《How will the Zenith Rise》


 1. From the New World

    The zipper on Teri¡¯s bag is open. It bends downwards, the pocket splaying out, like it¡¯s trying to grab a breath of fresh air. Zippers remind me of blood. One time a long time ago, I pinched my finger in my coat. A layer of skin ripped out from its place on my hand when I instinctively yanked it out. I tried my best to conceal my tears, but Teri quickly noticed and took care of my bleeding.


    Zippers remind me of blood, and blood reminds me of her.


    Above the thick mud that covers the mountain, I follow the skirt that flutters ahead. Winter¡¯s snow has only just left, and the days feel like they¡¯re getting longer with each one that passes. Stagnant air and a thin fog are all that¡¯s keeping me from bursting out of my restlessness. The great trees that weave through our path have it hard. Forced to stand out in the cold, but even so, at no time do they lose their colour.


    As the setting orange glow of the dissipating sunlight sinks away, every step we take keeps it there for just as long. I can see the fog becoming ever thinner as we approach our destination. Teri in front of me, and Lio not far behind, the three of us have trudged uphill through mud and stone for yet another day. Teri comes to a stop and stretches back, reaching her hand towards the evening sky. I drag myself beside her before falling to my knees, and then on my side. The lopsided landscape is covered in a sheet of shadowy green as far as the eye can see. It seems it only takes one blink and the sun disappears into darkness as well.


    I¡¯ve always had the habit of staring off into the distance, far into the deep blue sky or the vast white clouds. The stars of the night contained the answers. Only in their refuge could I ever think to myself and wonder what lies beyond. Laying on the ground, in the thick mountain forests, the world is drowned in the sea of a million lights, each one reaching out to me, calling my name.


    ¡°Klaus.¡±


    I feel a nudge on my shoulder, knocking me out of my trance. Teri leans over me staring directly into my eyes, her left side illuminated by the flickering campfire, and her right by the blurred starlight. Her body traces a figure into the glowing sky, head tilted slightly. A lurking expectancy hides beneath her gaze. She did always know how to get me to talk. Teri once told me that if I observe anyone for long enough, I¡¯ll eventually figure out everything there is to know about that person. I would be able to predict their thoughts before they even knew them. I¡¯m not sure how long that would have to be. I¡¯ve known Teri for almost my entire life, so perhaps that long? Maybe if I start to pay attention now, I could understand her.


    ¡°You could have at least helped.¡± Teri continues after a short stare.


    ¡°Sorry what was that again? I dozed off.¡±


    ¡°I noticed that.¡± She says.


    ¡°If you noticed, then why talk like I know what you¡¯re talking about?¡±


    Teri takes a moment to think, or rather she purposefully pauses. She already knows what she is going to say¨C she already knew what I was going to say.


    ¡°Because I know that you know what I¡¯m talking about.¡± She says.


    She isn¡¯t wrong; I¡¯ve never been good at hiding my thoughts, especially not from her.


    ¡°I was having a really nice dream.¡± I say.


    Teri looks mildly surprised for an instant, but quickly switches to her regular comforting and understanding smile. The smile that says she¡¯s got me all figured out.


    ¡°Something tells me that¡¯s not all there is to it.¡±


    She speaks softly, but I can feel the weight in her voice. Teri lets herself fall to the ground and sits up cross-legged next to me, with her neck tilted back ever so slightly, staring into the wisps of the night. I look over at her for just a moment, then return my gaze to the sky.


    ¡°Do you remember the first time we came here?¡± She asks.


    ¡°Of course I do. Three years ago. Before,"


    ¡°So that¡¯s what it is. You can¡¯t stop thinking about him, can you? I¡¯m sure you haven¡¯t noticed, but you¡¯ve changed quite a bit ever since Ciel left.¡± She says.


    ¡°Really? I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve changed at all.¡±


    ¡°A year ago, you wouldn¡¯t have even thought about lying. Now you¡¯ve become so familiar with telling half truths that you don¡¯t even notice when you do. You¡¯re so distant nowadays, like you¡¯re isolating yourself.¡±


    Perhaps she is right. Merely half the truth is no better than a lie. A long time ago, I was getting a glass of water for Ciel, but I tripped and spilled it all over the book that Lio used to keep all her flowers in. I had never made her cry before that incident, but I knew that it would be the first. Ciel helped me clean the mess and told me to blame it all of him. And so, I did. That was the first time I told a lie. The first and only time.


    ¡°I know I could never replace him, but if you ever need someone to talk to, I¡¯m always available.¡± Teri says.


    There¡¯s a strangely troubling expression in Teri¡¯s eyes as she says his name. Never had I seen something like that in her before. A void that cannot be sated. How long has it been there? I return to my own abyss, to the call of the wind, and the voice of the stars. But the allure of another lonely soul draws me back in.


    ¡°Say, Teri-, Theresa. Do you think it¡¯s ever justified for someone to lie?¡±


    ¡°What makes you say that?¡± She asks.


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing really. I just remembered something that Ciel once told me.¡±


    ¡°Well, the way I see it, if it¡¯s for the benefit of someone else, then maybe. But eventually, it¡¯ll come back to bite them in the back, like bad karma I guess.¡±


    ¡°So then it can¡¯t be done?¡±


    I am given no immediate response. Only a slight tilt of Teri¡¯s head and a thoughtful smile. It always bothered me that she could effortlessly keep her thoughts hidden from me; never could I figure out what she was thinking. In the past, I told myself it was because I wasn¡¯t looking hard enough. But if that were the case, I¡¯m not sure how hard ''hard enough'' is.


    Teri swings her sight back to the sky.


    ¡°Innocence can be a powerful ally, and a lie can either grant it, or take it away.¡±


    ¡°What is that supposed to mean?¡± I ask.


    ¡°It means I don¡¯t know the answer to your question.¡±


    I stutter over my creeping discomfort. Teri always knew the answers. She is the starlight of the night sky.


    ¡°Does being innocent make someone right?¡± I ask yet another question, only to receive the same elusive smile.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll find the answers to your questions someday. But until then, this conversation stays between the two us alright?¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡± I respond. Her voice conveys an oddly urgent tone, and the reason for it hides from my grasp.


    ¡°I need you to promise me.¡±


    ¡°I promise.¡±


    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s both get some sleep. We¡¯ve got another day of walking ahead of us.¡±


    Teri hops up onto her feet and softly steps towards the dancing flame. She traces a crimson aura into the fire. I shut my eyes and all I see is red. It slowly fades to darkness with the dying of the crackling flames, but the colour remains. And in it, I see how the old world burned.


    ----------------------------------


    Five winters, that is all I can recall living through. Anything before that is nothing but a blank haziness. Like the white dust that the season brings.


    The winter of five years ago was the first time I left the Conservatory. I followed behind Teri and Ciel, placing each of my steps in the flattened layers of snow that he left in his wake. And in the other set of footsteps, Lio bounced along behind me, leaping on every pace. She eventually tripped over her short legs and fell face first into the snow. I thought she would cry, but she didn¡¯t. It was only when I turned around to help her up that I thought to look back at the Conservatory. The home that I¡¯d once thought to be so large, now dwarfed by the dark silhouettes of the distant mountains, and the vast blanket of white. It was at that moment that I first felt I was truly free.


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    We awake at the crack of dawn and pack our bags. The daylight hours are short at this time of year. We make haste and are on our feet before the morning sun has fully emerged from the horizon. Usually when we head out adventuring, there is no goal; just aimless exploration. This is the first time it isn¡¯t.


    Teri treads ahead faster than normal. Her focus is directed forward, and she doesn¡¯t say a word. Instead, she constantly glances from left to right, and back again. It¡¯s such a strange sight, seeing her on edge.


    Teri has always been a very attentive person. She¡¯s so unbelievably aware of her surroundings it¡¯s almost scary. One time, when the four of us were out camping, she suggested we turn back and head home, even though we had originally planned to stay out for six more days. I didn¡¯t understand the reason for it initially, but Teri¡¯s suggestions have always had an underlying urgency beneath them. The day after we returned, a severe snowstorm emerged, and the Conservatory was snowed in for the three days that it remained. It took another two days for the exits to be unblocked, with everyone¡¯s best efforts. And just days prior, we were wearing T-shirts and sunglasses.


    I decide to break the silence and give Teri some words of assurance.


    ¡°You know, you don¡¯t have to look so hard. I don¡¯t think we¡¯ll miss it. I mean it kind of sticks out like a sore thumb. Literally.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, I don¡¯t mean to make you feel uneasy.¡± She says.


    Her voice is calming, and instead gives me the reassurance I was looking to provide.


    ¡°It might still be a while away, so try not to stress yourself out.¡± I say.


    ¡°Perhaps, but we have been walking for a long time.¡± She suggests as she continues heading forward. Her white skirt dances above the field of silver petals. They fly off as their stems rustle and are picked up by a low breeze. I¡¯ve read that this plant was not actually a flower, rather a weed. A kind of flower that denies the lives of others in order to thrive.


    I turn to look behind me. Lio has stopped a fair distance back, squatting in the vast turf of spring snow. Her gentle breath sending their seeds back up into the sky. Teri sighs, then passes by me as she strides back on the path we just walked. I follow closely behind her.


    Teri pulls her skirt against her shins before kneeling beside our friend. But Lio is the first to speak.


    ¡°Do you remember?¡± She asks Teri, her tone and intent pure as always. ¡°When we came here three years ago, I picked up all the dandelions along the way, and on the way back, I gave their petals back to the wind. Seeing them having grown back into so many more makes me happy.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re pretty aren¡¯t they?¡±


    Teri tilts her head and smiles. Lio nods joyously in return.


    ¡°I remember you collected an entire basket full of these. I also remember that the petals began to fly off on their own, which is why you decided to let them all go.¡± Teri says.


    A surprised expression appears on Lio¡¯s face for just a moment, but is quickly replaced by her usual innocent smile.


    ¡°You know,¡± Teri says, ¡°You and these flowers have quite a lot in common. Pretty, and always drifting off.¡±


    The two share a grin, and I think I do as well.


    ¡°Let¡¯s try to stick together okay? We don¡¯t want you to get lost out here. Also, I have a feeling that we¡¯re almost there.¡±


    And, sure enough, after not even another half hour, we arrived at our destination. The sun shines high, a cloudless blue sky. It illuminates our eerie and unnatural rediscovery; a tall rusted pipe emerging from the ground. The end reaches too tall to look inside. I tap on its thick outer layer. It makes no sound, no movements. Teri unravels the shovel tied to her bag. The structure looked just as it had when we first found it. And three years later, the time has finally come for it to reveal what it is hiding.


    ----------------------------------


    Why? Why is the sky blue? Why do the stars shine? Why does Teri tell me to keep things secret?


    ¡°Why?¡± is the question I¡¯ve never found an answer to.


    Early during the winter of three years ago, we left the Conservatory on another camping trip. We headed to the Northern mountains to see the glowing sky. With thick boots on our feet and large coats to keep warm, the four of us marched over thin premature snow. The first four days, a brewing storm blotted out the sky. After it blew its course, the night became visible again and along with it, the sky¡¯s glow. That night, we stayed up late. Laying in the newly fallen snow, with nothing but the pitch-black forests, the dim heavens, and each other¡¯s company. We fell asleep laughing. Me, Teri, Lio. And Ciel.


    Teri found the old pipe on the day that followed. A dome of snow balanced on its end. Under the frozen outer layer of ice was a surface covered entirely with moss. It looked just like a dying tree. If it weren¡¯t for Teri¡¯s keen eye, the rest of us would have walked right by. Ciel made a fire to melt the ice, and the rest of us stripped it of its mold. We tried pulling it, pushing it, but it wouldn¡¯t move an inch. In the end, we headed back home with a vow to one day return, and a promise to keep our discovery a secret.


    ----------------------------------


    My shovel digs deep into the rocky soil. The recently melted winter makes the job easier, but my back still feels the strain. I push the spade in the ground and stomp on it once. Then I pull the unturned earth up and over my shoulder. On top of the remainder of todays daylight we only have one more day before we must head home if we want to make it back in time. Every minute is valuable. I count every dig I made between the three of us. But after I reach three hundred forty-seven, we have unveiled nothing but more pipe. With a hole deeper than my height and the sun beginning to set, we decide to call it a day.


    In my dreams, I¡¯m still digging at the ground. I count into the thousands. I can hear my shovel being jammed into the dirt.


    When the new day rises, Teri and Lio are already gone. I find them hard at work in our ditch. In its center lies the pipe, but connected to it, something that wasn¡¯t there the day before. It¡¯s a large metal box, dirtied in every shade of brown, and so is Teri¡¯s skirt. A round hatch on the side of the object remains half buried, and the two are poking hard into the dirt to uncover it. I grab my shovel and slide down into the trench.


    ¡°Looks like you two have done quite a bit without me.¡± Both Teri and Lio are so deeply focused in their work that I manage to surprise them.


    ¡°Look at what we found!¡± Lio responds excitedly. ¡°What do you think it is?¡±


    ¡°Hard to tell, I¡¯ve never seen anything like it.¡±


    I get a closer look at the hatch. There seems to be what I think is a sort of locking mechanism on its highest point. However, the metal has long since broken down and it shouldn¡¯t provide much of any resistance. Since this hatch had a lock, it likely also has a hinge, presumably on the opposite side. It doesn¡¯t take long for the three of us to unearth it. As soon as we do, Teri asks Lio to find some water.


    ¡°Lio,¡± Teri says. ¡°could you run around and try and find some snow or ice? I¡¯d like to wash off this lock to make it easier to open.¡±


    ¡°Of course!¡± She happily replies.


    ¡°Come right back if you can¡¯t find anything.¡±


    Lio quickly scales the steep slope of the ditch and disappears. It looks like she has so much energy to burn. She¡¯s probably been worn out by all the digging. Looking for water might prove to be even more tedious for her though, winter was recent, but it¡¯s been long enough for all the snow to have melted. I¡¯m sure Teri is aware of this as well, so why would she still ask her to go look? Not only that, the lock is brittle. We don¡¯t need to clean it. It will most likely break if we try to open it anyways.


    ¡°She¡¯s not going to find anything out there.¡± I tell her.


    ¡°I know.¡± She says.


    ¡°Should I tell her to come back?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Why not? The lock looks weak enough to break with our bare hands.¡±


    I am given no immediate response. Everything Teri does has a reason behind it. That is how it¡¯s always been. But every once in a while, her logic isn¡¯t very obvious. I know the reason is there, but I¡¯m not sure if this is one of the times that she will tell me what it is; so my heart jumps when she speaks.


    ¡°I have a feeling I already know what we will find inside this thing. And it¡¯s something I don¡¯t want her to see.¡±


    I gulp down a lump in my throat.


    ¡°What is it?¡± I ask.


    Teri looks directly at me. But she doesn¡¯t meet my gaze, instead staring straight through. She forces her frown into a feeble, barely recognizable smile, if only for just a moment.


    ¡°Plug your nose.¡±


    I follow her advice.


    Bending over, she picks up a rock the size of her hand and smashes the lock apart. The shattered metal falls to the ground and vanishes into the dirt. Teri pulls down on the hatch and it swings to the floor with little resistance.


    It is dark inside the box. The trees and the clouds fade out the sunlight. All I can make out is a cramped space, outlined by the where the edge of shadow meets the darkness. The metal is much thicker than its rusted exterior would have it seem.


    ¡°I can¡¯t see anything.¡±


    Instinctively, I take my fingers off my nose to speak. And immediately, my sense of smell is completely overwhelmed. My hand slams itself back over my nose and mouth. I fall to my knees.


    ¡°What is that smell?¡± I exclaim.


    ¡°Take a look for yourself.¡± Teri replies, her voice obscured by her hand, which has not left her nose since she opened the hatch. She flicks on a flashlight and points it inside.


    I almost let out what I ate this morning.


    ¡°Is that-?¡±


    ¡°It is.¡±


    ¡°Why would anyone want to be buried in this thing?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think it was his choice.¡±


    Teri lifts the lid back shut, wedging her shovel into the ground to keep it from collapsing back down. She lets out a sigh, waiting for me to say something. I struggle to form any relevant comment.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go look for Lio.¡± Is all I can think to say.


    I glance at Teri for approval. She tilts her chin down slightly.


    ¡°Not a word of this to anyone.¡±


    I nod and she sends me on my way.


