"I feel like we won't go on vacation again this year," the woman said, standing by the stove and promptly flipping the smoky piece of toast. Her son, a little boy who appeared to be about nine years old, was poking his porridge with a spoon, nudging a piece of melting butter that glided across the sticky surface like a small edible ship. "Let's not talk about that in the morning. Okay?" the man in a white t-shirt with a telescope print said, grabbing his son's hand abruptly. "Come on, stop that. Eat faster, or you'll be late for your first lesson today." "And when are we going to talk about it then?" the woman persisted. "When am I supposed to talk about it, if we only see you in the morning? And then you're busy. Busy around the clock, Eli." "Well, stop it," he said, uttering it as if it were both a threat and a plea. "I don't want to stop," she said. "Every time you find some way to justify everything, every time I have to stop. Meanwhile, Eli, our son's doctor prescribed sea air for him. We live in a desert, Eli..." "Please, Uno, just stop," he said, slowly losing his composure, "let me have breakfast in peace. I need to get to work soon." The boy was eating his porridge, diligently plunging the spoon into the bowl, tucking his head into his shoulders, and flinching from his father's loud voice. "I promise you," Eli finally said, "I promise that I'll take a 10-day vacation on my own dime as soon as this month is over. But this month I'm busy because it's the best time to listen to the cosmos." "You'd better have listened to your father, Eli, when he offered you to continue his business," Uno accidentally blurted out, freezing as she sensed that she had crossed acceptable boundaries. Eli pushed his plate aside; he had enough patience not to throw it at her. He often had a bad temper in the mornings, and he thought she knew that better than anyone. He counted to ten and the sudden burst of anger that had flared up seemed less significant now. He counted to ten again before turning to his wife. "My little star, I know that not everything goes as we dreamed before our wedding." "Nothing goes as planned," she interrupted, but immediately fell silent, seeing the way he looked at her. "So, I'm saying that not everything goes smoothly, and it pains me. To know that I can't give my family what it deserves. At least the ability to take off and go to that damn ocean." She gazed at her husband attentively and felt a sense of guilt for what she had said. Uno was a wise and patient woman, but when it came to their son, she didn't always have the patience to stay silent. She knew Eli was a good husband and an excellent scientist, and that his project to study the distant cosmos for signs of intelligent life was the reason he turned away from his father's business, moved to the other end of the country, sacrificed his pride and principles, pounding the doors of the national scientific fund in an attempt to attract private investors. But when conversations like these arose, all that understanding magically disappeared, and she was ready to pounce on him. "My project, Uno," the man continued, "the work of my entire life, will soon bear fruit. You'll see. And when your little Eli proves to that stubborn scientific community that we're not alone in the universe, then everything will change. Oh, we'll truly live then, Uno! We'll live!" The man abruptly stood up from the table, scooped up his son, who had just finished eating, under his arms, and started to race around the kitchen with him as if the boy were a pilot with a jetpack. The boy laughed, stretched his arms out to the sides, mimicking airplane wings, and made buzzing sounds through the big gap between his front teeth. Eventually, their improvised flight on another round ended near Uno; they nearly bumped into her when they came to a stop. Eli stood just a few centimeters away from his wife, breathing heavily, a smile still on his face, and he didn't take his tender and pleading gaze off Uno. Their little son alternated between looking at his father and his mother, expecting that, as it had happened before in similar situations, his parents would kiss each other and soon forget about the unpleasant conversation. But this time, Uno took a step back, watching as the smile faded from her husband's face, and she said dryly: "We're alone, Eli. Your family is alone without you." The night sky in the bare and scorching desert always seemed to Eli as if it were tethered to the planet's surface by enormous invisible hooks, with stars so close and bright upon it. In these late hours, when deep silence filled the surroundings, one could hear the heart muscle pumping blood through the vessels, like a second hand ticking away the course of life. "And she's right," thought the scientist, sitting at the table cluttered with massive equipment. "She's more adapted to life in this world than I am. After all, I do nothing but search for it - this life, while she lives it. Not somewhere on other planets, in other star systems, but here. Here and now." Giant radio telescopes, with their heads tilted skyward, gleamed against the backdrop of dark rocks and yellow sand. They were ready to obey any command he gave. The sand, once lifted by the gusty and scorching wind, akin to the Saharan sirocco, now sparkled in the moonlight on the metallic plates of their bodies. "If they don't approve a new research grant by the end of the year, I'll have to turn to my father, and he's just waiting for the moment when I stumble." Eli loved his father and never understood at what point between them this foolish competition - who's better - had emerged. It never even crossed his mind to be the first, and even if hypothetically it did happen, he'd never boast about it to him. "I've been staring at this section of the celestial atlas for too long," the man thought. "I remember last time I wanted to change the azimuthal angle and use a different algorithm for calculations." Time after midnight always flowed slowly. The scientist managed to prepare and drink about five cups of coffee before a phone call forced him to divert his attention from diagrams and thoughts about an uninviting future. The voice on the other end of the line was dry and irritable. From the first sounds, the man immediately guessed who was calling and regretted answering a few times. "Elian," sounded through the speaker, "Elian, don't pretend you can't hear me." There was a brief pause, which Eli interrupted with the words, "Yes, Dad. I'm listening." "We spoke with your wife a couple of hours ago," his father began, "we, meaning me and your mother, if you still remember her existence." "Please, don't start," the son replied with a tinge of sadness in his voice, feeling himself sink into the back of his chair. "I'm not starting; I'm continuing," came the persistent response from the other side. "Uno told me things haven't been going well between you lately." "Damn her, this woman," Eli cursed, "found someone to call." "I'm still here, and I'm not deaf," his father commented disapprovingly. "And I was the one who called her, not the other way around. I called because you..." The man hesitated but soon continued, "Because you haven't been able to dial your mother's number for six months and simply say 'hello,' ask her how she's doing, if she's well? Tell her how her grandson is doing. How he's already playing the musical instrument wonderfully. Have you ever put yourself in her shoes? Do you know what it's like for her?" He seemed to intentionally avoid any mention of himself. "I won't be surprised, Elian," his father said, as if concluding his monologue, "if Uno takes your son and leaves you." Elian was on the verge of exploding, as he often did, which seemed to always be the cause of such swift and infrequent conversations. But at that moment, the second line rang. Without explaining what was happening and leaving his father without the long-awaited justifications, the man accepted the new call and ended the current conversation. "Redlam!" exclaimed the scientist, "you have no idea how glad I am to hear you, my friend!" "What's with the sudden enthusiasm?" the other end wondered, taken aback by this unexpected confession. "Oh, yes," he began and was about to retell the entire conversation with his father, but then fell silent and only a few seconds later dismissively said, "Never mind." "But everything is very important to me, Eli," Redlam said impatiently, adding, "And if you're standing now, you better sit down." "Don't tease me, you son of a bitch," Eli chuckled, "you always start with this long prelude instead of just getting to the point." "I want to," the voice continued, "if it's really what I think. I'd like you to..." "Yeah, are you kidding me?" the interlocutor asked angrily. "Just wait a moment!" the man snapped back, "I'm talking about the fact that I received a signal, Eli. And I'd like you to double-check it, and then we could announce this discovery together." But Eli seemed to have heard nothing more. The phrase "received a signal" worked on him like a hypnotic spell, paralyzing all muscle groups and exerting an oppressive influence on his nervous system. "Redlam," the scientist tried to maintain his composure, "what signal did you receive and from where?" And then his friend, another quirky astrophysicist just like himself, told him everything, withholding not a single detail. He told him about the unusual sequence of prime numbers. How he demodulated it and obtained it from a short radio burst from a distant galaxy X. How his limbs trembled for the first few minutes, making it difficult for him to dial the correct number from the phone book. And how the sequences repeated, and the man cried over a sheet of paper, diligently jotting down the seemingly unnecessary repetition: 123455, 123455, 123455, 123455. Then came 54532. He lovingly traced each received digit, feeling his cheeks and chin grow wet. Then came a pause, and the radio telescopes, like the eyes of a newborn blinded by darkness, fruitlessly groped the sky. Finally, the continuation followed: 545315, which transformed back into the familiar 123455. And this combination repeated, just like the first time - four times, followed by the codenotion of the number 54532. And Elian listened to the scientist, whose voice trembled in the telephone receiver, and he understood that this tremor was transmitted to him from a distance. Now he couldn't contain it within his own body, so he pressed the piece of black plastic harder against his ear and bit his lips. Eli double-checked all the data at least three times. There was no doubt that the signal was of artificial origin and had come from deep space. Its source lay beyond the nebula, in a foreign galactic realm so distant that it nearly touched the edge of the visible universe. There, where dark matter could potentially exist, and where other laws of physics might apply. To avoid the heavy hangover of a mistaken discovery, Eli immediately ruled