maybe you should let him be stupid without your help,” Dwayne teased her. Sunny went cold and still. “What did you call me?” “You heard me,” he said. “Carrots, Carrots!” Dwayne's friends parroted. Next thing I knew, Dwayne was flat on his back with a bloody nose, and Sunny was on top of one of his friends, straddling him as she punched him. Dwayne's other friend had backed off, like the coward he was. Dwayne got to his feet and wiped away the blood flowing from his nostrils. He looked at Sunny's unprotected back and smiled to himself. I grabbed him by the arm, yanking hard enough to force him to face me. He didn't like that. “You leave her alone,” I said. “Oh yeah?” he retorted. “And what are you gonna do? Cry on me?” That did it. I punched him in the face with my left fist. It hurt enough that I had to wring it until the pain went away. But the shocked and hurt look on his face was worth it. “Why you little runt,” he said, getting into my face. But he didn't get a chance to do more than that. The adults were on their feet now, forcibly separating Sunny and me from Dwayne and his buddies. The adults were frowning at all of us. I'd never seen them this angry. “Of all the stupid things you could've done,” a white-haired black woman told us, “and you decide to have a fight here at the park. What would your parents think if we told them? Hmm?” She looked at Dwayne first, pointing her forefinger at him. “No surprise that you're involved in it.” He looked like he'd rather be anywhere but here. “Kathleen?” the black woman called to another adult, a white woman. The second woman was younger, and maybe a few inches taller. She had short dark hair, and looked strong enough to play football. “Take Dwayne home and tell his parents what happened.” Kathleen grimly nodded. “Gladly, Geraldine.” She came forward, ready to grab him by the arm. “But I didn't start it!” Dwayne complained, trying to pull away from her. “I didn't punch him first. He punched me first!” “You did start it,” Geraldine said. “We were watching. And from what we could tell, they were both minding their own business. But you just couldn't leave them alone, could you?” He looked like he was going to cry. “It's not fair! I'm going to tell my parents how awful you are!” Kathleen narrowed her eyes at him. “Don't threaten me, boy. We're going to talk with your parents. Who knows? They might just ground you again, even if the school doesn't expel you.” As they left, Dwayne kept trying to free himself. He looked back at me once, gave me an angry look, and tried to make a rude gesture with his free hand. Kathleen grabbed that hand and pulled it back down. “Don't think I didn't see that,” she told him. “You are in a world of trouble, boy.” Once they were gone, it was Dwayne's friends' turn next. “You have a choice: act like him, or go home right now,” Geraldine said. They took their heels and never looked back once. Geraldine sighed and finally looked at Sunny and me. “Maybe you two should go home, too,” she said in a much calmer voice. “But it wasn't our fault,” Sunny protested. “I know it wasn't,” Geraldine said firmly. “That wasn't why I suggested it. Maybe you could spend the rest of the day tutoring him. Unless you'd rather end up like Dwayne?” I shook my head. “I didn't think so,” Geraldine said. “Are you going to tell our parents?” I asked her. “About this fight?” “I'll make you a deal,” Geraldine said. “Let Sunny help you improve your grades and I won't tell anyone about this fight.” She held out her hand. “Is it a deal?” I nodded and shook her hand. “Deal.” With Sunny's tutoring, my grades steadily improved. As a reward, Sunny gave me a photo of herself. If only I hadn't lost it before the end of the school year. * * * * * * * * * * But now I'd found it again, with my daughter's help. “I guess sometimes you need to pick up something old,” I said, “dust it off, and look at it with new eyes. I certainly did in this case..” “Did you two ever date?” my daughter asked, handing the shoe-box back to me. I shook my head. “But we did stay really good friends. All the way through high school.” “How did you manage to forget her, then?” she asked. “She sounded really special.” I shrugged. “Maybe it was when we went to different colleges. Or later on, after I finished law school. I was pretty busy for a long time. And then I met your mother, which made my life even busier … but for a good reason.” “I wonder what happened to Sunny,” Cat mused. “Maybe you should try to find her. Now that you're single again, I mean.” “Hint?” I said. “She might have forgotten about me after all these years.” “Or maybe she hasn't,” she said. “Try using Facebook, Pa. I've found some old friends that way.” She stood up. “See you in the kitchen.” She left my bedroom, gently closing the door behind her. “Thank you, Quentin and Sunny,” I whispered. “For everything.”