    We leave as soon as Lio and I return, instead of waiting for the next day. There is a slow, low blowing breeze on the way back, heading against our direction. I walk ahead with Lio, a fair distance from Teri. Because she smells like trash. That girl never was afraid to get her hands dirty.


    There is no snow on the way home, but I wish there was. It reminds me of the past. All of it has disappeared now. I wonder where we¡¯ll be the next time it falls.

 2. Conservation

    The landscape blurs as it passes by. Endless golden plains swallow the heavenly blue in the distance. Overhead, the wires droop down, and back up again. Then they plunge downwards once more and bounce up yet again. A never-ending cycle.


    Looking above at the wall, the clock reads a bit after three. Slouching into my seat, my forehead falls on the table. I shut my eyes and all I see is the slight red tinge of the suns glow on my eyelids. The wind rushes fast by the carriage, I can hear it; under the wheels, and between the rails. I imagine how it would feel to stick my head out the window, how free I could be. But these windows do not open.


    I am going to go far away, to a new home. That¡¯s what they told me. A paradise in the distance.


    A girl sits on the other side, looking out the other window. I recognize her as one of the other children at my old home. One of my sisters. Her face I know but not her name. She is just ¡°the brunette¡±.


    Neither of us have ever spoken to each other. Not even during the past three hours. And it¡¯s only been just the two of us, with the entire carriage to ourselves. But that¡¯s not at all strange, no one ever really talked to me back home. It never bothered me though, I¡¯m fine being alone. I¡¯m fine with watching my own life play itself out.


    The brunette is the opposite of everything I am. If I were the night sky, then she would be the stars.


    As the train slows to make a turn, the sunlight shifts. It draws a line across the center of the carriage, leaving me in the shadows. The brightness sparkles in the brunette¡¯s eyes and turns her short brown curls gold. She raises her hand above her eyes to block the light, casting a shadow over her face. Her smile slightly fades, and she looks almost sad. Suddenly, she lowers her hand to turn and look in my direction. I immediately turn my head the other way.


    But the stars cross the darkness. She sits in front of me. I pretend not to notice.


    ¡°Hi,¡± She says.


    I remain still, but my heart races.


    ¡°I know you¡¯re not asleep. I just saw you move.¡±


    I shoot up straight, holding my hands together on the table. My gaze meets hers, but I find myself looking at her shoulder instead.


    ¡°My name is Cecile.¡± She says.


    The words I speak are raspy. I haven¡¯t spoken in days.


    ¡°Hi. I¡¯m-¡±


    ¡°Klaus. I already know.¡±


    I rub my eyes, and the single tear on my cheek.


    ¡°Why- why did you look sad just now?¡± I ask.


    Cecile tilts her head, somewhat puzzled, not sure what I meant.


    ¡°You were looking out the window.¡± I add.


    ¡°Oh! That must have been because of the windmills.¡±


    She points out the window of the seat she came. Far off in the distance stands a field of white sticks, all spinning in unison.


    ¡°I just thought they ruined the landscape is all.¡± She says.


    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t think they¡¯re that bad.¡±


    Cecile looks confused again.


    ¡°I think they¡¯re beautiful in they¡¯re own way. They remind me that we¡¯re not in the middle of nowhere.¡± I say.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I rather like the feeling of being lost. Back home I¡¯d always dream of what it would be like to wander away. And look at me now, my dream is coming true.¡±


    She gazes out the window as I am lost to find anything to say.


    ¡°Do you think the Conservatory is surrounded in these same fields?¡± She asks.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure.¡±


    ¡°Do you think I¡¯ll be able to walk through this grass one day?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t-¡±


    ¡°Hey! I¡¯ve got an idea.¡± She places her palms on the table and leans forward. ¡°You can take me to the windmills!¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Yeah it¡¯ll be great, I¡¯ve never seen one up close in person before.¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t go there, it¡¯s way too far away.¡±


    ¡°Of course we can. We¡¯ll be free at the Conservatory. Promise me we¡¯ll go some day.¡±


    I force myself to look into her eager eyes. They hide nothing but an untainted soul. A purity that can only be found in so few. Back home, we would never speak a word to each other. But whenever she¡¯d catch my eye, she¡¯d always smile, as if to tell me I wasn¡¯t alone. She was the only one who ever cared about me, and I¡¯d never understood why. Right now, though, the answer is clear to me.


    ¡°Alright, some day. I promise.¡±


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    I awake to the bright spring sun shining through the window. Teri and Lio¡¯s bunk on the opposite side of the room is empty. The things we threw on the floor last night are no longer there. All the bags, clothes, and shovels. Something else is missing as well. I wonder where he has gone, where he is waiting for me.


    As I exit the room, I pull the door into place with it¡¯s handle down. It shuts without a sound.


    Room 211. Theresa. Cecile. Klaus.


    Underneath my name is a blank. Not even a strip of tape covering it up. It¡¯s just blank. Like he was never even here.


    The Conservatory¡¯s hallways are completely vacant as I aimlessly make my way across the corridor. Curtained windows run along the one side, and doors along the other. The large central stairwell opens on the window side. Sunlight leaks from below one of the doors.


    Room 201.


    I brush the dust from door plate. There are two names still written on it.


    Priscilla. Emile. Just the two.


    I lay my hand on the doorknob, and slowly push it down.


    The air inside is stale. Dust drifts among the light, seeping through the blinds. My footsteps are engraved into the floor.


    There¡¯s a double bunk on either side of the room. Just like ours. The sunbathed sheets lay neatly spread. A table with two chairs stands in front the window, with a drawer on both sides. And all of it, completely empty, awaiting the next four.


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    Is this what would eventually come of our room?


    I am about to leave when a set of light footsteps becomes more audible as it approaches from the hall. Of all the times, it just had to be the two minutes that I¡¯m not where I¡¯m supposed to be.


    A man enters through the open doorway. It¡¯s Sebastian, one of the adults who looks after the Conservatory.


    ¡°Klaus, what are you doing in here?¡± He asks, kindly.


    ¡°Oh, I just got curious.¡±


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s good to see you¡¯re back.¡±


    I nod, waiting for the scolding. But it doesn¡¯t come.


    ¡°Anyways, do you know where I can find Theresa?¡± He says instead.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t seen her this morning, but I¡¯ll probably see her around lunch time. Did you have something you wanted to tell her? I could pass on a message.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, but I¡¯ll just keep looking for her myself.¡±


    With that, he turned around and left, without so much as an exiting remark. Or perhaps that was already a way to say goodbye. I wait until his footsteps fade to nothingness before exiting the room.


    Later that evening, right before bed, I find out what it was that Sebastian wanted to tell Teri. But it doesn¡¯t immediately strike me as something so important or unusual that he had to tell her himself.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to have a new visitor tomorrow, two of them actually. They¡¯re going to be arriving early in the morning so we should sleep early as well. Also, we¡¯ll be the only ones in the building for the next two days so it¡¯s going to be our job to show them around.¡±


    The following morning, I am abruptly awoken before sunrise and dragged down to the main lobby where Sebastian is already waiting for us. We take the elevator down to the basement, a journey I¡¯d made many times before.


    I look out the glass wall as we descend, gazing upon the massive chamber that lay below my home. Steel supports line the high ceiling, and cardboard boxes are stacked along the walls. In the center of the facility are four rails, parallel to one another. A train of seven carriages occupies the nearest one. It¡¯s the same train that I arrived in years ago.


    As we near the bottom, Sebastian points out the window at three small figures standing next to the train.


    ¡°I believe that would be them.¡± He says.


    Lio restlessly rushes out the elevator as soon as the large metal doors slide open. She waves both her hands frantically and our visitors wave back. Between the distance and the commotion of our surroundings, I cannot hear her introduce herself to our guests. A boy and a girl, no older than Teri but no younger than Lio or myself. By the way they stand together, I can tell they don¡¯t know each other too well.


    Accompanying them is a man, one of the many other curators at the Conservatory. His name is Alfred.


    I stand by as Sebastian strikes a conversation with his friend, and Teri reaches to shake our guests¡¯ hands.


    ¡°Hi, I¡¯m Theresa. It¡¯s nice to meet you two.¡± She says.


    The pair both greet her back, but I do not pay attention to what they say. My mind is elsewhere. Teri lightly jabs my side with her elbow and I snap back into reality. I make eye contact and reach out my hand.


    ¡°Klaus.¡± Is all I think to say.


    Sebastian steps beside Alfred and addresses the five of us.


    ¡°Alfred and I have got a few more things to do down here so you kids go on up ahead of us.¡± He says.


    Lio takes the girl¡¯s bag off the floor before grabbing her arm and pulling her towards the elevator. Teri offers to take the boys bag for him, but he kindly refuses her offer. The two of them start walking and chatting. I follow shortly behind them, returning to my own world. It is only in the elevator that I realize I still do not know either of the visitors¡¯ names.


    ----------------------------------


    ¡°Hey, I¡¯m taking these two outside for some guy talk.¡± Emile tells Teri through the doorway of our room, with an arm slung over both me and Ciel. She gives us her usual smile and nod, but Lio swings around from her chair with some resistance.


    ¡°Can I come too?¡± She asks.


    Emile responds to her playfully.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure you¡¯ll want to. We¡¯re going to be telling some spooky stories.¡±


    ¡°I can handle it.¡± Lio proudly rebuffs.


    ¡°Maybe, but I know these two can¡¯t. And I wouldn¡¯t want to embarrass them in front of you.¡±


    With that, Emile waves goodbye and shuts the door. He releases me and Ciel from his grasp and picks up the pail of water he left on the floor. Ciel carries an identical pile of wood in his arms and in mine, a large bowl with a lid on it. We head down the hall and scurry down the stairs before entering the autumn night. A hundred stars and a single flame light up the darkness.


    ¡°Alright, who wants to start?¡± Emile asks.


    ¡°Start what?¡± Ciel asks in return.


    ¡°Telling a scary story of course. I thought that was pretty obvious.¡±


    ¡°What? You were serious about that?¡± Ciel says.


    ¡°I mean yeah. What else are we going to do? Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re actually scared¡±


    ¡°Tch, please, there¡¯s only one thing in this world that scares me and her name is Theresa.¡±


    I listen to their argument patiently. A thin splint in the fire curls up and shoots off into the air. It glows brighter than the stars for just a second, before fading away.


    ¡°Well then if that¡¯s the case, then why don¡¯t you start?¡± Says Emile.


    ¡°I got nothing right now. And you were the one who suggested it, so you should be first anyways.¡±


    ¡°Well I got nothing as well. Looks like it¡¯s your turn Klaus.¡±


    Emile turns to face my direction, waiting in anticipation for my response. I frantically try to dream up some kind of plot, but I never was a quick thinker.


    ¡°I can¡¯t think of anything good either.¡± I say.


    He slaps his thighs, and then throws his hands up into the air in defeat.


    ¡°Well that sucks, looks like I lied to her then. Say, what kind of snack did you bring anyways.¡±


    Emile eyeballs the bowl in my lap. I pop open the lid and reveal what is inside.


    ¡°Grapes? Why?¡±


    I can tell his question is not one that needs an answer. So I don¡¯t give one. Ciel takes two from my bowl and tosses one of them into his mouth. Then he offers the second to a baffled Emile.


    ¡°Grape?¡± Ciel asks.


    ¡°Sure.¡± Emile says, slightly disturbed. He crunches down on it obnoxiously loud.


    ¡°Alright. What is it that you really want?¡± Ciel asks.


    ¡°Seriously? I know you already know.¡±


    The firelight flickers on Ciel¡¯s face. His left eye twitches barely, hardly enough to notice. But I notice it. He bites his bottom lip, and his smirk dwindles into a frown, all for only just a moment. And in that instant, he looks almost serious; a demeanor I¡¯ve never seen him wield.


    ¡°I know that the sun rises in the morning.¡± He says.


    An uncontrollable grin spreads across Emile¡¯s expression as he lets out a wheezy laugh. He stretches his back forward to reach closer to the flame. A loose slat of uncharred firewood finds itself in his palm; taken from the cold, and thrown into the fire. As it lands, the logs hidden by the glaring blaze tumble. The sparks fly, burning bright until they land in the damp grass.


    ¡°They¡¯re going to be collecting us, in the morning. Priscilla and I.¡±


    Ciel¡¯s breathing is audible. He leans further into himself. Resting his elbow on his knee, he places one hand over his face, covering all but his eyes. His breathing slows.


    ¡°And why do I need to know this?¡±


    ¡°I might not ever see you again, and that¡¯s all that you have to say?¡±


    Ciel lowers his chin, but not his eyes. His heel slowly digs into the ground. Their silence brings a low breeze, and the fire enrages, dancing a tune on the dark night. The stars shift across the sky, awaiting the next sentence. But Ciel does not respond.


    ¡°Okay look, I won¡¯t get another chance, so I¡¯d like to tell you now.¡± Emile says. ¡°I know you think you¡¯re protecting them, or something, but I think-¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s enough.¡±


    Ciel cuts him off abruptly.


    ----------------------------------


    Six days later, Lio, Teri, and I return to the basement along with our two guests. I still do not know their names.


    Alfred stands next to the train¡¯s door, and we wave goodbye to our visitors. People¡¯s mouth¡¯s move, but I do not hear a sound. The boy and the girl step into the carriage, followed by Alfred, who closes the door behind them. They take a seat next to the window and Lio runs up to it, waving. As the train slowly accelerates, she chases alongside it until she can keep up no longer. Even after it is long gone, she continues waving.


    I stand next to Teri, waiting for our friend to return. Suddenly, the urge comes to me to say something. But I haven¡¯t spoken much the past few days, so I whisper.


    ¡°Theresa. Don¡¯t leave me.¡±


    I¡¯m not sure what I meant to tell her, but she does. Teri takes my hands and holds them tightly between her own.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t Ciel¡¯s choice to leave.¡± She says. ¡°And it won¡¯t be mine either. I will always be by your side. Lio too.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Of course, we¡¯re a family. Besides, you made a promise to her, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    My expression must be a shocked one.


    ¡°How did you know?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m not reading your mind. You¡¯re just not very good at hiding things.¡±


    My only secret being revealed brings me back to the real world. The one where it doesn¡¯t matter how hard I try to keep something hidden from this girl. Because she will always find it in the end.


    ¡°Let¡¯s all go there some day.¡± She says.

 3. Doubt

    Cecile is a Dandelion. That¡¯s why we call her Lio. It was Ciel who gave her that name. When she and I arrived at the Conservatory, Teri and Ciel had already been here for a year. We introduced ourselves and I¡¯m sure he heard both of our names, but the first time he needed to use Cecile¡¯s, he said Dandelion instead. I don¡¯t know how he came up with it, perhaps it¡¯s because it was summertime. He said he must have misheard, but mishearing ¡°Cecile¡±, as ¡°Dandelion¡± is just stupid. Ciel kept calling her Dandelion though, and then eventually Lio. Teri and I soon did as well. I don¡¯t think Ciel has ever spoken Lio¡¯s real name. In his reasoning, it¡¯s because ¡°Dandelion just sounds better¡±. But I could tell it was because her name sounds so similar to his own. And he hates saying his name. Ciel was a liar in that way, and I¡¯ve been told that liars are evil. But if that is the case, then I know that at least one of those isn¡¯t true.


    Ciel lied to me before he left. It was a familiar night, just like any other. The four of us were in our room getting ready for bed. Teri was laying on her bunk reading something, and I was playing a board game with Ciel. Lio wasn¡¯t there because it was her turn to do the laundry. Late at night has always been the best time to use the laundry room, because everyone else washes their clothes during the day. We figured that out long ago. The only downside to it is that it can get quite cold at night, especially during the winter months.


    I never lost to Ciel at any game we played. But whenever I played against Teri I could never win. The strange thing, though, is that Ciel almost always won when playing her.


    But that night was no different than usual, I had the upper hand against Ciel. A few more turns and the game would be over. Then Lio would return, we¡¯d shut the lights and go to sleep. That is, that¡¯s what would have happened on any other night. However, when the footsteps approached our door, Lio did not burst inside. Instead, the sounds stopped right outside the room. Then, a knock. Ciel and I looked at Teri, but she looked back at us. Her eyes spelled out the same puzzled reaction that we had. She quietly slid of her bed and pressed her ear against the door. After a short silence, she opened the door. Sebastian was standing on the other side.


    ¡°I hope I¡¯m not interrupting anything important.¡± He said.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry you aren¡¯t, we were just getting ready for bed.¡± Teri replied.