out all sources of signals originating from his home planet. These could include amateur radio enthusiasts occasionally interfering with space listening, signals from satellites, microwave ovens, robotic vacuum cleaners, and so on. He now had to decode the data provided by Redlam using mathematical methods and understand what was encoded in the message. He returned home after three days, by which time a sour odor emanated from him, demanding a change of clothes and a bath. "Are you okay?" his wife asked, seeing how her husband forced himself to eat a small portion of porridge, just to have something other than coffee in his stomach. "I'm fine," Eli replied, but his eyes made it clear that he wasn't in the same room with her at the moment, nor even on the same planet. Elian journeyed along the edge of the universe, mentally repeating the distant flight of the radio signal. "Our son will have his first music exam soon," his wife said, and he seemed to emerge from the water, hearing only fragments of her sentences. "The teacher says he has an innate talent and a very keen sense that allows him to..." Again, Elian's head submerged beneath the surface of icy water, and his wife's voice turned into the buzz of insects, among which nothing could be distinguished. "I think he takes after his grandfather," Uno said as they resurfaced, and Elian unconsciously nodded in agreement. In the neighboring room, their son was playing a musical instrument. He played a simple melody very diligently, carefully coaxing sounds from the strings, which gently spread throughout the half-empty house. "I don't know what we've found," the scientist suddenly spoke. "What?" Uno asked in surprise, even though she had heard perfectly well. His unexpected confession caught her off guard as she had been talking to him about their son's achievements. "You didn't hear me?" Elian looked sternly at his wife and raised his voice, asking, "I said I don't know what we've found. We have prime numbers, their sequence, like a cipher, and a riddle concealed within them. But damn it, history provides so many examples where millennia were required for a simple answer." "Perhaps it's some kind of nursery rhyme," the woman suggested, which amused him. But it wasn't a kind laugh; it was the kind born from witnessing foolishness. "We know that there's a message hidden in the numbers," Eli condescended, "something like an image, a shape, or maybe the structure of DNA, a star system. Maybe it's coordinates or plain text, like, 'Hey, we're here! Hello, world!' That's our assumption. 'We,' meaning me and Redlam, try to match each number to some kind of symbol. But none of it has worked so far." The woman listened silently, understanding that in the moment of revelation, it wasn't the best time to offer any predictions or interject with her own guesses. "We haven't received anything for the past 48 hours. The signal that might have been broadcasting to us idiots for decades could have been detected by us only at its very end. We managed to catch it right at the curtain, Uno." She could see his lips trembling, like those of a child who had been punished and had their favorite toy taken away. She wanted to hug him, but she hesitated to do so. "We're late, Uno, and we don't even understand what we're late for." The door to the room opened, and a slender boy appeared on the threshold, just as thin as his peers. His dark, curly hair mischievously fell into his eyes, and his miniature nose twitched, pulling in transparent droplets of runny nose. "I can't play the notes in the right sequence," the child admitted, and teardrops sparkled in his eyes. And then, like a lightning bolt, an idea struck Elian, who rushed toward his son and lifted him high above his head. The boy, startled by the sudden movement, flinched and let out a squeal, echoed by Uno. "You're my first discoverer!" the man shouted, looking up at his son's smiling face. "My little genius! Of course, why didn't I realize it sooner?" Elian twirled the little wunderkind around the room, and Uno laughed through her tears, covering her face with her hand. "Notes!" Elian continued, his excitement uncontained, "they encoded notes into each digit! And they gave us the signal frequency to understand the pitch and duration of these notes!" Then the scientist seated the boy at the table, rushed to fetch an instrument, and ceremoniously presented it to the future maestro. He disappeared again, but this time the noise of his search emanated from the parents' bedroom. When he returned, he held a pen and a sheet of paper in his hands. His wife watched him with a mixture of triumph and reverence. In those moments, he was everything to her: a genius, a deity, a prophet. "Alright, let's assume," the scientist began, his speech quick, "we have the digit 1, and it corresponds to...," he tapped his forehead with the pen cap, as if contemplating, and then continued, "it must correspond to the sound of the note 'C'. If it's 'C', then the digit 2..." He took a deep breath, the veins on his temples bulging with the effort he was putting into this. "The digit 2 corresponds to the sound of the note 'D', and the digit 3 corresponds to the sound of the note 'E'." For half an hour, Elian hastily composed the melody of the first and then the second part of the message. With the finished piece in hand, he turned to his son. "Play this for me. Please, my dear, play this song for Daddy," he requested. The boy looked at his father's scribbles, wrinkled his nose, pressed the instrument against his shoulder, and nuzzled his cheek against the cool wooden body of the instrument. The vibrations of the strings produced a delicate melody that flowed through the room, sad and pure, like crystalline snowflakes. Elian listened to it, tears streaming down his cheeks. When they went to bed, he clung to his wife's body with the intensity of a newborn, burying his cold nose in the curve of her armpit. "This is their final requiem," the man said with difficulty, "a funeral song in the name of the demise of their entire civilization. It's like a cry for help, meant only to reveal themselves, not to save."


Another planet is dying before my eyes, and I feel nothing. The crust breaks open and peels away, revealing flashes of its fiery flesh. It glows like embers in a dying fire, stirred up by a breeze – only to be snuffed out by the thick clouds of the Swarm. The higher we ascend, the more of it is revealed. The Swarm sits attached to Wrenix Four like a cancer; eating, converting, proliferating. A slow, billowing mass, like a mad sculptor’s creation, its tendrils wrapped around its prey like a titanic amoeba, gleaming a silver white in the sun’s light. The sun itself would follow soon. And then the rest of the galaxy, before the Swarm would move on to the next. The glass feels cold against my fingertips. The ship stops vibrating as it leaves the atmosphere. It isn’t the first loss of a world that I witness first hand. We salvaged this cargo hauler from an abandoned world a couple weeks back, shortly before it was consumed. They say witnessing the purging of a world is to witness the inevitability of the Swarm, and to understand that, one of these days, you will be converted too. They say it is enough for a sound mind to go mad. But I feel nothing. ‘Sad thoughts again?’ Simon asks. I hear his boots on the metal. The sound makes me aware of the silence. Even the screams of the planet dying before me are muffled by empty space. In the window’s reflection I see his lanky shape, the bulky leather jacket and ammo belt wrapped around his chest. The big glasses and hollow cheeks are the only indicator that he was a scientist at some point. ‘You’ll survive,’ he continues, smiling gently. ‘I mean, George wanted you to survive.’ I close my eyes. A month ago, George locked me into a capsule and sent me on my way to safety, while he led the Swarm away in a different craft. I screamed myself sore, hoping the windows would break under my fists and empty space would take me into its cold embrace. A sacrifice is the only way to escape the voracious horror. They’re fast, and they sniff out matter from light years away. All you can do is give up something to buy time. It is what makes the Swarm such a cruel enemy. Even if it doesn’t get you, you still wither away, slowly breaking into pieces and getting consumed bit by bit until there’s nothing left of you. Instead of my face I see a shadow in the window’s reflection, my short black hair crinkly and disheveled. I haven’t eaten in days, yet I’m not hungry. Simon is starving, but I am a ghost. ‘Trust me, Millie. You’ll be happy once you’re there,’ he says. ‘Pretty thing like you.’ Simon is trying to be nice, but his upbeat demeanor achieves nothing but to annoy me. His daughter died half a year back, his husband just three weeks ago. Yet he talks like he hasn’t lost pieces of himself. Like he is still whole. He hovers about awkwardly until the ship computer’s artificial voice saves him. ‘Fifteen minutes until Component B52X-Midnight is ready. A medical check-up is required before the jump. Please stand by.’ ‘Great,’ he says. ‘New Universe, here we come.’ He waits for me to turn and join him, but my eyes remain fixed on the apocalypse before me. George is a part of the Swarm now. His matter and thoughts were consumed and converted – but he is still there , in some way. Maybe the creature he has become is even down there right now? I used to hate the Swarm with all my heart, but the idea that George could be so close is strangely comforting. Simon puts a hand on my shoulder and I let him move me away from the window and toward the massive hall of the cargo ship. White lights illuminate the circular arc of the portal machine. Not half an hour ago we found it on Wrenix Four’s abandoned surface and frantically hauled it onboard. Now it is connected to the ship’s artificial intelligence via a tangle of cables and consoles. Four medical booths stand on the grey floor, and the ship’s computer opens two of them. ‘Let’s hope that whoever built this thing knew what they were doing,’ Simon says, all chipper. I don’t reply. We each enter a booth. The doors close, and a low hum reverberates all around me. A display shows a bar indicating the progress of the check-up; it moves slowly, but inevitably. Soon I’ll be travelling to a different universe, to an industrial civilization and a city called London, where everything will be fine and peaceful. And George won’t be there. ‘How did you meet?’ he asks. His voice is dulled by the walls of the booths and the hum of machinery. I think about ignoring him, but sometimes memories just have a mind of their own. I smile as I think back. ‘Wardnep station. We eyed each other across the café and he bought me a Saturn Swirl.’ ‘Big fan myself.’ ‘Not me.’ A soft chuckle escapes me. ‘I made him drink it. Told him to leave. I’d just been dumped.’ ‘But he didn’t leave?’ I smile. Then I want to list all the reasons for why he turned out to be such a great human being, but the more I think about him, the more it feels like a knife is being twisted into my heart. ‘Any kids?’ he asks. ‘We tried,’ I manage after a while. ‘But it never happened. Good thing, considering.’ ‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Once we’re there, we’ll drink to our husbands.’ ‘Don’t you miss him?’ I ask angrily. ‘Sure I do. I miss him every day. And our daughter, too.’ His chuckle is barely audible. ‘Smile of a child just melts your heart, you know? Nothing like it in the whole wide universe.’ There is one of these quiet moments in which I get the sense that he might be grieving after all. ‘I’d trade places with her any day,’ he says, and I hear him exhale a big sigh. ‘But that’s not how it works. I’m here. I miss them, and I reckon that I’ll be missing them for a very long time.’ ‘Why are you so eager to move on?’ ‘Oh, I’m not,’ he says, chuckling softly. ‘I just try to make sense of it. Our husbands saw something in us, and whatever it was, they wanted it to remain unconverted for a little while longer. I know my Terry would have been overjoyed to know that I’m actually going to make it out of here. And so would your George.’ He’s right, I think. George wanted me to get away. He would be happy knowing I’d actually be able to live on. I should do my part and be happy, too. Except being happy is like trying to breathe while being encased in concrete. The check-up finishes and I exit the booth. I move toward the vast cargo bay window. Wrenix Four is half-way gone. The ravenous Swarm is a thick, black cloud, slowly billowing over the molten core of the planet. The sunlight only illuminates a thin layer of creatures; they glisten like spilled diamonds, like waves made of stars. Beautiful . Maybe I should embrace the end, instead of running from it? An alarm claxon tears the moment apart. The room is cast in red light. A moment later I see the cause for it: A part of the planet’s crust erupted right underneath us. A super volcano, flinging a thick cloud of burning rock straight at us. I rush to the consoles while Simon yells a command to the ship’s computer. The defensive grid activates and through the window I see a barrage of red lasers meet the rapidly approaching debris, evaporating everything it touches. The effort is in vain. The entire vessel is shaken by a mighty blow. ‘We received a hit to the nose!’ I reach the console and check the portal’s charging progress, trying to understand what I am seeing. Simon curses. ‘The rocks were infected. Help me isolate the systems.’ My fingers fly over the display as I shut off every system and room on the ship safe for the defense grid and cargo bay. The ship’s power core only serves to charge up the portal – our only way out. The walls begin to vibrate as the infection spreads, and rapidly growing Swarm-creatures begin to take the ship apart, piece by piece, molecule by molecule. The low bass thrumming of hull-mounted pressure guns dies away quickly. ‘I’m putting up a force field around us,’ he says. ‘Every second counts. How far are we?’ ‘Almost there,’ I say, but my throat has gone dry. My eyes are glued to the display, and the catastrophe it announces in big, red letters. Power fluctuations. The portal will be unstable. Only one of us can go through; then it will collapse. I stare at the words. Red light flashes all around me. The ship shudders and trembles as it is torn apart. I glance over my shoulder; Simon is busy gathering his remaining pressure grenades from his knapsack. I remove the message from the screen and step away from it. I listen into myself, but there is no protest against my decision. The cargo hauler shakes violently as something huge dislodges from its front section. Outside the window, I see the cockpit careen past, smoky tendrils of ravenous creatures trailing behind. The stars begin to spin as the ship starts to drift. Simon stands in front of the arc, facing the cargo bay wall behind which the Swarm is approaching implacably. He is holding two pressure grenades in either hand. He must know they won’t be of much help. Pressure weapons are meant to fight off freshly grown infections, not offshoots of an apocalypse in full swing. Still, I place myself next to him in quiet solidarity. Together we wait, witnesses to our cargo hauler’s agony. ‘What will you do on the other side?’ I ask him. ‘Same as I did the last two days. Get some food into you.’ I feel my lips curl. He is too good a person, too gentle a soul. It’s good that he will survive. It makes sense. The feeling of a smile has become so unusual. I haven’t smiled in weeks, but now, knowing that my pain is finally coming to an end, I can’t seem to stop. The Swarm is almost here. Outside the cargo bay doors the automatic defense system fires pressure waves, slowing the creatures down. ‘Take a look at this,’ he says, leaning over a console. ‘I don’t need to,’ I reply, thinking that he found out about the power fluctuations. ‘You saw it already?’ he asks. ‘My mind’s made up,’ I say, determined. ‘You’re going to survive, Simon. And I’ll stay behind.’ An incredulous laugh escapes him. ‘What are you talking about?’ ‘I’m not discussing this,’ I insist. ‘Only one of us can make it, and we both know it’s got to be you.’ ‘Are you serious?’ ‘I don’t want saving,’ I say, and the words feel like I am pulling a poisoned knife out of my heart. He shakes his head, disbelievingly. Frantically, even. In fact, there is a glint of urgency in his eyes, and I’m getting the sense that he knows something I don’t. I glance past him at the display he was checking out, and indeed, it doesn’t show the ship’s status, but our medical data. My medical data. The sound of metal tearing and shrieking reaches through the walls, but I barely notice. My eyes are stuck on a single word shown on the display. The next moment, the cargo bay wall disintegrates, revealing a mass of frantically writhing tentacles. The air leaves in one violent pull, leaving only the bubble inside our force field. The shift in pressure rips out wall coverings; they cut through the horrors as they’re dragged out into empty space. Then they spill in through the gaps, monsters of all sizes. The small ones, mere seconds old, race along surfaces. The bigger ones burn their way through walls and floor. A massive tentacle breaks through the roof and smashes clean through the cargo bay, instantly turning every bit of matter it touches into tiny horrors that quickly grow and merge and convert everything they touch. The ship’s voice sounds from the speakers one last time. The portal machine awakens, thrums, then crackles as a sparkling ball of lightning appears in its center. It rolls in place, fizzing and zapping. I look at Simon. Tears run down his face and past his smile. ‘Congratulations.’ He activates the grenades and turns to meet the swarm. Behind me, the crackling and zapping explodes into a howling storm, shining white light at the writhing nightmare before us. Simon flings himself at it. At once the air is getting sucked out as the force field breaks. The grenades explode with invisible force, pushing the horrors back, breaking and squashing their bodies and flesh. The pressure wave hits me and I am thrown into the white storm of the portal, just a moment before it collapses.

*** I am falling. Spinning. Things fly past me; a cloudy sky and a tall tower made of gold, with a big clock at the side. I see a bridge, and a giant spokes wheel thing. I notice a body of water racing toward me, and I scream as I plunge into the cold stream. A man in a fisher boat pulls me out and calls a health care service. I am bruised from the plunge, but the first thing they treat at the hospital is malnutrition. They ask about my identification, but I simply tell them I can’t remember anything. An interim accommodation is provided for me, as well as a therapist. They try to help me find a place in this new old world. It is filled with ordinary people, and a lot of ordinary problems. Money and sex and a little philosophy. They talk about shows. They water plants. They fall in love and buy stupid things. I feel like a ghost among them. None of them understand any more than the words I’m uttering. I find myself leaning on a windowsill, wondering if every universe has the same afterlife. But the thought is cut off as sudden nausea hits and I rush to the bathroom. After that, I never lean on windowsills ever again. *** The sun shines down from a brilliant sky. Through the large window in Jonathan’s office, between rooftop chimneys and sporadic canopy, I see the blue waves of the Thames gleaming in the afternoon sun. Small boats bob up and down on it. Tourists mill about on Westminster Bridge. I smile. It’s something I do quite often these days. ‘I hear Georgie is fine?’ I return my attention to Jonathan, my therapist. His round glasses sit low on the bridge of his nose. His greying hair is kempt and professional. ‘Oh yeah,’ I say. ‘He’s more than fine. We went to the beach last week, for his sixth birthday. He picked up every second stone. I swear, he would have taken the whole beach home if I hadn’t stopped him.’ ‘Sounds like a lovely day. His dysarthria?’ ‘I found a good speech therapist. It’s getting better.’ ‘He’s really precious to you, isn’t he? Every time you mention him you start to glow.’ A grin spills onto my face. ‘Oh, I love him with all my heart. My little explorer. He’s just like his father. Jonathan raises an eyebrow. ‘Whom you don’t know, because of the amnesia?’ I simply nod. I’ve learned that people in this world aren’t very suspicious. He smiles and turns the page on his notebook to get to the next item. ‘And what about you?’ It’s the one question he always asks, but never at the start of a session. ‘Quite well,’ I say, smiling. ‘I met someone, two weeks ago. Aaron. He’s five years older, but doesn’t look like it. His eyes shine like Hyde Park during summer.’ Jonathan looks surprised. ‘Progress?’ I suggest, knowing it is along the lines of what he is thinking. He nods and writes something down.

‘Still no contacts from your past life?’ I shake my head. ‘All demons and angels are far, far away.’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘Angels? I’ve never heard you use that expression before.’ I nod. ‘My guardian angels.’ ‘You were found in the Thames,’ he argues, raising an eyebrow. ‘Starved, pregnant and without any knowledge of metros or soccer. If I were you I would at least file a complaint about your winged helpers.’ ‘Still,’ I say, remembering them all with a smile. ‘They were right there. They were strong when I was weak. And they knew love. They taught me so much about love.’ ‘What did they teach you?’ It is one of those questions I probably don’t need to answer, but I decide to indulge him. I consider my answer carefully. ‘It’s like a force of nature,’ I say, ‘Like wind, or the sun. And it reaches through time and space, and from one universe to the next. And not even the devil can defeat it.’