    ¡°That¡¯s good to hear. Anyways, I was wondering if you had some time, Ciel, there¡¯s something I want to talk to you about.¡±


    Three pairs of eyes looked to Ciel.


    ¡°Of course. What is it?¡± He asked. Sebastian responded, hesitantly.


    ¡°Actually, it might take a while, so, why don¡¯t we head outside? The breeze is quite comfortable this time of year.¡±


    Ciel looked to Teri, who stared blankly back at him. I did the same when he looked at me. Then he stood up and brushed himself off.


    ¡°Alright, sounds good. I¡¯m following you then.¡± He said.


    Sebastian smiled, then turned towards the hallway.


    ¡°By the way,¡± He asked. ¡°I don¡¯t see Cecile here, where has she gone?¡±


    ¡°Laundry.¡± Teri answered, as she stepped away from the door to let Ciel by. He looked back into our room one last time.


    ¡°We can finish when I get back.¡± He told me. ¡°I¡¯m about to win.¡±


    Instinctively, I immediately looked back down at the board. I didn¡¯t look back up again before the door clicked shut. If only I¡¯d known that would be the last time I¡¯d see him.


    When I did raise my gaze, my eyes met Teri¡¯s, who was standing in the middle of the room pondering what had just happened. I must have looked like I wanted an explanation because she shrugged, so as to say she didn¡¯t know either. She returned to her reading and I went back to studying the game board. It was quiet for a while, but Teri began tossing and turning, more and more noticeably. I thought I was imagining it at first, but with every page she flipped, it became louder, and more frantic. Without much warning, Teri stood up and said she was going to check on Lio, because she seemed to be taking longer than usual. I watched her exit the room before mindlessly staring at the clock next to the door. When my scattered thoughts collected themselves, I noticed that Lio had only been gone for ten minutes - not even close to the amount of time she normally takes to finish the laundry.


    Left all alone, I continued to review the state of Ciel¡¯s and my game. And I saw something that had eluded me the whole time; a well-hidden sequence of moves, taking advantage of my weaknesses, and entirely unstoppable.


    I walked to the desk and wiped the condensation off the window. My nose pressed against the glass as I leaned over the table to look outside. Neither Ciel nor Sebastian could be seen. Only the distant silhouette of the mountains, cutting a rough line that divided the ground and sky.


    I fell into the chair. My reflection in the window stared back at me, blinking every time I did. As my thoughts began to drift once again, I heard three different sounds. The clock that ticked behind me, usually too faint to notice, was the loudest of them all. Beneath that, the laundry machine, softly whirling downstairs. And the softest sound, a conversation. Perhaps there was one more. Or perhaps it was only in my dreams. A cry; Ciel¡¯s cry. But Ciel doesn¡¯t cry.


    There was a blanket over my shoulders when the sunlight awoke me the next morning. Under my hand was a note. It read: ¡°Sorry, looks like you win this one after all.¡± His name was written at the bottom. Teri and Lio were already gone, and I was the last one up again. Ciel was gone too; he was always the first to wake, but even so, every morning, he would wait for me. That was the first time he didn¡¯t. And after that night, he never did again.


    ----------------------------------


    Another visitor arrived the day before yesterday. His name is Stark. He¡¯s the same age as me and Lio, but he looks like he¡¯s much younger. For two days, I¡¯ve only heard him speak a handful of times. That¡¯s not to say he isn¡¯t polite though. Whenever he says anything, he uses the utmost curtesy. It¡¯s almost kind of annoying; he acts more like Sebastian, or Alfred, rather than any of our previous guests. But that¡¯s not what Teri thinks, she said he¡¯s more similar to me than anyone else. Supposedly, the two of us are both ¡°waiting for the right thing to set us off¡±.


    We slept in the one of the guest rooms the past nights, because that¡¯s what we¡¯re supposed to do when we are assigned to take care of a visitor. The rooms are larger than ours, but there are no beds. Instead, there¡¯s a closet filled with enough sleeping bags to cover the entire floor. It¡¯s also where we go to get our camping things. In all honesty, the guest rooms are really more like storage rooms. But there are still tables and chairs, as well as windows, so it still feels like a proper place to sleep.


    The wind wakes me up this morning. Stark is the only one left in the room. He sits at a desk, motionless.


    ¡°Hey.¡± I say, while still half in my sleeping bag. He is startled for a moment.


    ¡°Hello, did you sleep well?¡± He asks.


    ¡°As well as it can get, I guess. Where are the others?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re outside, flying kites.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t want to go with them?¡± I ask.


    ¡°It didn¡¯t feel right to leave you here alone.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s nice of you, but if you were concerned, you could have just left a note. Or you could have gotten one of them to stay instead. Although Lio probably wouldn¡¯t now that I think about it. I¡¯m sure Teri would have no problem though.¡±


    Stark doesn¡¯t say anything in response, but he does smile, then he stands from his seat.


    I hurriedly roll up my bag and set it to the side of the room. It¡¯s rather surprising that Teri didn¡¯t offer to stay behind instead. I would have preferred if she did as well. She¡¯s used to waiting for me after all, and I wouldn¡¯t feel so embarrassed if it was her.


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    We find the others without much trouble; their kites are easy to spot after all, two bright shapes on a cloudy sky. Last nights rain has left the grass damp, and the ground sinks beneath my every step. Teri and Lio stand in the distance. So small are their figures and so large is the wind, it almost feels like their kites will pick them right off the ground.


    I yell out to the girls, but under the roar of the wind, even I can only barely hear my own voice. Teri, however, does not need to hear us to know we are coming. She turns and waves, then begins to draw her line back in.


    ¡°Look who¡¯s finally up.¡± She greets me. I look down and scratch the back of my neck.


    ¡°You really should have let me stay, Stark. I hope you weren¡¯t too bored back there.¡± Teri says.


    Stark only smiles. It¡¯s the kind of smile that says he¡¯s just pretending he heard what Teri said. I¡¯m not surprised he didn¡¯t though. In this weather, I am probably the only one who could here something like that clearly.


    ¡°Anyways, Klaus slept so long that it¡¯s almost time for lunch. I¡¯ll head back a make us something to eat.¡± Teri says, before leaving on the trek back to the building.


    I find a spot away from the rest and hold my kite high above my head. It flutters as it beats in the wind. When I release it, the strings in my hand are almost pulled from my grasp. The homemade red diamond slowly rises as I let the strings fly. Before I even notice, my neck has bent all the way back. But Lio¡¯s is still much higher than mine.


    A third kite enters my view from below and I look down to my left. Stark is standing next to me.


    ¡°You ever done this before?¡± I ask, as he matches my level.


    ¡°Once, with my dad.¡± He says.


    ¡°That¡¯s nice. You two do things together often?¡±


    ¡°Of course. Isn¡¯t that what father and son are supposed to do?¡± Stark says.


    ¡°I guess so. But I¡¯ve never met either of my parents so I wouldn¡¯t really know.¡± My voice gets quieter as I speak. Either that or the wind got louder.


    ¡°Did you say something.¡± Stark asks, yelling over the noise.


    ¡°Nothing important.¡± I respond.


    The morning gusts ring through my ears, and I follow the unhurried movements of the clouds. There¡¯s a book in the library that says rain floats back up into the sky after it falls, and when that happens, they become clouds. I wonder if that means yesterdays showers are the parents of today¡¯s white sky. All our visitors have parents. It¡¯s something I can¡¯t relate to. But I don¡¯t mind, I¡¯ve found a family without them.


    Lio¡¯s kite begins to descend. It falls beneath mine as well as Stark¡¯s, and then ends up in her hands. She holds it against her chest and begins running towards our direction.


    ¡°Do you mind if I join you guys?¡± Lio asks.


    I thought the question was for Stark, so I didn¡¯t say anything at first. But he doesn¡¯t say anything either, so she was probably actually asking me. By the time I realize it, though, it¡¯s already been too long for a reply to not sound awkward.


    The breeze dies down for a moment and Stark¡¯s kite begins to waver. He gets it back on track when the wind picks up.


    ¡°That one almost got you there huh.¡± Lio says.


    I don¡¯t notice what he says in response, or even if he said anything at all. The cut in the wind might not have been a problem for him, but it was for me, and my kite is spiraling out of my control. Lio yells, instructing me how to save it.


    ¡°Pull it in! Pull it in-¡±


    ¡°No one asked for your help.¡±


    Stark interrupts her abruptly.


    The kite I worked so hard to make draws one final loop before crashing headfirst into the ground. I can feel the frame snap. Teri¡¯s words immediately come to mind, but one broken kite isn¡¯t enough to set me off.


    ----------------------------------


    A slight scent of glue lingers at the bottom of the room. Next to the crack of opened window, my repaired frame lies on a table, drying.


    I lay on top of my sleeping bag reading the book that I read to learn how to make a kite. Dusk has already set in, and the air seeping in from outside brings with it a biting chill. It¡¯s familiar to us, though probably not for Stark.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Lio says to him. ¡°If it¡¯s too cold in here, I can close the window.¡±


    Stark sits on the floor playing a game with Teri, the same one that Ciel and I last played.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡± He says.


    ¡°You sure? You¡¯re shivering.¡±


    Lio is given no response; Stark is too focused on his game. She gets up and shuts the window anyways, before returning to her spot sprawled on the ground, drawing something in her book.


    Drawing was something that Lio has always had a knack for, but not something she did often. But then I ruined her flower book. After that, it¡¯s been a picture a day. And over time, she¡¯s gotten crazy good at it.


    A drawing she once gave me is one of my prized possessions. For an entire week, Lio was sketching something, but her back was always turned to me, and whenever anyone walked by her, she would cover up her work. I asked her what she was drawing, but she refused to show me. It was rather strange because usually she was eager to show us her sketches, even if we didn¡¯t ask. She¡¯d even draw something specifically for each of our visitors. Soon enough, though, Lio finished the drawing and started to work on something new. A few days later, when both Ciel and Teri were out of the room, she approached me with her sketchbook, then anxiously handed one of its pages to me; a colourless drawing of golden plains, and shining white windmills.


    Lio¡¯s pencil makes a final mark on her picture and softly blows off all the dust. She treads lightly towards Stark and Teri.


    ¡°Hey, I drew something for you.¡± She says.


    Stark does not immediately say anything in return. I imagine he is stunned by the quality of Lio¡¯s work. But as I reach the end of my page, an awfully long time seems to have passed. Before I look over, Lio speaks again.


    ¡°Is there something wrong with it?¡± She asks, nervously.


    Stark has curled himself up, staring at the floor. He quietly mumbles something to himself. I am probably the only one who can hear what is muttering.


    ¡°Oh, I see it now. I missed a line here.¡± Says Lio.


    ¡°Stop it.¡±


    He utters again, only slightly louder this time.


    ¡°Stop it¡±


    He says once more. Then again. And again.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I¡¯ll fix it real quickly.¡± Lio says.


    Stark suddenly shoots upright. The game pieces scatter into the air, and he swats the drawing straight out of Lio¡¯s hand.


    ¡°Stop being so nice to me! Can you even shut up for just once? I never asked for your pity.¡±


    My shock is shared by Lio, but hers turns to a sob. She falls to her knees, drenching the picture that has fallen in front of her. Teri, seemingly unsurprised, kneels next to her, placing a hand on her back.


    Stark covers his face in his sleeve as he runs out of the room. My book hits the floor and I¡¯m out the doorway.


    There are three places I can think of that he could run to. If he¡¯s feeling regretful, he will go outside. If he wants to leave, he will head to the basement. And if he wants someone to talk to, he¡¯ll run to the roof.


    The hall is empty on the left, and right as well. I start down one direction, but turn the other way after not ten steps. In my moment of indecision, a door clicks shut somewhere in the building, silently echoing throughout the halls. I immediately recognize the sound; the door to the roof.


    Racks of drying clothes flutter in the evening wind. White dresses appear orange in the light of the setting sun. Among it all, I find the boy cooped up under the dancing shadows. His face is planted firmly in his knees.


    Slowly approaching from behind, I do not speak, only making enough noise to let him know I am here.


    ¡°Go away.¡± He says, his voice muffled.


    I remain quiet.


    ¡°I just want to be alone right now.¡± He says.


    ¡°I you wanted to be alone, you wouldn¡¯t have gone somewhere it would be easy to find you.¡±


    I take a seat on the tiled ground next to him.


    ¡°How did you know where I would go?¡± he asks.


    ¡°When we were younger, this was where Cecile would always hide when she was sad.¡±


    Stark raises his head into the sunsets final glow. He wipes the tears from his eyes.


    ¡°Did she come here when she was mad at you?¡± He asks.


    ¡°Sometimes. But usually she was mad at our brother. Although I¡¯m not going to pretend like I never made her angry as well before.¡±


    Night falls in a thoughtful silence. With the winking of the sun, the stars come out from the light. The stars that contain the answers.


    ¡°I had a sister before.¡± He says. ¡°her name was Penny.¡±


    Stark takes a deep breath, then sighs, relieved.


    ¡°My mom and dad try to pretend like she doesn¡¯t exist, but I know she does. They always talk about her when they think I can¡¯t hear them.¡±


    He pauses, then continues.


    ¡°I wish I could have met her.¡±


    Tears begin to escape his eyes. He tries to hide his sobbing, like how Lio used to.


    The two of us sleep on the roof for the night, but I stay awake staring into the stars. A lurking feeling of unease.


    An orange sky and the bright horizon awake me the next day. Stark is not beside me anymore, rather Teri and Lio. I ask them where he has gone, and they tell me that he left with Alfred. Teri has an expression of worry and asks if I¡¯m okay. I assure her that I am just fine. Then she tells me that it¡¯s the evening already.


    ----------------------------------


    I carry the laundry down the hall and to the bottom floor. A journey I¡¯ve become so familiar making. The night shines outdoors and the entire building is asleep upstairs. It makes me feel so alone; alone, but not lonely.


    Without much of a thought, I find myself back in the main hall with an empty basket in my hands. Starting up the first stair, I sense something staring at me from behind. There¡¯s nothing there when I turn around. Just the moonlight on the ground through the glass walls. The large room dwarfs my presence, but in turn, the vast darkness of the dusky sky makes it seem so insignificant.


    Tonight is a familiar night. A single thought weighs my mind, more heavily than ever before. I wonder how much longer it will be until I can be free again.

 4. Valediction

    There¡¯s a small forest to the north of the Conservatory. It¡¯s only an hour walk away. During the long summer days, we used to go there everyday. And if it got late and we didn¡¯t feel like walking back, we¡¯d just sleep there in the wilderness. We did it so often that we just decided to dump our camping equipment there at the start of the season. But last summer was when Ciel left, and we haven¡¯t gone back ever since then. Our things are still out there.


    The afternoon sunlight flickers as it shines through the swaying trees. A soft wind blows. Teri and I step over dry soil in a serene calmness. The melody of the world resonates, but we are the dissonance that should not belong. Breaking the harmony, I think that is all I¡¯ve ever known how to do.


    We find our things scattered all over the ground. When we left it here a year ago, we tied everything up and suspended it from the trees. It¡¯s what we always did before we left. But I guess I never should have expected it to hold up for an entire year.


    Teri rummages through one of the piles and pulls out two camping chairs. She props both of them up for us to have a seat. Her chair squeaks as she leans back to stretch. Suddenly, its legs snap like a twig, and Teri falls to the ground. I fold my chair back up and join her on the floor.


    ¡°What should we do about it?¡± She asks, looking at the mound of junk. ¡°We can¡¯t just leave it here.¡±


    ¡°We should have brought some bags.¡± I say. ¡°or one really big bag.¡±


    ¡°We could burn it.¡± Teri says, in a disheartened tone.


    ¡°You¡¯re joking, right?¡±


    ¡°Probably.¡± She says.


    ¡°I think I¡¯m going to just pretend like you were either way.¡±


    We sit in silence for a while, my legs still tired from walking, and my mind still tired from thinking. I end the quietness as a cloud pulls over the light.


    ¡°We could try burying it.¡± I suggest.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you think that would be a bit irresponsible?¡± Teri asks in return.


    ¡°You were the one who said we should burn it.¡±


    ¡°I was just kidding.¡± She says. ¡°That¡¯s not irresponsible at all.¡±


    The sunlight dims further, until the sky turns grey enough to match Teri¡¯s monochrome tone. I feel something drop on my head. Then another.