Blackouts don't happen everyday. All of Eagle County has come to a standstill , something that even the COVID-19 couldn't pull off 17 years ago. Three hours of no electricity can never mean anything good especially in a city with no proper government , organization or sense of community. Marge and the kids have never been without the internet for even half as long as this and are already starting to feel the need. Since all the drones are down no one received their daily dose of MSH ( Mental Stability and Health ) Pills nor their weekly essentials basket. Crime in the County is pretty much the only thing that is a certainty here and no lights , cameras or the tyrant AI Guard is definitely going to make things dangerous. Marge has been struggling with PTSD ever since the Civil War around 14 years ago and goes crazy without the MSH pills unless she keeps herself occupied. The kids have that taken care of almost all the time but right now I feel its only making things worse. Screams from panic attacks across the street breaking the eerie silence sent shivers down her spine. That coupled with the kids fear of darkness is surely going to tip Marge over. Ive seen Marge at her lowest and I know how hard it is to get her out of there. Furthermore , if shes absent even for one second , the kids are toast. Before the war, me and Marge absolutely loved going down to woods and camp by the river bank. The cool water kissing our feet would bring us calm while the world turned against each other. The chirping birds and the rustling leaves would propel us into song and fill us with a feeling of glee. The kids would loose their mind every time they saw a fish or butterfly or anything that didn't run on a battery. Even though the world was falling apart around us for just a few hours everything seemed happy, joyful and all are worries would just fade away. It was a thing of beauty, although those days are long gone, me and Marge still recall those heavenly times, in this dark age, we crave for days like those. I was lost in thought thinking about those fond memories when i heard the horrifying shriek my one true love would make every time she remembered the terrible, frightful days of war. I knew what i had to do , there were no pills available to turn our back on, no way to call for help as for some reason even our phones were dead. I could clearly see the only hospital in the neighborhood was suffering from a power outrage as well. There were no cars moving although that's a rare sight anyway since everything nowadays is done on the phone. There was still nothing moving across the land, going down the apartment and leaving the safety of our safe walls is practically suicide but it was a risk i was willing to take. 84 floors below us and 200 meters away from the elevator door lay an abandoned indoor nursery dome with a few trees and couple of squirrels.It wasn't much but i knew with the right tools i could give Marge something special and bring hope back into her mind. I told Quinn to keep an eye on his mother for me and tell her to bring him down to Nursery dome when she wakes up after i gave her our last MSH pill which probably gives me around an hour to whip up some magic. The toolbox my father gave me on my 14th birthday was stashed away deep in the over the head kitchen drawer along with the candles and some other old junk. The AK 47 we were given for the war is always within a meter distance of me and the spare magazines were in the bedroom drawer. The lantern me and Marge made out of nothing but some wood , oil, a candle and our bare hands during the war stood on the bedroom side table collecting dust to remind us of the horrors of the war, to make sure we never go down that path again.Lily cant live without her retro Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle backpack which i stashed with a water bottle, pocket knife , lighter, deodorant, a useless phone and a pipe completed the list of things i needed before leaving the safety of our 4 walls. I grabbed Lily by the hand tighter than a baby holding his teddy bear put on my retro limited edition Heelys, kissed marge and Quinn goodbye and the two of us head out into the darkness alone much like me and Marge did several years ago not to fight for society or overthrow the tyranny but just save each other and those who we truly cherished. Our footsteps echoed through the pitch black corridors filled with screams into the staircases whose doors to my surprise were locked up with an antique Pin Tumbler lock , i told Lily to get a good look at the rare sight and then step back as i pulled the wrench out of my tool box. Two good hits and we were in. A quick brisk walk got us to the 60th floor within minutes without much hassle. Across the corridor lay the express ramp built for the disabled with a synthetic surface and a glass roof which would curl around the outside of our massive apartment like a constrictor around a human arm was the quickest way to reach the ground and exactly what my Heelys were made for. As we breezed through the dark sky i realized this was the 1st time in years I had stepped outside. Even though it was totally dark and I could see nothing but the ramp ahead thanks to the lantern I could still tell the difference. 20 years ago around this time the streets would be buzzing with, musicians, homemakers, employees sports persons , people from all woks of life just living together without fear, with a lot of responsibilities and uncertainties but with freedom. Today everyone's a hostile to everyone , no one even dares to think of trusting a stranger and walking out into the open with only an AK 47 along with a 9 year old daughter is practically suicide. Luckily i had a plan, and even though there were going to be some difficult hurdles to overcome , the vision I had in my mind had to become a reality. It was up to me to keep Marge in her right mind. On the ground we realized the AI Guards that are oppressive 24/7 were inactive which was great news for us as i no longer had to reason with them to let me out. Outside the marvel of a building things seemed off. There were no guards constantly establishing their authority, no crooks trying to salvage some wealth , no mysterious groups trying to make me join their cults, it was quite , a bit too quite. I covered the lantern with my shirt to avoid catching any attention and the two of us reached the Nursery without any problems and initiated my plan. I put my tool box down, handed Lily the lantern inside the dome, told her to shine it towards the trees where i started digging, not too deep, but just enough for the water flowing through the pipe that i had attached to the sprinklers to form a stream. I spread the dug out soil around the stream to make sure the water wouldn't escape and my miniature river bank was ready. Lily realized what i was creating and immediately jumped and screamed in exhilarating joy. I scrambled to her as fast i could and covered her mouth with my fingers. After hearing the child's scream everyone's eyes would've turned towards us, even though the light was well covered within the dome i didn't want to take any chances. I picked up my toolbox, Lifted Lily into my forearms , covered the lantern with my shirt again and the two of us paced away as silently as possible and stationed ourselves behind a few large bushes around 40 meters away. 10 minutes passed and no one had arrived which was a great sign but Lily then started scratching my bare chest. I brushed my hand through her brown hair and soft face. It was wet, Lily was crying but i knew there was no way she was frightened or tensed , i reached for the backpack to let her play with the turtles 3D weapons on the bag and then it hit me. I had left the bag near the sprinkler, this was the worst mistake i could have possibly made and the situation now felt terrible. Lilys sense of calm was now out the window but i was able to comfort her just enough. Even though she was crying , she wasn't making any sound. One problem was partially taken care of but another much bigger one arose. The sound of the water flowing through the pipe had stopped , someone had turned the sprinkler off, we were not alone. I grabbed a stone lying on the ground and threw it as far left from the dome as possible and hoped that that would lure the person away. A few minutes passed and Lily was pretty much piercing through my skin now, the wind got stronger and the night quieter, I couldn't tell if it was scientifically possible for things to get any quieter. I had to set the dome up for Marge no matter what , it wasn't a choice. I placed my hand on Lilys shoulders, gave her the covered lantern, looked straight into her eyes and told her to stay put and call for me if she heard anything move or saw anything flash. I grabbed the wrench from the tool box tucked it into my pants and prowled towards the sprinkler. There was no one there , no backpack either , the dome was left untouched as well , I was relieved. The crook was probably satisfied with the many utensils in the Backpack. I prowled back to Lily faster than a cheetah running after a gazelle and after seeing her play with Leonardos Katana my heart dropped. An old man stood tall right behind Lily armed with a MAC-10 shining light over my daughter. I told the man i didn't want any trouble and would give him anything he wanted if he just left us alone. My left arm was behind my back clenching the wrench ready to pounce on any given second while i begged with my right hand. The man said in a Throaty voice but wheezy tone " son , I'm on my last legs , the last thing id want to do is harm your angel, I've sinned my whole life , sometimes to survive , sometimes because of innocence. " I saw him move his arm towards Lily and my instincts kicked in , the wrench was now inches from his face but Lily was hugging my leg. This man really just handed Lily back to me and even gave her her backpack without causing us harm in anyway. I apologized immediately and quickly retracted my tool. The man then told me he would've been dead if he was in my shoes. We got everything we needed , but i still didn't trust the man. What if he was part of a group or a clan and would inform them of our vulnerability, or what if he wasn't alone and people were watching us this very moment. There was no way i was going to let him leave my sight and my brain finally kicked in. I asked him what he was doing here and about the blackout. He told me he was looking for his son who had run towards this dome. I asked him why he would bring his son out at such a dangerous time , he told me they were leaving this place for good, i asked him why they would leave as the rest of the nation is probably in a worse state , he then asked me if i had observed the awkward silence and boredom across the neighborhood , he went on telling me how all the clans and groups had all left yesterday under the radar , he continued to talk about the fishy things taking place recently and i listened keenly until Lily pulled on my trouser, she quickly moved her head to the right to tell me to look at the bush. The bush was moving and my eyes were now sternly on the man, if it was any surprise ambush or anything tricky i would blast his eyeballs out with the AK. The man said in an authoritative tone " Trevor !, come here this instant boy ! ". The man wasn't lying , it was his son. He was a little kid ,an absolute goofball but i still wasn't trusting him. I figured if i had my eyes on the two of them at all times things couldn't go south. I told him i was trying to make a camping spot and would appreciate it if he would help. He told me his name , Tyson , the two of us shook hands each with a hint of suspicion and the 4 of us got to work. With two adults working things were set pretty fast. The artificial river looked fabulous, the dome provided a great view of the night sky and its endless stars while the now trimmed grass was as cozy as a sleeping bag. The roof of the dome was fixed with a one way mirror allowing no light to leave the dome. The nuts from our apartment would kick some life into the squirrels and the kids would take care of everything else. Only one issue remained, which i had around ten minutes to solve. What to do of Tyson. Tyson hadn't done anything wrong so far and was pretty much too old to be of use to anyone. While cleaning the dome i observed Tyson and Trevor , Tyson clearly fought for the other side during the war which seemed pretty ironic , his coat was screaming his political views to the world while Trevor was probably the first kid Lily had probably ever shared her backpack with. I had made my choice , Tyson was trustable as long as he was within my sight. Marge and Quinn arrived just as i made my decision. Marge knew instantly when her eyes fell on the river bank. We walked into the dome and it felt like eternal bliss. That was until she saw Tyson. The smile was wiped clean of her face , she pulled her knife out and was about to threaten him but i stopped her. I told her to look at Lily , I hadn't seen Marge like this since the day i proposed to her 14 years ago. Eternal bliss was an understatement now , Marge hugged me tighter than Lily hugging her backpack at night and i held her feeling more than love, for the first time in a long time it felt like there was something to look forward to in life. Not just hiding in fear and salvaging of scraps but there was hope , hope for a better tomorrow. The nuts Quinn brought along really got the squirrels out of their shells and the running water really did kiss our feet just like the old days. The kids were having the time of their lives showing each other the many faces they could made. Tyson fell asleep staring into infinity and beyond while the stars continued to twinkle. Me and Marge hadn't felt this good in a very, very long time. The outside world did not matter to us, we were surrounded by each other and a few gems of life , it couldn't be all that bad. We held hands and came up with games the kids could play together, argued about who would be the smarter kid, planned a massive recycle of the old junk we have been storing in the kitchen into kids appliances, we realized something tonight. This little camping trip showed us that even though we may have lost hope in society, humanity, faith, or even in each other our kids hadn't and they like Trevor are not alone and we owe it to them to at least try and make their life better than a living hell. We fell asleep in our little dome filled with a new found optimism and desire. Sadly our profound sleep was cut short when Tyson woke us up quite hastily. We could feel the floor shake, it felt like a stampede was approaching us , but how ? so many people had left and who would dare leave their homes during this dangerous time. I put my ears to the ground and i knew instantly. I told Tyson to stop the sprinklers while i killed the lights. It was definitely an army marching towards us, Marge knew it too we had been in this situation before, 15 years ago , the lantern got us through something like this once before and it was going to assist us this time too. My stupid brain finally clicked again when i realized that this wasn't just a blackout it was actually an enemy EMP strike. But who would do this ? people of both sides live here and  and eagle county isn't really worth much either. As the vibrations grew stronger, the chants got louder, they were not speaking English , it was an enemy from overseas trying to capitalize on a broken, divided nation. If this had happened yesterday me and Marge would have let them put us out of our misery but today is a different day, a new day , a new dawn , a new beginning for we have three weapons no piece of metal could ever match Hope , Desire and Family.