    ¡°Oh you have got to be kidding me.¡± I exclaim.


    ¡°I was. I thought that much was obvious.¡±


    ¡°No, I mean, it¡¯s raining. Please tell me you didn¡¯t see this coming.¡±


    Teri scratches the back of her neck.


    The shower picks up quickly, and we scramble to find a tarp. It takes both of us to pull one out from the bottom of the heap. When it finally breaks loose, the two of us are already drenched from head to toe. Nonetheless, we throw the dirty tarp over ourselves; crouching as the mud slowly trickles down my spine.


    ¡°I suppose we have gone through worse before.¡± I say.


    The raindrops relentlessly bounce off our pointless shelter. Thousands of them, each making their own noise, but it sounds like only one.


    I reach my hand out into the downpour. A shallow puddle forms in my palm. It ripples with no end; my fingers numb to its chill.


    ¡°Hey Teri, how long is this storm going to last?¡± I ask.


    She sniffles quietly.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure.¡±


    She sniffles again, slightly louder. I look over to see Teri¡¯s eyes red, and her face covered in what, at first, I thought was just the rain.


    ¡°Are you crying?¡± I ask, in utter astonishment.


    ¡°No.¡± She shyly rebuffs.


    ¡°You obviously are, you can¡¯t really hide it.¡±


    Teri turns away and wipes her rain covered arm against her tear covered face.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± I ask. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen you cry before.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing.¡± She replies.


    ¡°Teri doesn¡¯t cry though. You don¡¯t have to keep everything to yourself if you don¡¯t want to.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not my name you know.¡±


    ¡°Oh sorry, Theresa.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant.¡± She says.


    Teri turns, the back of her head now facing me. She stares into the stagnant rain.


    ¡°Theresa is the name they gave me, not the one I was born with.¡±


    My frozen body freezes one again.


    ¡°I¡¯m not like you or Lio. Or Ciel. I wasn¡¯t born alone. I had my mom and dad to look after me.¡±


    She takes a breath to collect her thoughts.


    ¡°One day, dad took me for a walk, and when we got to the bridge, he told me to stand still and wait for him to come back. I knew he wouldn¡¯t though. But I waited. Like the good little girl that he raised me to be. And when they came, I refused to speak to them. I didn¡¯t tell them my name, so they decided to call me Theresa.¡±


    Teri looks upwards into the endless gray, before shutting her eyes and letting the water roll off her eyelids. I cannot tell what kind of water it is.


    ¡°You know what I¡¯m trying to tell you right?¡± She asks, with a hint of nervousness. But there is only one question on my mind.


    ¡°Why did they leave?¡± I ask. As soon as the words leave my mouth, though, I wish I did not.


    Teri presses her lips together. Her eyebrows lower.


    ¡°You still don¡¯t know?¡± She asks, gently, but uneasily. I don¡¯t know whether she is looking for an answer.


    ¡°There isn¡¯t any time left, you have to know.¡± She speaks faster, frustrated. The disturbing feeling of expectancy lurks closer now.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure they didn¡¯t leave you on purpose. They still love you, I know they do. It¡¯s nothing to cry over-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not crying for them. I¡¯m crying for you. Why don¡¯t you understand that?¡±


    An outburst. The anticipation is gone, but the unease still lingers. My thoughts are but one colour. What colour is it, though? I cannot tell.


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    The familiar low breeze howls around me. It blows the rain into my face. I choose not to feel it. It never bothered me before, but right now, I just wish it would shut up and go die in a hole. Preferably the one we dug the other day. But it doesn¡¯t, so as to spite my stupidity.


    Hours pass, but the rain shows no signs of dying down. Teri is lost in the sky. Her only movement is her blink, which hide her dead eyes for only so long. I can¡¯t figure out what she is thinking. But then, I never could. Only now, I realize it¡¯s because I never cared. We were supposed to be together unconditionally. And as long as she was there - as long as Teri was there - it didn¡¯t matter to me what she thought; I was content just to have her around.


    I¡¯m so selfish. Maybe that¡¯s why Ciel left.


    Teri feels so far now. How long have I ignored the distance?


    My stomach growls, and I try to hide it. I hope she cannot hear it under that rain.


    ¡°There¡¯s a muffin in my backpack.¡± She says.


    ¡°I¡¯m not hungry.¡± I lie.


    Teri sighs. I look at the ground away from her. The zipper on her bag opens, then she sticks her muffin in my face.


    ¡°It¡¯s wet, so it probably doesn¡¯t taste too good. Eat it quickly and then we¡¯ll leave.¡±


    Every muscle in my body, and every drop of my willpower, tells me not to take it. But I do. It tastes salty.


    I curl up into a ball, nibbling in the darkness.


    ¡°Hey Klaus,¡± Teri says. ¡°If the day comes when we can no longer be together, I want you to remember me by my real name.¡±


    I refuse to move from my shell, but the muffin suddenly doesn¡¯t taste so bad.


    ¡°And what would that be?¡± I ask.


    ----------------------------------


    We return to the Conservatory well past nightfall. The rain has only just begun to let up. I don¡¯t like it when it stops raining. It makes me feel like the weather won¡¯t let me be happy or sad, only somewhere in between.


    There is only one washroom in our room, so Teri heads down to one of the guest rooms to shower, while I use ours.


    Lio sleeps peacefully, and I try not to wake her. I slowly open my desk drawer, and silently lift out the first two books inside. I place them on the desk. The third book under them I take to my bed. Its pages slide open, as I flip to the middle. Through the parting clouds, the dim moonlight shines through the window, illuminating my book, and the treasure it hides within.


    Suddenly there is a light knock on the door. I expect it, but it still makes me jump.


    Immediately, but carefully, I shut the cover and slip the book under my pillow. Then I lie on my side, pretending to be asleep. I wait for Teri to come in. But she doesn¡¯t. Instead, there is another knock.


    I sit up and spin my feet above the floor. The moonlight draws a line on the ground. I stand into its glow, and enter the shadows, not making a whisper. Next to the door, the clock ticks, seemingly slower than it should. My hand is on the doorknob; I feel the third knock before I hear it. The handle spins, I barely crack the door open and look out the slit.


    A dark silhouette stands on the opposite side. The hallway is black, but I can still see. Staring down at me is a pair of piercing eyes.


    I quickly shut the door. My head feels light. I place a hand against the wall and take a deep breath. Having collected myself, I open the door once more, all the way this time.


    ¡°Hello Sebastian. What are you doing here so late? Are you looking for Theresa again?¡± I sound like I¡¯m reading off a script.


    ¡°No, I actually had a few things I wanted to ask you.¡±


    A lump rolls down my throat.


    ¡°Oh. What is it?¡± I ask.


    ¡°It¡¯s quite a lot actually. Why don¡¯t we walk and talk?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    The door shuts behind me as I cross into the hall. Sebastian steps forward and I follow closely behind, using only his presence to guide me through the darkness. We reach the hazy light of the main stairwell before he speaks.


    ¡°So,¡± he says. ¡°how do you like the Conservatory?¡±


    The question strikes me as a strange one.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± I ask. ¡°The Conservatory is my home. This place is a part of me, it¡¯s where my family is.¡±


    Sebastian places a hand on his side above his belt. He looks down at stairs beneath our feet and exhales.


    ¡°You¡¯re a good kid, Klaus. I want you to know that.¡±


    Again, I am rather confused.


    ¡°Why do you say that?¡± I ask. He does not answer my question, instead asking one in return.


    ¡°Do you know why you were selected for the program?¡±


    I think it through, but I come to no conclusion.


    ¡°Out of all the children at the orphanage, it was you. Do you know why?¡± He asks, redundantly.


    ¡°I have no idea.¡±


    Sebastian smiles.


    ¡°It was because Cecile refused to come if you were left behind.¡± Again, he puts his hand over the same place above his belt.


    ¡°My peers told me it was a bad idea to let you into the program. You and Theresa both, actually. But I did anyways, and it was the right decision in the end.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t really understand.¡± I say. I it feels like I¡¯m just talking to myself.


    ¡°Let me ask you something, Klaus,¡± Sebastian says. ¡°You were excluded by everyone back at the orphanage. You had every reason to end up hating the world. But you didn¡¯t. Why is that?¡±


    It¡¯s another odd question, but I think about it for a while. I think about it for so long, we walk all the way down the stairs and across the lobby. Only when we reach the front door do I speak.


    ¡°I think - I think the other kids, they weren¡¯t ignoring me on purpose. I mean, I don¡¯t think any of them were bad people.¡±


    Sebastian pushes the glass door open with one hand. His other placed above his belt. I wonder why I did not find this strange up until now.


    We step outside into the frigid air. The clouds have slightly dissipated and the stars shine through. I get my first good look into Sebastian¡¯s eyes. They do not say what I expect.


    ¡°It¡¯s not entirely true, is it? What you just said.¡± I say.


    He nods, conceding.


    ¡°You¡¯re too smart for your own good.¡±


    Sebastian looks down and closes his eyes. The moonlight basks over him. A familiar low breeze passes by. I find it rather comforting. My gaze raises into the distance beyond the pitch-black horizon; where the mountains meet the stars. Where the answers lie.


    Suddenly, there¡¯s a loud wailing from inside the building. The fire alarm has been let loose. I turn around to see a bright glare from one of the bottom floor windows. There¡¯s a faint smell of smoke.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡±


    I look to Sebastian for an explanation. But the look on his face, it¡¯s too calm.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry Klaus. I¡¯d have to do this eventually.¡±


    There is no delay between his words and his actions. He flips up his shirt, the place where he had placed his hand. A beam of the nocturne¡¯s skylight reflects from the palm sized piece of metal holstered under Sebastian¡¯s belt. It shines beautifully, like nothing I¡¯ve ever seen before. With the sparkle still lingering in my eyes, Sebastian takes the light from its place. With lustre in his hand, he raises his arm and points it directly at me.


    A large breeze blows by, but I feel it in only one ear. My eyes shut as it passes. All I see is red. My ear rings maniacally.


    I open my eyes.


    Teri pulls on Sebastian¡¯s arm, bringing him towards the ground. She grabs on to the light with both hands.


    Sebastian shakes her off without much effort. As she falls, a piece of metal breaks off and ricochets off the stone floor. He raises the light towards me again.


    Suddenly, though, Teri kicks him between the legs, and he falls to his knees. She pounces on top of him. They both try to get hold of the light. Then, a loud noise.


    The glass wall shatters, and the ringing in my ear becomes deafening.


    A second blast follows. Blood begins to flow.


    Sebastian goes limp on Teri¡¯s shoulders. She stands, and he falls forward.


    ¡°Klaus, we have to go now.¡± She says, with a tremor. I try my best to move, but I cannot. All I see is her right arm. Limp, and blood pouring out of the severed end.


    Teri takes me by the hand, through the blood, and through the fractured wall. The other children frantically scramble outside. The adults, towards the flames. There¡¯s a flickering yellow glow on the back wall.


    We hurry down the lobby, but an explosion down the left wing knocks me to my feet. I take Teri¡¯s trembling arm once more.


    The sprinklers turn on as we enter the stairwell leading to the basement. My legs can barely keep up as Teri spirals down the steps.


    A train lies waiting on the second track.


    As soon as we reach ground level, blasts resonate at our feet. Like metal ricocheting off the stone floor.


    Teri drags me past six carriages, then we arrive at the first one. She lets go of my hand and pulls on the door handle, shaking it furiously. When it doesn¡¯t open, she steps back and points the light at it instead.


    It cracks once. Then once again.


    Upon entering the train, Teri strides towards the control station. I crumble under my own weight as soon as she lets go of my hand. It doesn¡¯t take long before we start moving.


    The train wails through the tunnel ahead. The lights overhead pass by in quick succession. Teri stands and places the light at my feet, then she continues towards the back of the carriage.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to disconnect us from the rest of the train. Don¡¯t move from here.¡± She says.


    I look down at the piece of metal in front of me. The light; this was what shattered walls, what destroyed my ears, and what took a life.


    My gaze shifts to the back of the train. I have trouble looking straight. The back-door closes, and I see Teri¡¯s head lower below the window.


    The cart behind ours keeps pace at first. But then, it starts to drift away, just a bit.


    As Teri rises, I feel our train accelerating.


    The doorknob turns. But the glass fractures, the cracks drawing circles around the center.


    It is stained red.


    Like blood.


    Like my hands.


    Like Teri.

 5. Birdcall

    People often look to the sky and see the birds. They wish they could fly, to escape the troubles of their lives. That¡¯s what once Ciel told me. I thought he was talking about me, but I now realize he was only talking about himself.


    ¡°If flight makes people free, then why don¡¯t we all have wings?¡± I asked him.


    He responded, ¡°Bloodstained wings are too heavy to fly.¡±


    ¡°But ours will be clean.¡± I protested.


    ¡°No one¡¯s ever are for long, Klaus.¡±


    I told him I didn¡¯t understand, and he told me it was better that way. I then asked him another question.


    ¡°If you could fly, where would you go?¡±


    I was asking him, but he must¡¯ve thought I was asking myself.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I have an answer to that question,¡± he said. ¡°Why don¡¯t you ask someone who can fly?¡±


    It seemed like a joke, Ciel never liked to tell the truth about himself after all. What I didn¡¯t know, though, was that I did in fact know of someone who could fly; someone who could spread her wings far across the blue sky. Someone who could make all know of her presence.


    But I never did ask her. It¡¯s too late to do so now.


    She wouldn¡¯t use her wings to fly away, though. I¡¯m sure of that much. And engulfed in a shadow of red, the world would know her name.


    ----------------------------------


    ¡°Father, I think the boy¡¯s awake.¡±


    A girl¡¯s voice. It sounds close, and familiar. But I know it is someone I¡¯ve never met before.


    I stare up at the ceiling. Wood planks run across the beams; a large empty space enclosed beyond. There¡¯s a single lightbulb hanging from the roof, flickering. Dust aimlessly drifts about the glare. It looks like it will collapse any second now.


    The room looks nothing like home, like the Conservatory. It¡¯s different in a way that I understand very well, but do not know the name for. One thing is the same, though; the morning sunlight. That is something that will never change.


    The bed makes my back itch, so I sit up straight. The girl kneels at the bed¡¯s side, her arms crossed leaning over the sheets. She studies my eyes.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± She asks.


    For a moment, I recognize her face; I know who she is. Black hair, brown eyes, she may as well be wearing that long white skirt. But of course, this girl is not her. She someone else. Only someone who looks a lot like,


    ¡°Theresa.¡±¡¯


    The girl suddenly looks at me funny, like I said something strange


    ¡°Theresa?¡± She says. ¡°Isn¡¯t that a girl¡¯s name?¡±


    My neck jolts itself upright.


    ¡°Oh, sorry. Did I say that out loud?¡±


    She nods.


    ¡°My name is¡­¡±


    I pause. The girl waits patiently.


    ¡°¡­Harrier. My name is Harrier.¡±


    ¡°Harrier.¡± She whispers to herself. ¡°Well it¡¯s nice to meet you, Harrier. My name is Claire.¡±


    I know she is not who I wish she was, but I still feel my hopes crushed as she says her name. Reality is more bleak, I guess.


    ¡°So, what brings you all the way out here?¡± She asks. I am not sure how to respond.


    ¡°Nothing in particular really, just wanted a change of scenery.¡±


    The girl looks at me, puzzled yet again. A creeping feeling of discomfort lingers under my breath, but it¡¯s not because of the strange look I¡¯m receiving.


    ¡°What were you doing laying in our fields, I mean.¡±


    ¡°I was¡­¡±


    My sentence cuts, slowly, into nothingness. I¡¯m sure the gears of my thought are turning as quickly as possible, but I can only draw blanks. If only I were more like Ciel.


    The girl suddenly spouts out, in an innocent panic.


    ¡°Oh hold on wait, I¡¯m sorry. You don¡¯t have to answer that if you don¡¯t want to. I didn¡¯t mean to make you feel uncomfortable, you must still be tired, I should let you rest.¡±


    She stands up and turns to leave. It makes me sad, but I do not know why.


    ¡°Wait.¡± I call out. ¡°Don¡¯t go.¡±


    The girl turns back. By the look in her eyes, I can tell I have begun to start crying, even if only just a bit. She takes a seat next to my feet and looks through me, like Teri used to.


    ¡°Is something the matter? Oh, you must be hungry. I forgot to ask¡± She asks.


    I bashfully shake my head.


    ¡°You know what? Seeing that you¡¯re not at all sleepy anymore, why don¡¯t I show you around the fields?¡±


    I remain quiet, but only because I do not know what to say.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be bored out of your mind waiting in here. Come on, let¡¯s go!¡±


    The sheets roll to the side as I swing my legs over the tiled floor. My body still itches all over as I stand. The sleeves of my shirt fall above my wrists. It¡¯s much baggier than I remember.


    ¡°Sorry about that.¡± The girl says, with an apologetic smile. ¡°My father and I are the only ones who live here, so my clothes were the only ones that fit you. The things you were wearing should be dry soon, but they¡¯re torn up pretty bad, so father is making you something new.¡±


    I shake my head again, looking slightly downwards.


    ¡°Don¡¯t feel bad. I¡¯m thankful for your taking care of me.¡±


    The girl smiles.


    ¡°That reminds me, what were you doing with a gun in your pocket.¡±


    I try to process what she said, but the word is unknown to me.


    ¡°That is what it is, right? I¡¯ve never seen one that small before, so I¡¯m not actually too sure.¡±


    What she is talking about is clear to me, though the memory is buried deep. The girl walks next to the window and slides it open. A draft enters behind the sunlight. On a table beside, the brightness glares.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t we head outside first? Then you can tell me all about it.¡±


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°You don¡¯t mean we¡¯re going out the window, right?¡± I say.


    She raises her finger to her mouth.


    ¡°Father said you might be sick so we should keep you inside. I think you look just fine though. I¡¯m going to go out the front door, so I¡¯ll meet you on the other side.¡±


    I timidly shift my gaze towards the ground.


    ¡°I¡¯m not too sure about this.¡± I tell her.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong? Do you need a boost?¡± She asks.


    My teeth pinch the edge of my lip.


    ¡°No. It¡¯s fine. I can do it myself.¡±


    ¡°Okay great. Just wait for me right outside then. I¡¯ll bring you some shoes.¡±


    The girl cracks the room¡¯s door open just wide enough for her to slide through. It clicks shut behind her. I stand at the breeze, the opening just under my shoulders. In the next room over, the voices of the girl and her father seep across the boundaries.


    ¡°So is the boy awake or not?¡± A man¡¯s voice.


    ¡°No, he¡¯s still sleeping. I¡¯m going to head out for a bit. Just waiting around is kind of boring.¡± The girl says.


    ¡°Where will you be heading?¡± The man asks.


    ¡°Probably just the paddies.¡±


    A door squeaks open, then again as it shuts.


    I inhale deeply, placing my palms along the windowsill. The so called, ¡°gun¡±, still lies on the table next to me. All I see in it is red, but my gaze is drawn to it. When I realize my stare, it feels like I only just looked down.


    I turn back to the window. My feet spring upwards. I bring my legs over one at a time. They dangle above the ground; my toes scrape against the wall as I lower myself down. Tucked under the rough pant strap, a hard point jabs into my hip when I land.


    The air outside is sweltering. Vast green plains lie swaying amidst the thin morning fog. Sunlight scatters, and dew sparkles, flashing with the pass of my eyes. The land runs flat, disappearing into the burning sky. There are no mountains in the distance. It feels rather odd. For so many years they were always there, solemnly waiting.


    The girl gently steps around the corner. She wears a large straw hat; a pair of boots in her hand.


    ¡°Your shoes are still drying, so you¡¯ll have to do with these for now.¡± She says. ¡°It¡¯s fairly muddy out there so they¡¯ll actually be quite useful.¡±


    I look from the boots, to the old sandals on the girl¡¯s feet.


    ¡°Will you be alright wearing those?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me. I work these fields almost every day. I know how to get by.¡± She replies.


    I take the boots and slip them over my bare feet.


    ¡°So, what so you want to tell me about first?¡± The girl asks, shortly after. ¡°I¡¯ve got so many things I want to ask you.¡±


    She begins walking away in the direction she came, slowly, looking back at me over her shoulder. I follow beside her, slightly behind.


    ¡°Ask away.¡±


    ¡°Okay, let¡¯s start with that gun then. What were you doing carrying around something like that?¡±


    ¡°I was bringing it to my uncle. He lives in the next town over.¡±


    I feel like I said to much, but I cannot take my words back.


    ¡°Really? What does he need it for? You probably wouldn¡¯t know though, am I right?¡±


    My head shakes up and down, barely even moving before changing direction. The back of my neck feels damp. We approach two fields of water, one on either side. Dull green leaves sprout out from the murky lakes, lined up perfectly next to one another. The girl steps onto the narrow path between. I trail after her, but suddenly stop in my tracks.


    ¡°Hey, wait.¡± I call out to her back. Her step swings around; pivoting on her heel, turning to face me. She holds her hands behind her back.


    ¡°What is it?¡± She asks.


    ¡°I heard what you told your father. To be honest, I don¡¯t really like the idea of me being out here without telling him.¡±


    The girl takes a step towards me, then she leans forward.


    ¡°Oh. Is that so? You don¡¯t like how I lied to him, is that it? I figured you wouldn¡¯t have any problem with it.¡±


    ¡°No, that¡¯s not- I just-¡±


    ¡°We can go back if you want to. I wouldn¡¯t want to force you to do something that you don¡¯t want to do.¡±


    ¡°No, no. it¡¯s fine. We¡¯re already all the way out here so we might as well stay.¡±


    My heartbeat begins to race. Or perhaps it had already, and I only just noticed. The words I spoke were chosen by me, so why does this conversation feel so one sided? Who is this girl? This girl named Claire. It¡¯s like she can hear the blood pumping through my veins.


    She responds to my last statement.


    ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    I nod.


    ¡°Okay, let¡¯s carry on then. I¡¯ve still got a lot more questions.¡±


    She continues along the path and I sprint to return to her side. It is only the rustling of nature for a long moment, but the girl, Claire, speaks.


    ¡°I never used to lie that much. But then mom left one day. Last I saw her was at the train station. She didn¡¯t tell me why I couldn¡¯t go with her.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear that. I know how that feels.¡±


    As I speak, I cannot help but think I am saying exactly what she wants me to say.


    ¡°Anyways, that¡¯s enough about me.¡± She says, her eyes closed.


    When they open, they sparkle like the drops of mist rolling off the crop.


    ¡°For my next question, I¡¯d like to know how you got here.¡±


    I ponder what I should say. What lie I should tell.


    ¡°The train.¡± I say. ¡°I came on the train, from far away.¡±


    My stare bounces with my boots. I do not face where Claire can see my eyes. But at the edge of my eight, I catch a glimpse of a smirk.


    ¡°How interesting. But I take it that¡¯s not all there is to it.¡±


    I come to a sudden stop, for only just a moment, and only on the inside.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± I ask, expectancy lurking.


    ¡°What I mean, is that you must have taken a boat too. You¡¯re from overseas, aren¡¯t you? -¡±


    ¡°No, I -¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no need to hide it. I can tell by the way you speak.¡±


    My arms tighten and my fists grow tense. Heat and palm are hard to hold; like trying to grab onto the rain, or the lifted mist. Metal digs into my side, right up to bone. My hand hovers.


    ¡°That¡¯s not-¡± I begin, but I do not even know what I was going to say.


    ¡°I¡¯m right, aren¡¯t I?¡± Claire says.


    ¡°Speaking of which, do you really still want me to call you, what was it again? Harrier?¡±


    Her voice is piercing, provocative.


    ¡°I mean, I can keep calling you that if you want, but your real name would work fine too.¡±


    I cannot speak.


    ¡°You¡¯re so interesting, you know. I¡¯ve still got so many more questions to ask. But it would help if you stopped lying.¡±


    My ears ring and I see red. My head spins in the cracks.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure what you mean.¡± I say.


    ¡°What if I told you that there is no train station around here?¡±


    My last step comes suddenly. Legs shaking, it¡¯s hard to keep balance.


    Claire continues a few paces before facing back around. She looks through me, gazing defencelessly into the white sky, but it feels like she¡¯s far from it. A wall of light surrounds her. The fires that burn beyond rain down the heaven¡¯s protection. But she is just one girl. One of many.


    ¡°You know, I¡¯ve been thinking about it for some time now. Why your clothes were all torn and why you¡¯re carrying around that gun. And why you insist on lying. I think, maybe, could it be that you¡¯re running from something. Maybe someone? -¡±


    My arm flies out ahead, gun in hand. The skin above my hip stings.


    ¡°You¡¯re one of them aren¡¯t you.¡± I yell my loudest.


    Claire raises her hands to her sides, with open palms.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about. I¡¯m just an ordinary farmgirl.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me.¡±


    ¡°Why do you think I would lie? I¡¯ve told nothing but the truth up until now.¡±


    ¡°You said your mother left on the train, but that shouldn¡¯t be possible if there isn¡¯t one near here.¡±


    ¡°Is that what I said now? I recall only asking what you would do if that were in fact the truth.¡±


    She takes a step forward, hands still in the air. Her breath is slow, calm, disorienting. Something is concealed beneath her smile.


    I¡¯ve taken risks to stay alive until now. But I¡¯m not a risk taker.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Claire.¡±


    ----------------------------------


    All is black around me. I hold my arms out but see nothing. A single light awakens among the vast darkness. Then another. And another.


    The stars begin to light up the night, one by one. As the world appears from the shadows, a figure emerges out of my reach. She kneels, looking up, enveloped by the dark. I swing my arms ahead, but I still cannot see them. The light only shines on her.


    A screeching whine wails in my ear. The girl stays. Without a move.


    Behind her, a crack opens in the sky, and it shatters like glass. The shards shower around her, but still she does not move. Like she didn¡¯t even notice.


    I cry out to her, but my voice is not there.


    There¡¯s a loud bang. The girl¡¯s shadow falls. Glass fractures behind her. The breaks draw circles surrounding where she lies. She does not move.


    The girl and the stars grow smaller. I run towards her, but it¡¯s no use. The pull is too great.


    My arms flail. My voice screams. But there is nothing.


    ----------------------------------


    Claire stands a distance away from me. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a chunk of metal. Swaying back and forth, she dangles it in front of herself for me to see.


    ¡°What is that¡± I mutter. A dumbfounded expression spreads across her face.


    ¡°Seriously? I took away the magazine of course. Gosh, you really don¡¯t know very much about guns now do you?¡±


    Her steps approach closer. The gun remains pointed at her, shaking. My arms petrified.


    My hands are emptied, what they held now in Claire¡¯s hands. She opens a hatch and inserts the magazine.


    ¡°See, you put it in like this.¡± She says. ¡°When you run out of bullets, you take it out and put in more.¡±


    She hands the gun back to me, holding the barrel.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got seven shots left so use them wisely.¡±


    My arms do not move to receive it, but not because I don¡¯t want to. Claire waits a moment before grabbing my hand and placing the gun on top. She then takes my other and sets it atop it all.


    ¡°Okay let¡¯s carry on then. I¡¯d still like to ask you all my questions.¡±


    She turns and begins to walk, hands held behind her back. Her legs stiff, kicking above the ground with each step.


    ¡°Why are you giving this back to me?¡± I ask.


    The girl swings around, basked in sunlight.


    ¡°I told you, didn¡¯t I? I¡¯m just an ordinary farmgirl.¡±


    I move my hand aside and look deeply at what is inside, then squeeze it back where it once was. Claire smiles. She watches as I catch up to her, only turning to face back ahead when I return to her side.


    ¡°So,¡± She begins, ¡°Harrier. How¡¯d you come up with that name anyways?¡±


    ¡°A harrier is a bird. They remind me what it¡¯s like to be free.¡± I respond.


    ¡°That¡¯s a lie isn¡¯t it.¡±


    ¡°Not entirely.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t mind if it is. I like that reason.¡±


    A grin replaces my frown for the first time in a long time.


    ¡°So, should I keep calling you that, or would you prefer something else?¡± Claire asks.


    I reply decisively.


    ¡°Klaus. My name is Klaus.¡±

 6. Euphoric Sunset

    From the outside, the world will seem like it¡¯s almost not even there. When one can only observe, everything just disappears. Or rather, it all appears the same. And when everything, everyone, is the same, it becomes hard to care, to go on. It¡¯s not painful, though. But only because I didn¡¯t care enough to be hurt.


    When I would go to sleep every night, I could hear all the whispers. Bouncing about the walls were murmurs of ¡°he did what?¡± and ¡°wasn¡¯t that fun?¡±. ¡°What should we do tomorrow?¡± or ¡°could you just go to sleep?¡±. Everyone talking about everyone; everyone but me.


    I¡¯m not stupid, though. I wasn¡¯t then either. I always knew why they didn¡¯t want to talk to me, and it wasn¡¯t complicated in the slightest.


    Some people could do to listen more often, and others could do to speak more often. And then there are those who haven¡¯t spoken in so long they can¡¯t even remember the sound of their own voice.


    A few days after we¡¯d arrived at the Conservatory, Lio told me that my voice sounds like a girl¡¯s. I like to think it¡¯s just because at that point, I knew the sound of her voice better than my own.


    We in the Program were taught to listen; listen to whatever anyone had to say. But in order to listen, someone has to say something to listen to. So, while everyone else was learning how to use their ears, I was teaching myself to use my words - because no one wants to talk to someone who doesn¡¯t speak.


    ----------------------------------


    As the sky rumbles and the clouds darken, the searing heat begins to lift. The horizon but just a line of deep gray, scraping against the black above.


    A drop of water bounces off the back of my hand.


    I look to Claire, who¡¯s just shouting distance away. Her long, baggy pants submerged in the paddy. The water almost coming up to her knees. She raises her chin towards the sky, the rain now already beginning to come down hard. With a wave of her hand, she signals to make a run for it.


    Trudging through water, and the mud beneath, I make my way towards her. Each step harder than the last, I feel the weight of the rain flowing in and out of my boots. The force pulls me back down as I try to move ahead, one step at a time. Then, I feel the mud between my toes. My bare foot sinks into the ground.


    I pivot around and shove both arms into the murky water. They flail about, but find nothing. The skies roar louder now. Claire yells out from behind me.


    ¡°Just leave it! We¡¯ll come back for it later.¡±


    She steps back into the water, reaching out a hand.


    When the house comes into view, the storm is in full swing. Every window is shut tight with the blinds pulled down. Rain pelts down on the porch roof. Along the edges, the water streams over. We enter through a wall of liquid.


    Claire makes no haste to head inside. She grabs a towel hanging from the back of a chair and tosses it into my arms. It¡¯s a tad bit wet, but it¡¯s better than nothing.


    The bun tied from Claire¡¯s hair comes loose, as she pulls out her hairpins. She takes it by the handful and begins wringing it out. I pop my ear clear. The chatter becomes more distinct.


    ¡°I¡¯m guessing you didn¡¯t have a typhoon season where you come from, huh?¡± She asks.


    I shake my head.


    ¡°Well, that makes the second time this week. This year¡¯s really starting off strong¡± She continues. A towel stretched over her head.


    Her raven coloured hair lies scattered across her shoulders and sprawled over her back. From behind, she looks just like she used to.


    Claire turns to reach for the doorknob, but I move my hand forward, signaling for her to stop. With the torrential downpour around us, I doubt she would notice what I do. And sure enough, she looks to me, lost for reason.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± She asks, in almost a whisper.


    I point to my ear.


    Claire squints at first, skeptical.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure it¡¯s just my father.¡± She says.


    She places an ear on the door, her eyes closed, and her breath held. For a moment, the world outside is all that is alive. Then a look of surprise on Claire¡¯s face.


    ¡°You¡¯re right! There¡¯s someone else in there. How did you know?¡± She says with astonishment, but still softly. I shrug off the question.


    Claire returns to eavesdropping on the conversation inside. It¡¯s hard to tell how much she can hear, but that¡¯s not much of a problem; I can hear it word for word after all. It genuinely sounds like just a conversation between two friends, and nothing more. Earlier, Claire¡¯s father used the name ¡°Charles¡± to address this person, but that is not a name familiar to me. And although I¡¯m next to certain they cannot hear us outside, I hesitate to ask Claire.


    ¡°I can¡¯t make out a thing they¡¯re saying.¡± Claire says, quietly.


    She looks to me for some kind of reply. I motion for her to come closer, and whisper in her ear.


    ¡°Charles.¡±


    She steps back. A grin written right across her face.