FRIDAY NIGHT “Wh – why are you doing this?” Jessie’s tear-stained eyes were red, her voice hoarse and weak. Beads of perspiration popped from her forehead, dripping down onto her torn jeans. Her wrists and ankles hurt from the restraints. The more she struggled, the more pain it caused. “True. I could simply slit your throat and be done with it. But I’ve spent a lot of time studying you, Jessie. You’re destined for something much more fulfilling than a quick death,” Anna said. She opened a bottle of water, handing it to Jessie. “You – you don’t have to do this,” Jessie croaked, between dry lips. “Drink. Hydration is important for what you’re about to go through. Trust me, water is your friend right now.” Jessie shook her head, defiant. “If you’re gonna kill me, then kill me. Get it over with, you crazy bitch.” Anna gazed at Jessie and nodded. A smile crept across her face, slowly, like an ice floe slipping into Arctic waters. Anna liked defiance. Jessie reminded her of herself all those years ago. “Oh, sweetie. Don’t be in such a hurry to die. Plenty of time for that.”                                                        **************

SATURDAY MORNING Everyone has problems. Even vampires. Especially vampires. The last decade, especially, has been unsettling for me. Sure, I have enough to eat. I have a lot of leisure time, usually during the daylight hours. I read. I play a mean piano. I write in my journals, though it’s a pain in the ass to use our language and adapt it the modern American style. Make one wrong mark and you’re writing about roasting asparagus when you intended to write about draining someone of their blood. When I finally figured it out, I was astounded. My problem was a problem that humanity dealt with, and usually the privileged male of the species at that. But it made sense, sad to say. I was dealing with a mid-life crisis.                                                     **************

SATURDAY AFTERNOON “Drink!” Anna’s tone was cold steel. Jessie drank the water, more because she was thirsty than to please Anna. She also ate the duck breast with mushrooms and risotto that Anna had prepared for her. She hadn’t eaten in several hours, and recent experiences had taken a toll on her. And then it happened. Jessie handed the plate back to Anna, but purposely dropped it as Anna reached out for it. With a rage born of desperation, Jessie attacked Anna. She slammed her right fist into Anna’s jaw and wrapped the long chains that restrained her around Anna’s throat. She squeezed as hard as she could. Anna grabbed Jessie by the throat and lifted her bodily, tossing her against the wall as if she were a toy. She then picked Jessie up, again with one hand, and pinned her against the wall. Jessie’s feet were off the ground. Even in her disoriented state, Jessie knew that what Anna just did to her was impossible. “Don’t,” Anna said softly, “just don’t.” Anna lowered Jessie to the ground. Jessie sat down, drained of energy and no longer willing to fight. “Who the hell are you?” Jessie asked. Tears returned. “That’s the wrong question. You should be wondering what I am, not who I am. I’ll give you a hint. I don’t go out during the day, and I’m not a fan of garlic.” Jessie looked at Anna, her mouth open. “You’re a werewolf?” Anna stared at Jessie, shaking her head slowly. The American educational system has a lot to answer for. “Try again.” “Witch?” “How hard did you hit your head?” Jessie glared at Anna. “Well then, what are you if you aren’t a witch?” Anna sat down in a chair opposite Jessie, lighting a cigarette and offering it to Jessie. Jessie took it, drawing on it deeply. “I’m a vampire,” Anna said. The silence that followed was heavy and oppressive. Jessie let the cigarette burn to the end without drawing on it again. She had, in fact, forgotten that it was between her fingers. “No such thing,” Jessie said, breaking a silence that felt more dangerous than the woman sitting in front of her. “Says the girl that just had her ass handed to her,” Anna retorted. “I think you’re high on something,” Jessie said, turning away from Anna once more. Anna rifled through her old chef’s knives and picked one out, handing it to Jessie. Surprised, Jessie took it without thinking. “Stab me,” Anna commanded. Jessie held the knife like it was a strange new toy. She brought it up to Anna’s chest, but she hesitated to plunge it into Anna’s heart. The tip of the blade dropped away from Anna, and Jessie rested it on her lap. Anna took the knife from Jessie and held it out in front of Jessie. “Hardened steel. And very sharp.” Anna picked up a magazine and sliced cleanly through it. Jessie shuddered slightly, imagining what the knife could do to her. “Are you – are you gonna stab yourself? Or me?” Jessie’s eyes shone with a mixture of anticipation and dread. Anna laughed and shook her head. “No. Tell me, though. You like my fingernails? I had them done especially for this occasion,” Anna said, holding out her hands, palms down. Jessie glanced at Anna’s fingernails before looking away again. “Sure. Nice.” “Jessie? Look at me and pay attention.” Anna’s voice took away Jessie’s breath. She looked at Anna, despite every fiber in her soul not wanting to do so. Anna ran a fingernail across the flat part of the knife’s blade, cutting it cleanly in two. She held out the pieces for Jessie to inspect. Jessie refused to touch them, but what she saw was enough for her to believe what Anna had been telling her. Jessie put her head into her hands. The soft rattling of the chains around her wrists broke through the quietness of the basement. “Fuck me,” Jessie muttered. Anna shook her head in pity for Jessie. Americans. Always saying fuck. I blame it on red meat and bad parenting.                                                      ************** Jessie wasn’t my first choice. There was Amelia, a well-endowed paralegal from Galveston. She talked too much, though. Gushing about how she was going to be a big-shot attorney with her face plastered on billboards, drive a fancy car, get a personal chef. Blah blah blah. I had to drain her after a couple of hours of that sort of twaddle. And her boobs were superior to mine. Any time Amelia moved, it looked like she had a couple of Volkswagens in her shirt, jockeying for parking space. I might or might not have been a little jealous. Then there was Gina. Too tense and angry. And Lily. Too Canadian. Jasmine was too fond of country music and Wendy was too fond of celebrity culture. Jessie, though, is a good combination of sweetness and inner strength. I chose her for these reasons, and because she always served me strong drinks and never cut me off. I wonder if she’ll decide to put a stake through my heart for this. A vampire’s life is not an easy one.                                                     **************

SATURDAY NIGHT “I’ll make a little three-centimeter cut right about here,” Anna indicated a spot just above Jessie’s left breast, “and take about a pint, give or take. Then you’ll – “ “Three centimeters! That’s big, isn’t it?” Jessie’s high-pitched tone grated on Anna’s nerves. “It’s barely more than an inch, Jess.” “Really?” “Yes. That metric system is tricky, I know,” Anna said tersely. She vowed to teach this girl the metric system once she had been turned. “All those prefixes – “ “I understand. Now listen. I’ll take your blood. An hour or so later, you’ll want to feed. You’ll take some of my blood.” Jessie looked at Anna quizzically. “A pint?” “More or less. From my wrist.” “Why not your boob?” “Easier to suck from the wrist. You’re a newbie. Baby steps.” Jessie nodded and fell silent. Anna praised God for the cessation of Jessie’s inanities. I’m still angry with You, God. Here I am, good Catholic girl, and You saddle me with a pretty pathetic situation. Seriously? You’re better than that. Anna sliced into the top of Jessie’s breast and quickly took the needed amount of blood. A little gauze, a large bandage, and the deed was done. Jessie slumped over after a few moments, weakened by the event, though the blood loss was minimal. She didn’t understand what was happening to her. She felt extremely tired, and thirsty. Anna gave her more water, but it didn’t seem to slake her thirst. An hour later, she sucked a pint of blood from Anna’s wrist. Anna winced in pain as Jessie’s teeth sunk into her wrist. “Don’t bite! Just suck,” Anna said. She bit her words off like she would bite the head off a snake. Quick and brutal. Anna left Jessie alone for the rest of the night, taking care to leave her with plenty of water and a jar of peanut butter for protein. She’ll be a new woman tomorrow. Well, a new vampire, ready to kill me. This mid-life crisis thing is a real drag.                                                 **************