    ¡°Charles is a friend of my father¡¯s. They used to work togethor, so I guess he¡¯s kind of like my uncle. He¡¯s a fun guy, so you¡¯ve got absolutely nothing to worry about.¡±


    She gracefully spins around to face the door once again. A question tries to escape my throat, but through wavering resolve.


    ¡°Where were they raised?¡±


    By the time it makes its way out, though, Claire has already opened the door, and my words falls on deaf ears.


    ¡°That rain out there sure is something else.¡± She says, as she enters the doorway.


    A tall man sits at the table. He swings around, leaning an arm over the back of his chair. His gaze meets Claire¡¯s, and he smiles; warmly, authentically. But then, for only just a second, those piercing eyes of his flick upwards looking to where I stand.


    My first instinct is to run, to hide. But where to?


    It¡¯s possible I could have just imagined it. Recently, I¡¯ve been seeing things that aren¡¯t there. Visions of them. Coming to get me.


    ¡°Claire?¡± The man asks. ¡°Is that you?¡±


    ¡°Indeed it is.¡±


    ¡°My, my, you¡¯ve grown so much since I last saw you. I almost didn¡¯t recognize you.¡±


    ¡°What brings you all the way out here?¡± Claire asks.


    ¡°I just came in to escape the rain.¡± The man, Charles, replies.


    It¡¯s obviously a joke, but I cannot help but notice his clothes are completely dry; Claire¡¯s father¡¯s too.


    ¡°Will you be staying awhile?¡± Claire asks, excitedly. ¡°I¡¯ve got so many things I want to show you.¡±


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°Did another doll join the family?¡± Charles asks.


    ¡°Hey! I¡¯m not a kid anymore. And I¡¯m not into those things anymore either.¡±


    The man glances at the shelf on the wall, and the set of handmade toys sitting upon it. Even though they¡¯re clearly just collecting dust, it never occurred to me that Claire had such a childish side.


    It feels wrong to be doubtful. Claire had enough trust in me to put herself at my mercy, so the least I can do is give that same trust in return. But if this is all an act, then it seems incredibly believable.


    No, what am I thinking? Of course it¡¯s not; I know it¡¯s not. So then why do I feel it more than ever now?


    My guilty trust. I can¡¯t bear it any longer.


    Charles raises both hands to his side, palms empty.


    ¡°Okay, I apologize. I was only joking, okay kiddo? I¡¯d be happy to see what you¡¯ve got.¡±


    ¡°Does that mean you¡¯ll be staying then?¡±


    ¡°Indeed it does. Your father¡¯s got some important business to attend to in the city, so I¡¯m here to babysit for a few days.


    Claire¡¯s father nods.


    ¡°Sorry to bring this on you so suddenly.¡± He says. ¡°It¡¯ll only be for a few days, I¡¯ll be back before you know it.¡±


    She retreats into herself, almost sulking.


    ¡°And who¡¯s this behind you?¡± The man says. ¡°Come on in kid, you¡¯ll catch a cold standing out there.¡±


    Perhaps it¡¯s just that I was all of a sudden more on edge, but something about that one line seemed so, forced.


    I step inside. The beating of rain dies down as I shut it out behind me.


    ¡°Hello, my name is Klaus. I¡¯m helping around the farm these days. It¡¯s nice to meet you.¡±


    ¡°Likewise. I¡¯m Charles, if you didn¡¯t pick up on that already. Ambrose and I grew up together, so if you want to know something embarrassing about him, all you have to do is ask.¡±


    He waits for a response, but I do not know what to say. Squinting curiously, staring seeming at the back of my head. I keep my hands held behind me. They squeeze together tightly, but the tremor does not fade so easily.


    ¡°Okay kid, here¡¯s the deal,¡± My ears perk. ¡°I¡¯m not really the best at dealing with uptight children, so you¡¯re going to have to be just a wee bit less nervous around me.¡±


    I remain stiff as a rock, but quickly nod several times, though I do not know why.


    Charles sighs, intentionally loudly, but for some reason, I find it rather comforting.


    ¡°Well, I guess we¡¯ll get there eventually.¡± He says.


    ----------------------------------


    Everyone liked Ciel. He was a likeable kind of guy. Always going with the flow, never taking anything all too seriously. Persistently sarcastic, and although he would never admit it, he deeply cared for each of our other peers. He had a way with connecting with others; finding what kind of person it was that they needed and being that person for them. He was everybody, and nobody.


    Perhaps it wouldn¡¯t have been unreasonable to say he was never genuine, because he had so many different faces. Perhaps. Ciel was a liar after all. But I don¡¯t think it matters; I¡¯ve met the real Ciel. I¡¯ve seen what he¡¯s really like inside.


    Theresa, on the other hand, was nearly as opposite from Ciel as possible. She was never one to lie, never one to pretend. It¡¯s not like people didn¡¯t like her, she was probably the most clever girl in the Conservatory. That alone was enough to earn her the respect of the others. She always spoke her mind, though she didn¡¯t speak very much. But that¡¯s not because she was like me.


    Ciel once told me that the less a person speaks, the more value that person¡¯s words carry. He wasn¡¯t the first person to tell me that, though. I heard it from the adults at the orphanage first, probably to try and get me to say something. They stopped trying after a while, but whenever they used that line, I thought it was stupid. So, when Ciel told me the same thing, I told him it was stupid too.


    It seems so strange how I never thought it was odd that Ciel and Theresa got along so remarkably well. They were polar opposites. One swaying with the wind, and the other a stern rock. I¡¯d not remembered a single time that they argue about anything. Sure, they would sometimes they would butt ends, in some silly sort of disagreement, but what kind of person doesn¡¯t? And even when they did bicker a bit, they did so almost as a sort of formality; like they were just putting on a show.


    There was a night when Theresa was out doing the laundry. Ciel and I had just finished up our game, and we could hear her footsteps coming closer outside. I guess Ciel was feeling rather bored, because he placed a finger to his lips, then snuck himself behind the door. As soon as Theresa walked in, he jumped out in her face, waving his arms about like he¡¯d lost his mind.


    He said she got spooked pretty good, but she said she did not. I¡¯m not sure who was right, because I was more interested in figuring out why Ciel hadn¡¯t taken the decisive move. I would have been beaten for sure. Perhaps he just didn¡¯t see it.


    Those two had a special bond. Transcending time and space. It wouldn¡¯t surprise me at all if they were on opposite sides of the world, and still knew exactly what the other was thinking.


    ----------------------------------


    A stream of water drips on my head. I would move, that is, if I could.


    It¡¯s the first storm of the year. Under the shed whose roof was leaking in the sunlight just a few days ago, all we can do is wait.


    Claire sits atop the crate beside me. She thoughtfully gazes out the open front wall. The gray now seemingly every present. Her legs dangle over the edge, above the gravel floor. She kicks them back and forth, beating the wet wood with her bare heels. Although they don¡¯t move, my feet hang too. But then, that¡¯s how it should be, Claire is taller than me.


    ¡°So,¡± She says, finally breaking the monotone pounding of the rain.


    ¡°Theresa. Who is that anyways?¡±


    I tilt my gaze slightly downwards, with a bashful reply.


    ¡°You still remember that?¡±


    She nods.


    ¡°I remember a lot of things.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s, she¡¯s my, sister.¡±


    I catch a glimpse of a smile.


    ¡°Huh. Really.¡± She says. ¡°I¡¯m a little bit jealous to be honest. I¡¯ve always wanted a sister.


    ¡°Well, she¡¯s not actually my sister. More like, a really close friend. No, like family, I guess.¡±


    Claire raises an eyebrow. Her jaw just a bit lowered.


    ¡°So,¡± She says again, this time lingering on the word. ¡°then she is your sister.¡±


    I shrug as far as my numb shoulders can move. For a second, I think I smirk too, but I¡¯m not sure if she noticed.


    Claire looks back outside as she begins to speak.


    ¡°If I had a sister, I would teach her how to plow the fields, and walk through mud without losing her sandals. And then I¡¯d show her the places to jump and climb, and how to sneak out of the house without dad noticing.¡±


    I smirk again, wider this time; an eloquent smile. I suck my lips in to try and hold it back, but Claire notices, nonetheless.


    "What¡¯s so funny?¡± She asks.


    I kick my legs forward. They beat the empty box once before coming to a stop.


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing really.¡± I reply. ¡°I just envy how simple your wishes can be.¡±


    As I speak, I sniffle, just once. The rain has forced me to do so for a while now; Claire too. But something about this one is different.


    ¡°Are you making fun of me? That¡¯s not very nice of you, you know.¡± Claire says.


    ¡°No, no. I was just thinking¡­¡±


    There¡¯s a gap in my thought.


    ¡°Thinking, about what?¡± She asks.


    ¡°¡­nothing. Nothing important.¡±


    My voice comes out weak, and Claire takes notice. Her demeanor changers. She¡¯s concerned, trying to figure out whether it really is just the rain. I try to hide my face; I don¡¯t want to look at hers. She wouldn¡¯t understand. I didn¡¯t.


    ¡°Is something wrong?¡±


    Comforting words, but not to me. Not to her.


    I hug my knees to my chest.


    ¡°You can tell me about anything. I¡¯m good at listening.¡±


    My head shakes no, but she probably only sees it¡¯s back move ever so slightly, side to side. At least, I hope that¡¯s the case.


    Claire¡¯s posture shifts, and the wood creaks. She begins speaking with a sigh.


    ¡°You know, Klaus. When my mother left, six years ago, the last thing she said to me was ¡®you be a good girl until I get back¡¯. She never told me where she was going, or when she would come back.¡±


    Claire pauses. She blinks once ¨C a very long once.


    ¡°It was only a few months before we found you, that she came back.¡±


    As she speaks, I can only wonder how she does it. How she can speak, without tears.


    ¡°I¡¯ve tried my best to be a good girl, I really have. But, she came back already. So, I don¡¯t have to anymore. Do I?¡±


    There¡¯s a long stillness. I work up the courage to speak.


    ¡°I, don¡¯t know.¡±


    A grin forces itself onto Claire¡¯s face, but it¡¯s only a half-smile. I¡¯ve seen it somewhere before. A smile from the inside, but one that¡¯s slowly drifting away.


    My words begin coming out, silently. She stops me.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to tell me now, if it¡¯s too soon. I¡¯m good at waiting.¡± She says.


    I face the ground, but my eyes rolled all the way to the side, looking at her.


    ¡°I¡¯ll let you be alone for a while. I¡¯ll just be right outside.¡±


    She stands to leave, her movements stiff. With one look from behind, her pitch-black strands, I see only one person.


    Claire.


    ¡°Wait.¡±


    She looks back over her shoulder.


    ¡°Don¡¯t go. Outside, I mean. You can¡¯t see anything from there.¡±


    Her smile says she doesn¡¯t understand. But that¡¯s okay. I¡¯m not quite sure if I do.


    ¡°Never mind. That didn¡¯t make any sense. Forget I said that.¡±


    Claire looks out amidst a frame of brighter days. Rain falls from her hair and down her shoulders, gathering up at her fingertips. The sky gives her no pardons. It¡¯s relentless, sparing not a flicker of light. She speaks to the shrouded fields, the unyielding clouds. Her voice reaches all that are willing to hear.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to let it happen again.¡±


    She looks over her shoulder.


    ¡°Tomorrow morning, let¡¯s do it.¡±

 7. Innocence

    During the end of summer, and all throughout autumn, it rains a lot.


    We spent much of our time under all sorts of roofs; the porch, the shed, and a few times, the cave ¨C a small indent into the stone hillside.


    When the clouds parted, however, we¡¯d double down our efforts. In the end, we finished the harvest on time.


    The winters here are cold, but it doesn¡¯t snow.


    Claire took me around the village to meet the neighbours. That wasn¡¯t an everyday thing though. The closest other farmers were still a journey away.


    At home, Claire showed me how to cook, and in return, I taught her a thing or two about the wilderness. When a clear night came, we camped out in the cold staring at the stars.


    Spring comes quick, bringing flowers in full bloom.


    There wasn¡¯t anything we could plant, so we went on long hikes to new places. The sun and moon would rise and fall above us. It reminded me of how things used to be.


    Before I knew it, as the days grew longer, the nostalgic days of summer had crept back upon us. And instead of the harvest, we spent our mornings waiting. Counting the days since he left.


    It¡¯ll be a whole year soon.


    ----------------------------------


    The beating of rain against the window awakens me from my sleep. I sit up, and glance at the time. The clock reads four.


    I¡¯ve never gotten up this early before. Then again, it could be four in the afternoon. This wouldn¡¯t be the first time I¡¯ve gotten up so late after all.


    My hand reaches to toss the covers aside, but there are none. After all this time, it¡¯s something I¡¯ve still yet to get used to.


    I grab the bag leaning against the bed frame and head to the window. The restraints slide open without a sound. My bag is lowered down first, followed by an umbrella. I throw my raincoat over my shoulders, and begin doing up the buttons, but as I scan the shadows for my boots, they¡¯re no where to be seen.


    Did I leave them out front? I¡¯m almost positive I didn¡¯t. Regardless, I¡¯ll have to grab something else to wear if I don¡¯t want to sink into the ground.


    I turn the doorknob as carefully as possible, not to make a single sound. Just a crack opens, and I scan the darkness outside. To my surprise, under the light of a single bulb, a person sits at the kitchen table. His face is hidden behind a large newspaper. There¡¯s a split second where I hope that just maybe, it¡¯s him; that he¡¯s back. But I know it¡¯s just Uncle Charles. Claire¡¯s father never read the papers.


    He takes notice of my presence, quickly folding the paper into a neat little rectangle.


    ¡°You¡¯re up early.¡± Charles, remarks.


    My first thought is to turn back, to make a run for it. But perhaps I can just play this one off.


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s good. I wasn¡¯t too sure.¡± I say.


    I open the door just wide enough for me to slip through. It clicks shut as I drag it along behind me.


    ¡°So, you do this often? Getting up in the middle of the night?¡± Charles asks, as he places the paper in front of him.


    I shake my head.


    ¡°No.¡± I tell him. ¡°I¡¯m usually out cold until Claire wakes me.¡±


    Charles remains in his seat.


    ¡°What are you doing up so early?¡± I ask.


    He chuckles quietly to himself.


    ¡°I took your boots.¡±


    My eyebrows raise and my lips slip open for just a moment. But it¡¯s too late already.


    ¡°Heh, I knew it.¡±


    I stutter over my words.


    ¡°How did you know?¡± I finally ask.


    ¡°I¡¯ve known Claire since she was a child. I can tell when she¡¯s hiding something.¡±


    The beating beneath my chest races. So many times, I¡¯d vowed to never ask anyone this question again, but it seems once more, that vow will be broken.


    ¡°And what about me? Do you know about me?¡±


    It¡¯s the same look that I¡¯ve gotten from so many. The quick glance into my eyes, and underneath his, the gears are spinning, trying to piece together what I could mean. A look of innocence, one that dispels the pressure, but raises awkwardness.


    ¡°All this time, am I really that scary? You got to learn to let loose, kid, I just told you I knew, didn¡¯t I? Or did you forget already?¡±


    The weight escapes in a sigh.


    There¡¯s a moment of silence that follows. And it begins to dawn on me.


    ¡°You can¡¯t stop us from leaving. We¡¯re not going to sit around waiting forever.¡±


    My body stiffens in anticipation of his reply.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I don¡¯t intend to.¡±


    I begin the rebuff I prepared, but cut myself off before the first word. His answer was not what I expected.


    ¡°Then why did you,¡± I linger in confusion.


    ¡°Why did I take your boots?¡± He finishes my thought for me.


    I nod.


    ¡°Well, I just saw them lying there.¡± He says with chuckle.


    The chair rumbles across the floor as Charles gets up from his seat. He steps back into the kitchen and takes something out of top left cabinet. The one with the wine glasses that we never use.


    With two envelopes in hand, he approaches me.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Before Claire¡¯s mother left, she wrote a letter for her with her father. And then when he left, he wrote one too and entrusted them to me.¡±


    Charles takes my hands and places the papers inside.


    ¡°He trusted me to give them to her when the time was right.¡±


    I glance down. His hands still covering mine.


    ¡°Why are you giving this to me?¡±


    ¡°She trusts you more than anyone right now.¡±


    He moves his arms back, leaving the letters between my palms.


    ¡°How can you tell?¡± I ask.


    He raises an eyebrow; my question was already answered earlier.


    I unveil the two envelopes, wedging them tightly between my fingers. One light brown and aged with time, the other just the same, only slightly less.


    ¡°You aren¡¯t going to come with us?¡± I ask.


    He tilts his gaze down and recites a long-prepared reply.


    ¡°I was around your age when I left to see the world. It wouldn¡¯t be my place to tag along.¡±


    It doesn¡¯t make much sense to me, but the way he said it, like with absolute certainty that he is correct. I¡¯ve heard that tone many times before. My thumbs press tightly into the letters in my hands. They fold up around the edges.


    ¡°How will I know when it¡¯s time?¡±


    ¡°They aren¡¯t sealed¡±


    I look Charles in the eye.


    ¡°Thanks, Charles.¡±


    ¡°What for?¡± He asks.


    ¡°For looking after a total stranger like me.¡±


    ¡°Is that so odd?¡±


    I shake my head.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be going now.¡±


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    My heel rotates towards the door.


    ¡°Hold on, there¡¯s one more thing.¡± Charles says.


    He hands me the folded newspaper.


    ¡°You should read this. Just so you two aren¡¯t taken by surprise.¡±


    I take the paper and nod once more. It finds its way into my pocket.


    ¡°Keep an eye on Claire for me alright? She can let her emotions get to her sometimes.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    Charles takes one last look at me. His eyes cannot hide that he¡¯s sad to see me go; to see both of us go.


    ¡°Well, you get on your way now.¡±


    As I open the front door, the wind kicks it in towards me. I glance back over my shoulder a final time. Charles still stands in the same spot, still watching me leave. He looks almost regretful.


    ¡°Come back safely, okay? Both of you.¡±


    ----------------------------------


    Her hand twitches from the bright red sore right above the thumb. It hurts to even just hold it up. Claire isn¡¯t the greatest artist I¡¯ve ever seen, but with a six-hour train ride, and an hour wait before, it¡¯s turned out quite well. Even just sitting next to her, there was enough pencil dust to make me blink twice. Through a pain staking amount of redrawing, erasing, and redrawing again, a familiar face finally appeared on the blank sheet of paper, pulled straight out of the station¡¯s recycling bin.


    It should come as no surprise then, that I felt her same disappointment, as the young man behind the visitor center desk slowly shook his head.


    ¡°Haven¡¯t been many people passing by lately, and this is a small enough town already. If he¡¯d have come by, I¡¯d remember his face.¡± He said, before offering to take down a name.


    ¡°Ambrose Lang.¡± Claire told him. ¡°Tell him his daughter came by looking for him.¡±


    The receptionist took note, and Claire offered to leave her drawing with him, to which he declined. Because he¡¯s ¡®good with faces.¡¯ I only remember he said that because when he did, he glanced up at as. Maybe he didn¡¯t, though, but I tried to make myself too visible.


    He directed us towards a place we could stay, wished us the best of luck, and we were on our way.


    Admittedly not the best foot to get off from, but what were we supposed to expect.


    We enter our room for the night, and Claire tosses her bag on the floor. She flops over like a wet noodle and plants her face into it. It sounds like something snaps apart, but I can¡¯t tell if it was something in the bag, or her nose.


    ¡°You are just radiating with positivity, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    I wait for a response but get none. I begin to wonder if she broke more than just her nose.


    ¡°Hey, Claire. You alive?¡±


    She lies motionless still, and I kneel by her side. Her eyes are shut and sound asleep. That¡¯s what she gets for staying up the whole way here.


    I take the sheets from the cot and place them over her shoulders.


    The peaceful rains begin to pick up again, and I quietly open the sliding door out back. Stepping into the cold summer air, a small courtyard awaits me, surrounded by sloped roofs and a stone walkway looping all the way around. It¡¯s a dark evening, but there¡¯re only two rooms with their lights on; ours and the main lobby.


    ¡®Haven¡¯t been many people passing by recently.¡¯ Looks like that guy wasn¡¯t kidding.


    I reach into my pocket and unfold the things Charles gave me. The date on the newspaper is a week and a half ago. The date on the letters, I can only imagine are much older. I slip open the first envelope and hold it in the light. When the time is right, huh? I wonder that will be.


    ----------------------------------


    The rain and the winds pick up, kicking the water under the overhang and onto my feet. I tuck the papers deep into my coat and head back inside. Claire is still out cold on the floor. I sneak by and exit the front door into the hallway. The blank walls are lit by just a few lights, a homely feel.


    I reach the lobby and shuffle through the case of flyers by the entrance.


    A soft voice speaks from behind me.


    ¡°Can I help you with something?¡±


    An elegant young lady, the innkeeper¡¯s daughter I presume.


    ¡°I was hoping to find the most recent newspaper.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± She says, nervously. ¡°We don¡¯t carry the paper here, but I have a copy that I was reading earlier. Would that be okay?¡±


    There¡¯s a slight hesitation in my reply.


    ¡°Thanks, that¡¯ll do just fine.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be just a moment then.¡±


    The girl bows and hurries away into the hallway. I look back to the flyers. A flower garden is reopening soon, plums are back in season, and a life changing boating experience. I guess life just goes on, doesn¡¯t it?


    The young lady returns, and hands me her newspaper.


    ¡°I¡¯ll get it right back to you.¡± I tell her.


    As I begin my way back down the hall, I skim through the pages, but nothing catches my eye. It¡¯s just local news, like the flyers. I turn back around.


    ¡°Back so soon?¡± The girl asks, holding a broom to her side.


    ¡°I was actually looking for something more, worldwide.¡±


    I hand the paper back to her. There¡¯s an anxious look in her eye as she receives it.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry that¡¯s the only one I have.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be, I appreciate your helping me.¡±


    She smiles, but it¡¯s an uneasy one. Am I intimidating her? It never occurred to me that was something I was capable of doing. It feels wrong to question her further, but I already slept the whole time Claire was drawing.


    ¡°If it¡¯s not too much to ask,¡± I fumble through my pocket. ¡°Could you tell me more about this article?¡±


    I raise the paper for her to see, pointing to the picture on the front page. There¡¯s an immediate repulse from her entire being. She slides her foot back, holding her arms closer to her chest. Her eyes flicker away from the page.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± She says.


    I quickly fold the paper and tuck it back in my pocket.


    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have asked, I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    The girl bows again, down and up in an instant. She scurries away into the hall without another word or farewell. What kind of nerve did I strike there?


    As I lie on the cot, waiting for my thoughts to drift, they always seem to return to that article. The picture of that building in flames, and this person that it keeps mentioning, but without a name. Who is he, I wonder?


    ----------------------------------


    ¡°You know, that name sounds awfully familiar. I¡¯ll check for you. Just a moment please.¡±


    Claire slides her drawing back off the counter, and into her pocket once more. The lady turns away, her eye glancing back at us right before she disappears behind the wall. A silence takes hold of the cramped city hall. Cramped not by people, but the unnerving loneliness. An entire building, empty, if not for two strangers from a far away land. No one behind us, beside us, or even in front of us, at the desk. But there are others here, I can hear the rolling of their pens under the beating of the rain.


    Claire stares blankly, twiddling her thumbs behind her back. She sways back and forth, like she¡¯s going to fall over from exhaustion.


    ¡°That¡¯s a good sign, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    There¡¯s a childlike look on her face as she snaps back into the world.


    ¡°She said the name sounded familiar.¡± I add.


    Claire turns her gaze away from me and back at the ground.


    ¡°Oh, she did, didn¡¯t she?¡±


    Her words and tone are detached.


    ¡°Is something the matter?¡± I ask.


    Claire shakes her head.


    ¡°It¡¯s just not how I thought it would be.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    She stretches her neck back, taking a moment to think.


    ¡°The people here, it might just be me, but they don¡¯t seem as friendly as everyone back home.¡±


    There¡¯s a pause in her sentence as she stumbles over her own thoughts.


    ¡°No, no, I¡¯m sorry, that¡¯s such a terrible thing to say, they¡¯re all doing so much to help us, and¡­¡±


    Claire retreats into herself, losing the will to speak. She twiddles her thumbs and sways with the still air. Heading back to her own far away land.


    ¡°So you¡¯ve noticed it too.¡±


    Like pulling a string attached to her head, Claire bounces back upright.


    ¡°Remember what that guy from yesterday said, about there not being many visitors? It¡¯s a small town, so we probably stand out.¡±


    She doesn¡¯t seem satisfied with my answer.


    ¡°You don¡¯t think,¡±


    Claire hesitates, deciding to signal me to come closer. She whispers into my ear.


    ¡°You don¡¯t think those people could still looking for you.¡±


    I break away, shaking my head. Claire looks genuinely concerned, more than I am. More than I should be. It¡¯s fine, I tell myself. They¡¯ve been gone for over a year now. What good will it do for them to chase me to the end of days? I¡¯m no longer one of them. No longer Klaus Aecir. Ciel, Lio. It¡¯s all in the past.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s good.¡± Claire says. ¡°Then I guess it is just what you said, that small town thing.¡±


    My fingers skim the edge of the newspaper in my pocket. It hasn¡¯t left my side since we left.


    ¡°Actually, there¡¯s something else it might be.¡±


    I pinch the paper. Claire turns in a mystified curiosity, but the lady returns as my hand begins to move. She rests her arms atop the desk.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I checked for new residents, missing persons, and even deceased persons, but that name wasn¡¯t listed on any of those.¡±


    Claire mixes a smile of disappointment and relief.


    ¡°At least it¡¯s good to know that he wasn¡¯t on that last one.¡± She says, slightly disheartened.


    The receptionist brushes on a similar look.


    ¡°Are you certain he stopped here? He may have just passed by to the city.¡±


    Claire bites her lip.


    ¡°He might¡¯ve.¡± She says.


    The lady¡¯s shoulders stiffen as she studies Claire¡¯s intent. Her palms spread out on the desk tighten into fists.


    ¡°If you¡¯re going to be going to the city, make sure to be careful.¡±


    Claire nods, without more than a second thought. But I know what the lady really meant.


    ¡°Thanks for all your help.¡±


    A pondering mind turns to leave beside me. My fingertips still linger in my pocket. There¡¯s a groove in my thumb. I speak quietly into Claire¡¯s ear.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be right behind you, just one more thing I want to ask about.¡±


    She nods and pushes aside the glass door. Her umbrella opens above her head, and a chilled draft drifts by my feet.


    ¡°Is there something else I can help you with?¡± The receptionist asks.


    I turn back to her desk, and the hand in my pocket finally pulls out the cursed sheets papers. I place them on the counter, facing her. Before I can even ask anything, the lady is startled by the mere sight of it. Her hands shoot off the table, and she moves away as her back rises.


    ¡°Sorry, for that. It wasn¡¯t anything you did.¡± She says.


    I shake my head, assuring I took no offence. My questions stay put; it seems like they¡¯ve already been asked.


    ¡°You said you were from the countryside, I guess you wouldn¡¯t know.¡±


    She takes a moment to return to her earlier self.


    ¡°Anything you can tell me would be a huge help.¡±


    She looks at the article, then through me, then at me, deliberating amongst herself. Looking out the front windows, I can only assume she¡¯s watching Claire. Determining that she¡¯s just as oblivious to this as I am. She must be waiting for me. I forgot that we only have one umbrella.


    The receptionist nods once and leans forward. I lean closer as well. She speaks quietly.


    ¡°You should let your sister know this as well, but you shouldn¡¯t talk about this other than between yourselves.¡±


    I nod, having no intention to correct her assumption.


    ¡°To be honest, there isn¡¯t much that I know that isn¡¯t written in this article.¡± Her eyes skim through the page. ¡°He¡¯s just seeking attention, so the general consensus is to avoid talking about him.¡±


    I nod again. There¡¯s an unease growing; I¡¯m afraid she doesn¡¯t know anything important.


    ¡°Make sure you¡¯re careful, if you¡¯re going to the city especially. There won¡¯t be any warning.¡±


    ¡°Could you tell me his name?¡±


    I blurt the question out without thinking. The lady is hesitant, but my need for answers is front and center. I reaffirm the question.


    ¡°It¡¯s not in the article, but he¡¯s got to have one, right?¡±


    She sighs in capitulation and whispers her warning firmly.


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you, because you¡¯ll find out eventually, but you tell your sister, and then never speak it again.¡±


    My head is bobbing up and down nonstop. She wavers once more, and doubles down on her warnings.


    ¡°A name is empowering, you understand this.¡±


    I nod a final time.

 8. Overpass

    She was the first to cross. I once thought that we¡¯d be together forever. All twenty-four of us. But the path split in two, and they carried on without us. We carried on without them. It¡¯s a strange thing, when I was taken from the orphanage, I couldn¡¯t see what I was leaving behind, only where I was headed. That morning, there were but twenty-three. I wasn¡¯t hopeful of the places she would get to see. I just wondered if she¡¯d miss her time here.


    Among the children in the Program, we had a term we¡¯d used amongst ourselves. ¡®Graduation.¡¯ That girl was the first.


    We didn¡¯t use the word for much, really only for one occasion: if we woke up one morning looking for someone, and they were nowhere to be found; ask someone where they were, and they¡¯d respond, ¡°Graduated.¡± Just the one word.


    I was supposed to be the last, but I wouldn¡¯t be joining them. I wonder if they¡¯re all together now.


    She¡¯s crosses ahead of me. The currents flow beneath the stone upon which we stand. Claire and I walk amidst a sparse crowd, but I begin to lag behind. The umbrella over my head is replaced by the dying rain. She and I are facing the same direction, but we¡¯re headed down two different paths.


    ¡°I think we should split up.¡±


    She turns, pointing her umbrella to the ground, unsure of what I meant.


    ¡°We can cover more ground that way.¡±


    People pass by on my right. They pay no attention to us, nor the rushing waters on their other side. They hurry along the grand arc over what splits the city in two. But I¡¯m not the same.


    ¡°Meet me back here in three hours.¡± Claire says.


    ----------------------------------


    Ciel stumbles ahead, awkwardly. Snow tracks off his boots with each step. Knees bent and the head of our tree in his arm, his neck swings from looking over his shoulder and watching his footing.


    I follow his lead, carrying the back end.


    There¡¯s an abrupt stop as we reach our rooms door. Ciel balances the tree on his knee, using his freed hand to open the doorway.


    ¡°Careful here, we don¡¯t want to scratch the walls.¡±


    I move to line up with the opening, as Ciel finishes his thought.


    ¡°Teri won¡¯t let us hear the end of it.¡±


    The door pushes aside behind Ciel''s back.


    ¡°You¡¯re afraid of Teri getting mad?¡± I ask, as we inch forward.


    Ciel replies, but without breaking his concentration.


    ¡°Everyone¡¯s afraid of something.¡±


    I''m through the doorway before I say other word, or even think another thought.


    ¡°What¡¯s Teri afraid of?¡± I ask, meaninglessly.


    We hold the tree over the large sheet of paper spread out over the carpet, and slowly lower it down. Our grips free and Ciel takes off his gloves to wipe his forehead.


    ¡°Bridges.¡± He says, out of the blue.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°The answer to your question. Teri is afraid of bridges.¡±


    I give him a look.


    ¡°She¡¯s afraid of heights, or bridges?¡±


    His response is swift.


    ¡°Bridges.¡±


    My stare intensifies.


    ¡°You mean the things that go over other things?¡±


    He nods.


    ¡°You think I''m kidding, but I''m not.¡±


    I slip my mitts off my hands. They¡¯re sticky from all the sap.


    ¡°I believe you, but how do you know that?¡±


    He stretches his arms wide and high, letting out a relaxed wheeze.


    ¡°I''ll let her tell you that someday.¡± He says.


    ----------------------------------


    I knock on the glass door. The sound is muffled by the papers plastered up against it on the inside. It¡¯s a small office building, a distance away from the busy city center. Six rooms along the bottom floor, and I¡¯m at the one at the very end.


    There¡¯s a name on the door. World Press, written in same fine text as the paper Charles gave me.


    The doorknob rattles and I take a step back. A young man stands holding the door open. He looks at me, then at his watch.


    ¡°Hello there, you must be the new guy.¡±


    He waits for a reply, but I don¡¯t know what to say. He looks behind me to either side.