SUNDAY MORNING “I’m hungry,” Jessie said petulantly. Anna took off the restraints and went back upstairs. Her wrist still hurt from Jessie’s savagery, and she had spent a restless night thinking about the upcoming centuries. “Seriously, I’m famished,” Jessie said. She followed Anna upstairs. Anna handed her a small tumbler full of a thick, red substance. Jessie gulped it down and then held out the glass for more. Anna shook her head. “You must drain someone if you’re hungry. That’s the last meal I’m giving you.” “What?” Jessie slammed the glass on the counter, shattering it into dozens of pieces. “Damn. Shit. I’m sorry -” Jessie said, stumbling over words and tripping over thoughts. “You have amazing strength now, so you have to be careful.” Anna pointed to a broom and dustpan. Jessie grimaced. Eventually, she cleaned up the mess she had made. “Ok. A few things you need to know. Feed every month or so. Keep to a good skin regimen. Don’t want to look all splotchy and leper-like when you go out. Eat healthy food. I prefer to go vegan myself,” Anna continued. Jessie gave her a piercing stare. “You mean that you feed on vegans.” “Yes. Those dog-owning, Democrat-voting, tofu-gobbling people known as hipsters.” “So, I have to suck blood to live?” “Yes.” “And I can’t go out in sunlight?” “No.” Jessie nodded before launching herself at Anna. Anna had been expecting this. She stepped aside deftly and grabbed Jessie by the back of the neck and slammed her face into the stone fireplace. Repeatedly. This seemed to calm Jessie down. Panting, she sat down and slumped over on the kitchen counter, sobbing quietly. “The good news is that you’ll get to do this for a thousand years. Maybe longer if you take care of yourself.” The sobs increased in intensity. “What did I ever do to deserve this?” Jessie wailed. Anna stroked Jessie’s hair. “You know, that’s what I asked myself when it happened to me. All I can tell you is that there’s no rhyme nor reason for it. Man – and vampires – make plans and God laughs.” “What the hell does that mean?” Jessie said, sitting up and wiping the tears away. Anna gazed at Jessie, a look of sadness clouding her features. “It means,” Anna held out her hands, palms up, “that we don’t get to choose what happens. Oh, we think we do, but it’s all a trick. I mean, look at me. Here I am, 700 years old, and I’m afflicted with a rich white man’s disease.” “Uh – “ “Don’t worry about what I mean. We’ll have a few centuries together to discuss matters important and mundane.” “Maybe we should talk about WHAT THE HELL YOU DID TO ME!!!” Anna considered this for a moment. “Yes. We could. Or you could think about your first feeding.” “I’d rather die!” “Sweetie, I can make that happen.” Jessie looked at the fire in Anna’s eyes, noted the long, sharp, indestructible fingernails, and felt the malice that the vampire exuded. Jessie, in a fit of reason, fell silent and nodded in acquiescence. Fucking vampires , Jessie thought. So touchy .                                                   **************

SUNDAY AFTERNOON Anna spent the rest of the morning reading a little of All the Pretty Horses , playing a little Schubert on the grand piano, and working out in the gym. Jessie spent the rest of the morning going through the inevitable stages of a major life change: tears, recriminations, anger, self-pity, and acceptance. Jessie approached Anna in Anna’s bathroom. “I never had a bathroom you could land a helicopter in,” Jessie said. Anna looked up and smiled at Jessie. “You can’t land a helicopter in here, Jess. Oh! I get it. Hyperbole.” Jessie frowned and cocked her head. “Exaggeration. To make a point. Hyperbole,” Anna said. Jessie nodded. “Whatcha doin’?” Anna put down the tube she had been holding and turned to Jessie. “A good skin regimen, like I said before.” “Mmm.” Jessie picked up the tube of gel, glanced at it, and put it back down. “I’m hungry,” Jessie said. It sounded like a complaint to Anna. “Find some food, then. I have a couple of candidates for you.” Jessie shuddered. “I don’t know if I can drink blood. From a human’s neck, I mean.” Anna washed her hands and left the restroom. Jessie dutifully followed her. “If you’re hungry enough, you will. You get used to it, by the way. It gets easier as time passes.” Jessie thought about it for a moment before speaking. “Was it tough for you? The first time?” “Yes. I mangled the neck of a farm boy in Romania. Took me a few minutes to get it right, and I lost a good liter of blood trying to figure it out. Lovely blood, though. Those peasants really knew how to show a girl a good time.” “That isn’t funny.” Anna turned to Jessie, hands on hips. “You must have a sense of humor, Jessie. Life for us is long. You don’t want to go through it with a bad attitude, do you?” “Guess not. I’m still hungry.” “So you said. Don’t beat a dead horse.” “Whut?” “Never mind. Listen. There’s a rather sketchy drug dealer who lives a few blocks to the east. He’d be a good first meal.” “Doesn’t he supply you with your coke?” Anna shook her head. “No. I get mine from a guy in Windsor, Canada. He cares about quality. The one I’m talking about doesn’t. And he has a bad habit of getting teenage girls hooked, and then getting them to sell their sexual favors for money.” “A pimp.” “As you say.” Jessie thought about this. Seemed like a good choice. “And there’s that Texan who frequents your drinking establishment. Always talking about how great Texas is, and wanting to fight anyone who doesn’t agree with him.” Jessie concurred. “Yeah, he’s a dick.” “As you say.” “Maybe I can do both. You know, keep one in reserve.” Anna shook her head firmly. “They aren’t veggies that you can put away in the crisper, sweetie. One at a time, and only when you need sustenance.” “Damn, being a vampire’s tough.” Anna lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and sighed. “Don’t I know it,” Anna said.                                                         **************

SUNDAY NIGHT “Good God, Jessie. He looks like he had a close encounter with a rabid dog. You have bits of flesh between your teeth. That’s disgusting,” Anna said, tsk-tsking. Jessie had to admit that it was difficult to do everything as Anna instructed. She looked at the pool of unused blood, the shredded neck of her first effort, and the horrified look on the dead drug dealer’s face. Messy. Very messy . “I’ll do better next time,” Jessie said contritely. “You could hardly do worse.” “Constructive criticism, please,” Jessie said. She sounded hurt. Anna sighed, her shoulders slumping. Millennials. They would have never made it during the Black Death years. Anna grabbed her left arm and pulled her towards the house. “We can try again in a few weeks. Maybe you should practice a little? Plenty of dogs and cats in the area.” “What? Really?” Anna turned to Jessie and stared into her eyes. “No, not really. What do you think I am, a monster?” “Yes!” Anna and Jessie continued home. Anna helped her clean up, showing her how to clean blood from clothes and how to keep her teeth and fangs white. By midnight, both were in bed. Jessie fell asleep right away. Anna wasn’t so fortunate. What a weekend! Oh, that reminds me. I need to get that poor girl some dental floss…


“Is this seat taken?” “Huh?” “May I sit here?” “Oh, uh, sure, I guess.” “Thank you.” “Sure.” “Going somewhere?” “Um…yeah.” “I thought so. That’s a pretty big suitcase you got there. Must be a long trip.” “Yeah.” “A little young to be embarking on such a journey, aren’t you?” “I’m nine and half. I can take care of myself.” “I see. Well, it’s nice to hear the young children of the day are taking responsibility for themselves. I don’t think my grandkids are nearly as mature as you are.” “Thank you. I’m moving to Chicago.” “Ah, a wonderful city. Been there many times.” “Really?” “Yes. I travel all over the country for work. I’ve probably been to Chicago a dozen times or more. Lots of adventure there…and lots of danger as well. You may want to consider that.” “I’m not afraid of anything.” “Oh, I’m sure you’re very brave. Headstrong little boys often are. However, the world is a very big place. Lots of ways to get into trouble out on your own. Even a courageous lad like you.” “I won’t be alone once I get to Chicago. I’m looking for someone.” “Oh? Well, that’s a relief. Here I was thinking you were running away from home.” “I am.” “Mm. Had a feeling. I did that when I was about your age, you know.” “Really?” “Oh, yes! I lived on a big family farm in Virginia, but I was tired of it all. Keeping a farm going requires a lot of hard work and early mornings. I hardly had time to be a kid. I wanted adventure. So I packed my things and sneaked out in the middle of the night.” “Then what happened?” “I made it as far as the train station and realized I didn’t have any money.” “You went to a train station?” “Hey, this was close to 65 years ago. Buses didn’t go as far, and automobiles hadn't been invented yet." “Oh.” “Yes. So anyway, I couldn’t afford to get anywhere. I figured I’d just be a stowaway then. I hopped into the caboose with all the luggage and hid inside a big trunk. Once I felt the train moving, I crawled out and there was the conductor, staring right at me.” “Oh no.” “’Oh no’ is right! He pulled me up by my ears and dragged me to the back of the train. I was too stunned to even plead for mercy. The train slowed down a bit as it passed through a grassy meadow, and with one big shove, the conductor pushed me off the back of the train!” “What?!?! He kicked you off the train?” “He sure did!” I went tumbling on the ground for a while. It made me very dizzy. Once I got my bearings again, I looked for my suitcase. It had broken apart, so I had to gather everything and tie it into a makeshift bundle. I didn’t know where I was, I had a nasty bump on my head, and had no idea where to go.” “Did you give up and go home?” “Heavens, no! In the 12 hours since I had left home, I had found the excitement and adventure I wanted, and I wasn’t going to give that up for anything. I just started walking.” “Where were you going” “In the direction the train had gone. I figured there must be something that way, or else a train full of people wouldn’t be going there. So, I kept walking and walking. When it got dark, I slept underneath a tree. And in the morning, I started walking again. I never saw anyone, not even another train. I was all alone. I was tired and hungry. And lost. I didn’t really know where I was going.” “Did you find someone?” “No, not exactly. Someone found me. A group of boys about 10 years older than me. They took care of me and in turn I helped them.” “What did you help them do?” “Rob houses.” “But, but that’s wrong!” “Yes, it is. But I did it anyway because it was exciting. And because those boys became my family. People will do anything for family, you know.” “Yeah, I know. Did…did you ever go back home?” “Yes, when I was 26 years old.” “You were gone for that long?” “I was. I was too ashamed to go home after I had run away. I had become a thief, a bad person. I didn’t think my family would want me back after that. But guess what? They did.” “They did?” “Absolutely. When I walked up to the farm for the first time again, my baby sister was sitting on the front porch, though now she had a baby of her own in her arms. She came rushing to me and gave me such a big hug I thought I was going to suffocate right then and there.” “My family wouldn’t do that. I don’t have a sister. I don’t even have a papa. That’s why I’m leaving.” “I see, so you’re looking for someone else in Chicago to be your family?” “No, I’m looking for my real family in Chicago. My papa lives there. My mama told me a long time ago that he was a baseball player there. I just need to get there and find him. If I buy a ticket to a game, I know he’ll see me.” "How can you be sure?" “He’s my father! He must recognize me! And I have to find him! He’s the only one who—” “The only one who, what?” “He’s the only one who’s left to take care of me.” “I thought you said you could take care of yourself.” “Well, yes, but I don’t want to. I’ve never seen my papa. Mama says he went away to play baseball so he could take care of us. But we couldn't go with him. So we stayed home. But now Mama is gone. So I have to find my papa! I don't want to be left alone.” “Oh dear. And I was trying to convince you to go right back home.” “Huh?” “I told you that story, I wanted you to see that running away was foolish. But now I see you really don’t have a choice.” “I just want to find my papa.” “Hmm. What’s your papa’s name?” “John Henry Lloyd.” “Wait, what did you say?” “John Henry Lloyd. Do you know him?!?!?” “Oh, sorry, no. But I follow the Negro baseball leagues with a passion. One of those boys I used to run with grew up to be a pretty good first baseman.” “Then you could help me find him! If you know who all the players are, you can ask them about my papa!” “Now, hold on just a minute. It’s a long way from here to Chicago. And I don’t travel anymore. I like Atlanta. It’s my new home. And I have no intention of leaving home again.” “Alright, I’ll tell you what. When this bus gets here, I’ll take you to where I live. You can stay with me and I’ll find your papa.” “You will? How? I told you, he’s in Chicago.” “Yes, I will. I’ll send a telegram, a few letters to some team managers I know. Once I know where he is, I’ll send word that you’re here. And then we’ll see what happens. Does that suit you?” “More than anything in the world. Thank you, Sir.” “You’re welcome. And I can promise you, I won’t rest until we find your papa.” “Really? Thank you. When we find my papa, I’m gonna tell him all about you, about how you helped me find him. What’s your name?” “Henry Walker Lloyd. Your papa is my son.”


Vijay pulled his car to the pavement with a grumble. The noise and chaos in the market overwhelmed him. Cars honking, carts rattling on the uneven mud pavement, motorbikes revving with fumes, and people’s loud voices filling the air. The narrow streets were packed with vendors selling their harvest. Buyers weaved their way, examining fruits and vegetables and looking for bargains. The smell of wet mud and the soil from the roots of vegetables filled the air contrasting with the sweet fragrance of fresh flowers and the aroma of ripe fruit, creating a potent blend that pricked his nose. His chin twisted with a frown as he grumbled with disdain at the idea of buying flowers. "I don't understand why people bother spending their hard-earned money on flowers," he muttered. "It's a complete waste if you ask me. Flowers belong in nature, on plants and trees where they're meant to be. That's where they're born. That’s where they blossom and mature. Why pluck them and bring them indoors to wilt and die? It's senseless," he wiped the sweat on his forehead and looked away from Rani, his wife, daring anyone to disagree with him. “Well, you don’t know how to admire beauty,” Rani retorted. “Flowers are a gift to humanity. They symbolise beauty, grace, and purity. Their vibrant colours and fragrances transpose you to another world,” she snapped back and got out of the car to the flower stall vendor, who was busy screaming his bargains. He could see her admiring those flowers. She picked a pink rose with soft petals, savouring its fragrance and texture, and turned around with a twinkle in her eyes. Oh, she is doing that to annoy me. He turned away as if something more important caught his attention. Driving home, he gripped the steering wheel tight and manoeuvred the traffic recklessly. His heart was beating at a high pace. He was agitated. He didn’t know why. Was it the noise and chaos of the market or the flowers? He wondered. Later at home, he stared at the package lying lazily on his desk. It was from his parent company in Japan. Every year they give a gift to all their employees. He doesn’t care much about them. He ripped it open and saw a calendar inside. He was curious to see the images. The first one intrigued him. It’s so beautiful, he exclaimed. He brought it under the daylight and looked closer. The pastel pink flowers with small petals against the blue sky looked stunning. He was mesmerised by its beauty. He flipped to the next page, and the photograph had zoomed into the flowers, unveiling intricate details of a deep pink base and thin filaments holding precious saffron-coloured pollen ever so delicately in a tight bulb. He moved to another page and was more astonished at the velvety carpet spread on a hill covered in pink. That is a beauty, he marvelled. He read the one-liner note underneath about the significance of Sakura and Cherry Blossom for the Japanese people. He gazed at the images, lost in thought. He realised how these small delicate flowers could emanate so much beauty, purity, and new life, entwined into spiritual life and celebration for humanity. These flowers have the magical powers to bring a smile and uplift a wilting soul. As his lips stretched wide with a sense of bliss, he couldn’t help but think about how we use and abuse flowers. We pull each one ruthlessly from the stem and tie them into a knot like a bunch of criminals punished for being beautiful and weave them into a garland. And we garland idols and politicians with these. Women use flowers on their hair to enhance their appeal beyond. Flowers are used in functions to show the surrounding freshness and vibrancy of colours to distract. As his concerns for flowers were battling in his mind, he turned around and looked at the flowers his wife had bought. The bouquet was leaning against the wall of the vase. Rani hurriedly ensured it was in the vase with water before she rushed out. He took the bunch out of the vase and stared blankly at them. A deep sigh came out of his lips as he shook his head. He couldn’t bear to see them held tight by a rubber band. He felt they were throttled in a cage with a tight noose suffocating them. He sprang into action and quickly loosened the noose by snapping the rubber band. His mind drifted to the realities of the world. He thought of all the people trapped in misery and looking for freedom. If he had the power, he would do everything to free them. His eyes gazed back to the bouquet. The stems had just come out of a noose. He had the power to do something about this. He took a rose stem and brought it close to his face. The sweet fragrance flooded his nose. He closed his eyes and savoured the moment. His lips extended wide into a smile with an air of pity. He whispered, “As I free you from this noose, I am thinking of all people trapped in human misery, poverty, and senseless wars, and with the power I have, I am freeing you from that.” He then trimmed and tidied the stem and placed it in the vase. He did the same ritual for all the others, thinking of all enslaved people because of human greed. He would then set each one free. Though symbolic, it gave him a deep sense of satisfaction. He trimmed them all to perfect symmetry and positioned them into the vase. Each flower stood high and found a unique place in the arrangement. As he continued doing this, he whispered softly to them, “You and I have a limited life in this world, like the Sakura. This is your freedom. You have been brought here for a purpose, to emanate your unique beauty. I am still searching for mine.” With a gentle touch, he carefully placed the last stem. He leaned back to admire his work and felt goosebumps. A sense of satisfaction adorned his face. He carefully placed the vase on the coffee table as a centrepiece. It was prominently visible to anyone who entered through the front door. More importantly, he wanted Rani to notice it when she returned.


“You wanna do something fun?” she says and throws her hands up in a question. If absolutely anyone else was asking, I’d fire off an excuse to not have fun. Like, I need to study or I have to go home and organize my book shelves, or my hamster, Albert, is very lonely, he won’t know what to do if I’m not there. I start to offer one of the usual responses, the words pushing against my teeth, when she yanks me up by my wrists and starts dragging me toward her car, a beat-up old thing, faded yellow, cracking and in disrepair. Of course, she somehow makes driving it look cool. She throws her head back and cackles, turning her face up toward the sun and drinking in its rays. She is an actual ray of sunshine, but she scares the shit out of me. Looks like I have no choice in the matter, but today, it seems like a small part of me wants to go, to be wherever she is. I don’t even know if she knows yet where she wants to be, but she wants me with her and I’m really bad at saying no. As soon as I buckle my seatbelt, my hand goes straight to my mouth, front teeth chewing maniacally on the jagged cuticle of my thumb. She has already lit a cigarette, rolled down the window, cranked up the radio, and lurched out of the parking spot, not checking a single mirror in preparation for takeoff. I go straight for my inhaler and puff in until I can feel my lungs relax and my heartbeat taper off. I put it back into my battered old Jansport and try to act casual, if casual means gripping the bottom of my seat with one hand and pushing against the glovebox with the other. The wind is blowing her hair all around, whipping it into her eyes and dangerously close to the cherry of her cigarette. The persistent worry about something catching on fire makes my stomach seize up, but there seems to be nothing of the sort from her perspective. She flicks the ash, uses the other hand to clumsily shift gears, then uses that same hand to point at me and back at the road and then back at me while singing along word for word with some song blasting through the speakers. As she drives, she lets the feeling or the music or the pleasurable weather pull her along, undeterred, to our destination. Now it seems like she already knows where she’s going. I busy myself by looking out the window, pleadingly, studying the road signs and the mile markers, trying to memorize the landmarks. She reaches out and gives my shoulder a quick squeeze. It is the only gesture that connects us; the rest of the time, she’s lost in her own jubilation, completely free and unencumbered. It’s like I’m not even here. But I am here and my throat is dry and my hands are now a pasty white, the blood having leaked out of them while holding on for dear life. She smiles and turns her attention back to the road, downshifting, then punches the button to surf the stations. I’m trying desperately to regulate myself. I close my eyes, but immediately feel a jolt of carsickness. I rip them back open, take in some jagged breaths, and start to smooth my pant legs down in a slow, repetitive fashion. The self-soothing starts to work a little. I even half-heartedly try to sing along with her for a few bars. I am almost afraid to ask, but I do anyway. “So where are we going?” “Oh, you’ll see. You’ll love it, I swear! Ugh. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before. It’s gonna be killer, Elliot!” I can’t focus anymore. She said kill out loud. We’re doomed. Doesn’t she know you can’t temp fate? I let out a concerned sigh, shoot my eyes upward in some sort of prayer, and then swallow hard. I look out the window again. The leaves are changing color as we drive, garnet, then rust, then mustard and back again. The trees bend into us, shaking off their vibrance, ushering in the new season. Fall is my favorite, not too hot, not too cold, just right. I can count on the weather to find a happy medium, while my own amped-up body struggles, swinging from one extreme to the other. The song ends and the DJ’s voice reaches out, weaving through a countdown of some sort. His voice is muffled to me now, as I sneak a glance over at her, lowering my eyes straight down to her waist, then clumsily landing on her upper thigh. Her plaid skirt is pinned together with what looks like an oversized gold safety pin, but a flap of it is being tossed around in the wind, revealing a half-hidden birthmark. I feel a shock and look away. She hasn’t noticed me looking, and I’m relieved. I see her every day in every class, in the hallways, in the lunch room, watch her walk to her car after school and what do I do? I pine. What a scared little boy, I am . But also, in my defense, she’s never given me any hint of acknowledgement, and there’s never been the right time to talk to her, to try to talk to her. And now I’m riding in her car, a car that I’m suddenly realizing smells of stale smoke swirled together in a sickly mixture with Victoria’s Secret pear body spray. It’s almost vomit inducing but still manages to get me a little excited. I’m disgusted with myself, but still don’t tell her to pull over. To please let me out. No, I’m just white knuckling it and hoping wherever she’s going is safe. Normally, I will make a U turn at the first sign of impending danger. But I’ve never had the opportunity to choose the unknown and really lean into it like I’m trying to right now. “Elliot? Elliot!!” she says. I look over at her and all the words catch in my throat. So I just continue to stare at her like an idiot. “Elliot, hello? Can you guess yet?” she says. “Can you guess the surprise? “Uh, well. Let me roll down my window and see if any smells can give me a clue,” I say. She gives me a little sympathetic laugh. I turn to the window and sniff upward like a dog. “Uh yeah. I got nothing, except maybe a hint of diesel fuel,” I say and then immediately regret any attempt at humor. She continues to drive carelessly, from my vantage point, almost recklessly, but I keep holding out hope that we’ll get there unscathed. And also, this place better be epic. Or maybe not epic, but good enough to inspire her to at least look at me. Maybe talk to me. There are so many things I want to ask her but I’m usually pretty terrible at small talk. There must be something we have in common. I sit on my hands in an effort to warm them up and also keep them out of my mouth. “So, um. Are you going to the football game tomorrow?” Where did that come from? I don’t even like football . “Oh God no! I hate sports,” she says. See, there’s one thing. We both hate sports. “Oh yeah, totally. Me too. I just ask because my neighbor, Darren, is on the team.” Elliot, seriously? Darren! Ugh, I’ve already tanked this conversation before it can get started. Just be quiet, Elliot. Just shut up. So I listen to myself for once and stare straight ahead. I can see now that we’re the only ones on this winding road flanked by mountains, a kaleidoscope of foliage. We are careening forward, but I’m still able to use a sliver of my brain to enjoy the scenery. It is breathtaking, but in the good, non-panic attack way. I feel the car slowing down as she abruptly pulls off onto the shoulder. I worry it’s not parked far enough away from the road, pictures flashing in my mind of this little yellow wagon getting sideswiped by an oncoming car, flinging us into the dirt, injuries unknown. Elliot, just breathe, man. Just breathe. I throw open my door and grab my backpack. I still have absolutely no idea where we are. It just looks like somewhere you’d pull over to change a tire. I can’t see anything beyond the rows and rows of trees, lined up like soldiers in perfect formation. I notice she has a canvas tote bag slung over one shoulder. She’s already walking ahead of me into the woods, not turning back once to see if I’m following. I’m certainly following though. The trail is virtually silent save for a few birds chirping and the crunching of leaves under our feet. She turns back and motions for me to hurry and catch up, so I attempt a brisk jog, tripping over a root in the process, but somehow stabilizing myself. I hear her faintly chuckle, but I don’t really mind. The pine needle smell and the gentle breeze has righted me, and I catch myself smiling. We continue on in what seems like one endless hike until the clumped trees suddenly part and the sun surprises us with heat. “Oh wow!” I say. “Right? It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she says. “Yes, it’s like a little piece of heaven,” I say and stop a few feet from the edge. She moves closer, so close that I start to get nervous again. “Elliot, come over here. You’ve got to see this,” she says. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a heavy pair of black binoculars. “Are you a bird watcher?” I ask. “Actually no, but that might be a cool hobby,” she says. She reaches out for my hand and places the binoculars inside. She points ahead, across the wide expanse. “Just look over there.” I peer through the lenses and a house, set precariously on a cliff like stilts, appears. It looks like it’s been dropped down from another planet. It’s also enormous. You could probably fit three of my townhouses inside of it. I’m trying to place its style, but it’s really like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Its roof branches off into three separate cones that look like they’re wrapped in copper. Purple iron fencing encloses wraparound patios on every level. It almost looks like a child’s crayon drawing come to life. I open my mouth and adjust the focus, zooming in a little more. “What?!?” I say, surprised, and hand the binoculars back to her. “A freaking pool, Elliot! Can you believe it? When’s the last time you saw an inground pool? In the middle of the woods!” she says, laughing at the idea. “How’d you even know that’s what I was looking at?” I ask her. “Just a hunch,” she says and suddenly gets timid, shifting her eyes away from me and back across to the cliff. The realization barrels over me, leaving me shaking my head. She wants to talk to me . She’s talking to me ! I clear my throat. “So how many times have you been here?” I ask. “Oh, a few,” she says. I get the feeling she wants to unload some factoids on me. “Continue,” I say, stroking my two or three chin hairs, pretending to be a wise old man. She laughs and lowers herself to the ground, folding her legs into a pretzel. She pats the dirt beside her and I sit down too. “Ok, so that monstrosity over there is the Sunny Gorge Home, built sometime around 1970. Very Brady Bunch on acid kind of vibes,” she says and I notice a shimmer in her eyes I hadn’t seen before. Maybe because I’d never actually been face to face with her. “Hey, take these again,” she says and untangles the binoculars from around her neck, passing them over to me. “If you look on the second level, you can really enjoy all of that shag carpeting. It’s red! Red shag carpet, are you kidding me? I can’t even imagine the parties they throw at that house. Guess nobody would know if you got wasted and spilled your wine all over it, right?” she says. I nod and smile, imagining myself at a party there, at a party anywhere. My stomach drops a little. I pan around the first floor and stop at the fireplace. Even with all that space, I can tell it’s the centerpiece, the focal point. Its exterior is covered in chunky squares of blond wood, a repeating basketweave pattern, all the way up to the ceiling. I stare at it like it’s hung in an art gallery, trying not to think of the possibility that an ember might land on the wood, a spark that could grow and destroy the whole building, pulling it down the side of the mountain in a fiery ball. Then I realize she’s still talking about the house. “Are you into architecture, Elliot?” she asks. “Because this house is inspired by the designs of Frank Lloyd Wright.” “That’s cool,” I say. Guess I’ll need to figure out who ole FLW is now. “So did you see how random those rooves are? Why so many and why cone-shaped?” she asks. “Yeah, I saw those…they remind me of those little paper party hats,” I say. She smirks and shakes her head in agreement. We sit in a comfortable silence and stare off across the canyon. She puts her hand on top of mine. “Thanks for coming with me, Elliot. It’s nice to have a friend to share it with,” she says. “Uh yeah, sure. It’s a really cool place, it calms me down actually, which is hard to do even though I am very medicated,” I say. “Yeah, it’s probably my favorite place right now. I keep coming here and finding more things I’ve missed…or appreciating the things I’ve seen before, like in a new light, you know?” she says. “Yep,” I say. I notice that the leaves are all facing upward now, forming themselves into little bowls. I get nervous it’s going to rain, and neither of us have umbrellas. “So, Mr. Hamilton told me everything I’ve told you. He’s ancient, as you know, and he’s lived here his whole life. I can’t find any listings for the house or any articles about it or anything though, which is weird,” she says. “I’ve literally only seen it from my binoculars. I just need to figure out how to access it from the other side and then we’ll be in! Oh also, I have to figure out when those people go on vacation. I have got to get inside and check it out up close. You down?” Shit .