    ¡°It¡¯s just you huh? To be completely honest, we weren¡¯t expecting you so early, so the place isn¡¯t in the best condition.¡±


    I look over his shoulder. It¡¯s a waiting room, with two small round tables. And on top of each are stacks and stacks of loose papers. The counter behind loaded as well. From the room to the side, a loud pound rings out from the open doorway, followed quickly by the rustle of papers falling to the ground, one over the next. Then there¡¯s the most depressing whimper I¡¯ve ever heard.


    My recipient leans his head back inside and yells.


    ¡°Just leave it on the floor, Janice. New guy¡¯s here already.¡±


    He turns back to me.


    ¡°This probably wasn¡¯t what you were expecting, huh? Actually, when I started working here, the others said they¡¯d sort the place out and be more organized, but I guess that didn¡¯t last long.¡±


    He scratches the back of his neck. There¡¯s one thing he was right about; this isn¡¯t what I expected, only in a different way. I still don¡¯t know what I should say, but I know I have to say something.


    ¡°I¡¯m not the new guy.¡±


    His docile smile turns into a dumbstruck one.


    ¡°I just dropped by to ask a few questions.¡±


    There¡¯s a wave down the man¡¯s body as he relaxes from his guilty relief. He yells to his colleagues once again.


    ¡°False alarm guys, false alarm.¡±


    The paused ruckus picks up again immediately. Footsteps scurry and papers fly. The man looks slightly less embarrassed now. He exhales deeply and obviously. Like he¡¯s doing it just for me to see.


    ¡°So, what can I help you with?¡±


    My hand hovers over the item in my pocket.


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m Nel by the way.¡±


    ¡°Nel.¡± I whisper to myself.


    ¡°I¡¯m Chris. I¡¯m here visiting from the countryside, and I saw something rather concerning in the newspaper.¡±


    I pull the article out of my pocket and place it in his view. He looks right at it, but there¡¯s no withdrawal. Instead he shoots a quick look over his shoulder.


    ¡°The countryside, huh.¡± He folds my hands shut, the paper along with it. ¡°Tell me, how much do you already know?¡±


    His voice is quiet.


    ¡°Just what¡¯s on this.¡± I reply.


    The young man, Nel, sighs in deliberation.


    ¡°Anything you could tell me would be helpful. I¡¯ve got a friend in Secester that I haven¡¯t heard from in a while. I¡¯m a little bit worried.¡±


    The innocent lies roll cleanly off my tongue. Takes me back.


    ¡°If you ask me, your friend is most likely just fine. His goal isn¡¯t to harm anybody.¡±


    I bring the paper closer to myself, looking at the picture. The flames bursting out the windows, pitch black smoke bellowing. His goal isn¡¯t to harm anybody ¨C I¡¯d like to think he¡¯s right. But why would he say that? I¡¯ll take a gamble.


    ¡°Actually, I was afraid my friend is, how do I say it, involved with them. Not, the other way.¡±


    Nel seems rather calm through my statement. Almost with an itching excitement beneath.


    ¡°Is that so?¡± He says. ¡°Say, Chris, if you don¡¯t mind me asking, how old are you?¡±


    ¡°Fourteen.¡±


    I respond immediately. He ponders it for a moment.


    ¡°By any chance, you wouldn¡¯t happen to be going to go see that friend of yours. Coming from so far and all.¡±


    ¡°No, I was just¡­¡±


    I let the unconfident words linger, trying not to make eye contact. Nel looks me up and down with an accusing glare, before he finally gives in.


    ¡°Tell you what.¡± He says. ¡°Let me give you some things.


    A flick of his head motions me to follow. He takes me by the stacks of papers and into the back room. There are two open office rooms on the side, but we walk right by them. Four desks stand in the opening at the end of the hall, each of them swamped with years worth of files. There¡¯re two other people rushing about the room. Janice, and another lady. They see me following their colleague but neither pays me much attention.


    Nel stops at one of the desks and sits on the rim of his chair, in front of the stack of papers on it. Starting from the top of his desk, he quickly rifles through the stacks, keeping only a select few in a separate pile. Moving along the drawers running down the side of the desk, they swing open, carrying only a loose sheet or two each.


    There¡¯s a lock on the bottom shelf, but it¡¯s already turned open. He opens the drawer, but there¡¯s nothing there. His back shoots back up, looking to each of the two ladies in the room..


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Nel stands anxiously. His eyes dart across the room.


    ¡°Janice, did you do anything with the box I had in here?¡±


    Janice replies with her arms and face full of paper.


    ¡°That? I put that in the trash. What were those anyways?¡±


    ¡°Just my snack.¡± He says, as he frantically rushes out of the room. Janice chimes in but he¡¯s already out of sight.


    ¡°You¡¯re not planning to eat those still, are you?¡±


    She places her papers on a desk, dusts off her hands, and gives a big sigh.


    ¡°That Nelson. Why don¡¯t you go check on him for me? Make sure he¡¯s not fishing food out of the trash.¡±


    I make my way out of the room. After peaking through the few doors, I find my way into the warehouse. The ceiling is high with metal beams and rows of shelves beneath. There¡¯s minimal light, but under one of them is Nel, ripping open a garbage bag, with several more around him. He notices my presence, but continues swimming through it all.


    Then he finds it.


    A cookie box.


    ----------------------------------


    A soft wind dampens the sounds of the city night, as the lights drown out the stars. From up above, the few people still walking about look like lost ants, scurrying in and out of the streetlights.


    My arms hang over the railing. I don¡¯t flinch at the wide view of the ground; it¡¯s the breeze that scares me. Plucking the sheets of treasured paper from my grasp, carrying them into the darkness, but that should be the least of what¡¯s on my mind.


    A box lies by my feet.


    ¡®I''m going to die soon.¡¯


    Nel''s cryptic parting plays itself on repeat. He spoke it in a whisper, mumbling to himself. A justification.


    I flip through the pages once again, the words illuminated by the dim balcony lamp. My eyes scan each word, but without much purpose. The sentences are constructed in my memory. Everything that I might have missed I''ve already caught.


    I close the pages along the crease, then join the rustic paper box on the frozen concrete.


    ¡®What is this?¡¯


    ¡®Just what it looks like.¡¯


    I take a matchbox from one of my pockets. A hand covers the other, the sudden anxiety dispersing when I feel the flat surface of old letters.


    ¡®Is there something important inside?¡¯


    ¡®¡­listen very carefully to what I''m about to tell you alright?¡¯


    I strike a flame, and lay it in the box. It burns out quickly, failing to light the stiff cardboard.


    ¡®We¡¯re not supposed to publish anything that he¡¯s said, but I couldn¡¯t help but find myself somewhat interested in his speeches.¡¯


    A spark rises on the fifth matchstick. I draw a ring of flame around the edges.


    ¡®I wrote down every word I''ve ever heard him speak.¡¯


    ¡®But it¡¯s just cookies in here.¡¯


    ¡®There¡¯s a fake bottom.¡¯


    From the fire, a black mist rises into the night. It flickers solemnly, amidst a sleeping city. I take Nel''s papers, reading them over a final time, before lowering them into the blaze.


    ¡®You''re giving this to me?¡¯


    ¡®What does it look like I''m doing?¡¯


    ¡®Thanks, it''ll be a big help.¡¯


    ¡°Before you get too ahead of yourself, let me remind you that that isn¡¯t something either of us should have.¡±


    A black spot grows from the edges, as the papers shrink in the heat. Along the edges, the dust begins to drift among the sparks.


    ¡®Why, are you helping me, so much?¡¯


    ¡®What''s that?¡¯


    ¡®Never mind, it¡¯s nothing important.¡¯


    ¡®If you say so.¡¯


    The crackling of the flames is serene. As I listen through the disorderly sparks, a melody plays in my memory. A tune for the fire.


    ¡®You know, you remind me of someone I just met.¡¯


    ¡®Really? That¡¯s a first for me.¡¯


    ¡®Quite a fellow he was.¡¯


    ¡®I''d imagine so.¡¯


    ¡®Anyhow, what are you still doing here? Go find that friend of yours.¡¯


    ¡®Of course.¡¯


    I watch as the flames consume the rest of the pages. The fire burns brighter, then weakens. When the papers are no more, it continues burning along the box. It flies high once more, as a fresh breeze passes by. And only shortly after, it¡¯s gone. The scorched chars remain a lifeless face.


    ¡°I''m going to die soon.¡±


    I whisper to myself.


    ----------------------------------


    There¡¯s a loud thump, as the air parts way for the stack of books releasing from my sore arms. I look around, expecting many judging eyes, but there¡¯s no one else at the table. Except for one.


    I pull out the chair beside her and sit in front of my pile of books.


    ¡°That¡¯s quite the stack you¡¯ve got yourself there.¡±


    Claire has a large reference book open.


    ¡°Don''t worry, I''m a fast reader.¡±


    She reaches over without much of a warning, taking the first book on my pile. The way she holds it in front of her face makes it seem like a rabid animal.


    ¡°What is this? A picture guide to the cities of the world, this is a children¡¯s book, did you want me to read this to you?¡±


    I snatch the book out of her hands.


    ¡°I can read that just fine by myself, and just so you know, I¡¯ve got some big kid books in here too.¡±


    She brushes me off and returns to her book. I flip open my first page. My stack is between the window''s light and the words. But the clouds of yesterday still linger, so there is no shadow.


    Claire scans through few more lines, then shuts the cover without a sound.


    ¡°Hey, I''ve got a quick question for you.¡±


    I push my book a bit to the side.


    ¡°Alright.¡±


    ¡°If you didn¡¯t know me, and saw me for the first time, how old would you say I am?¡±


    I take a good look at Claire¡¯s face, then sit back in my chair and ponder it for a moment.


    ¡°You know, I don¡¯t think you¡¯ve ever actually told me your age.¡±


    ¡°All the better then.¡± She says, patiently.


    I take another second to think.


    ¡°Fourteen.¡±


    Claire looks out at the gray skies, seemingly unsurprised.


    ¡°That¡¯s close enough, I guess.¡± She says.


    The silent building fills the pause in our whispers. I wait for an explanation, but she keeps staring out the window, so I return to my book. I can¡¯t read for long though.


    ¡°Okay, I have to ask.¡± I begin. ¡°Why¡¯d you want to know something like that.¡±


    She blinks twice before looking to me.


    ¡°Well, since you asked,¡± she says, ¡°I¡¯m not completely sure yet, but I think I figured out why people keep giving us strange looks.¡±


    She sits up straight, leaning into the backrest of her chair.


    ¡°When I was asking around yesterday, a lot of people told me that they left home when they were twelve. So, I mean, I¡¯m sure you don¡¯t need me to explain it.¡±


    My hands stop, one still stuck in my pocket. Only now do I notice the slight tremor that has left my bones.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t know that?¡± I ask.


    She looks over, moving just her eyes.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t know what?¡±


    There¡¯s nothing hidden behind her expression. My fingers run along the concealed envelope. I''m reminded of the words written inside.


    ¡°The thing you just said, people leaving home. Around twelve.¡±


    My question strikes an interest with Claire, even if only a little. She shifts around in her seat, listening more intently.


    ¡°You mean you already knew?¡± She asks in return.


    ¡°Well not always, but somewhat recently at least.¡±


    Her posture is still forward in her book, but her mind is in our quiet conversation.


    ¡°You know, I used to think I¡¯d spend my entire life back home. But¡­¡±


    Claire pauses to collect her thoughts.


    ¡°The outside world is a such a nice place, don¡¯t you think? Makes me want to stay, for a while.¡±


    I slip my hand down by my side, finding those two letters. Lingering over them, my fingers are still. I notice my breath, heavier than normal. Just a little longer, it tells me.


    ¡°Why do you call it the outside world? Don¡¯t you think that¡¯s a bit, I don¡¯t know, far away?¡±


    ¡°Maybe, but that¡¯s what I''ve always thought of it as.¡±


    I try to look her in the eye, but it takes her a while to before she finally senses my gaze. Startled by my stare, she jumps back in her seat.


    ¡°Why are you looking at me like that you frightened me.¡± She exclaims.


    I quickly look away.


    ¡°Sorry about that, I was just surprised.¡±


    Through all the roughness of the fields, perhaps what I should really be surprised at is that this girl can still be so delicate, scared a mere stare.


    A sentence from last night pops into my thought.


    ¡®Even the strongest of us crumble under what we fear.¡¯


    I remember the breeze of midnight around me when I first read it. And the fires have in which it all burned.


    Teri was the strongest of us. Under what she feared would be water, flowing water. A city by the river.


    ¡°Could it, really be you?¡±


    I feel Claire¡¯s head turning to look at me.


    ¡°What was that?¡± She asks, earnestly.


    ¡°What was what?¡±


    ¡°You just whispered something, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°I guess I spoke out loud again, huh.¡±


    ¡°Was it anything important?¡± Claire asks.


    My head rises to the gray skyline.


    ¡°Not really. Just thinking of an old friend.¡±


    ----------------------------------


    The balcony door shuts behind me, and I pull closed the curtains. I place my hand over the empty tabletop, in the slit of morning sunlight, escaping the curtain''s shadow. Next to the room¡¯s exit, our two bags lie waiting. The zippers on either of them are opened, with the last few days clothing jammed back atop the neat piles below.


    Claire is curled up on the floor between the beds, not yet halfway awake. But as my wary step brushes my shadow across her face, she wakes frantically, looking around dazzled before catching my eye.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t get much sleep?¡± I ask.


    She leans into her knees, putting a hand to her face.


    ¡°No.¡± She says.


    I wait for another word, but Claire only stares into the floor.


    ¡°You should give the bed a try, it¡¯s not as bad as it seems.¡±


    The light returns to her eyes. She stands and places her pillow back on the still neatly made sheets.


    ¡°I tried it once before and it wasn¡¯t really my thing.¡±


    I walk back to where I came, pretending there was something that I was doing. The curtains which I only just closed open once again. A group of thin clouds drift among a blueing sky.


    ¡°When was that?¡± I ask.


    ¡°A long time ago.¡±


    ¡°Well, then maybe things have changed since then.¡±


    Claire¡¯s light footsteps pace over the carpet, but head nowhere.


    ¡°I highly doubt it.¡± She says.


    I stretch my arm high above my head. Down my back I feel the mattress I awoke from swallowing me whole. It reminds me of how it used to be - whether I want to remember or not, before I''d become familiar with the stiff cots of the countryside.


    ¡°Hold on,¡± I spout out, as a realization hits me. ¡°does that mean you¡¯ve left home sometime before now?¡±


    Claire replies with a just slightly insulted tone.


    ¡°I mean, yeah, what would make you think I haven¡¯t?¡±


    I turn to face her, putting on my best apologetic expression, but she¡¯s facing the other way, not seeming to care or even notice. She stares in the direction of the front door, entirely motionless. She¡¯s been doing that a lot, these past few days.


    ¡°So, what do you say. Is it time to leave?¡±


    Claire''s turns an ear just an inch.


    ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡± She asks.


    I nod, but I cannot tell if she¡¯s looking at me. There¡¯s an eerie pause. The clouds pass over the light through the glass door behind me.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got an idea where we can head next.¡±


    Claire responds as though she wasn¡¯t even listening to me.


    ¡°You don¡¯t think, we might have missed something, do you?¡±


    As the morning¡¯s shine returns, a fleeting hope grows from a forgotten slumber.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think he¡¯s here. And if we linger here any longer, it might end up becoming too hard to leave.¡±


    Claire arches back, rising to height.


    ¡°No, you¡¯re right.¡±


    Stepping over to bag, shoving in the outlaying clothes before zipping it shut. She throws it over her back and puts a hand on the doorknob.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± She says, decisively.


    My finger flickers, reaching out towards her, but my hand doesn¡¯t follow. I find it instead covering my pocket.


    ¡°Hold on,¡±


    Claire turns.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t even told you we¡¯d be going yet.¡±


    She opens the door, and stands in the doorway.


    ¡°Tell me at the station, before I change my mind.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not quite what I meant.¡±


    There¡¯s a moment as Claire decides whether she should close the door or not. As I hear the knob click shut, I continue my warning.


    ¡°I think I should go alone.¡±


    There¡¯s an expression of abandonment on her face. She replies quickly and messily.


    ¡°Why not, where is it?¡±


    Her response to my neglect breaks my brittle resolve.


    ¡°You ever hear of the city by the river?¡± I ask. As expected, she shakes her head no.


    ¡°It¡¯s called that because there¡¯s a river that runs through the city. But I think it¡¯s strange because this city also has a river running through it, and it¡¯s much larger.¡±


    Claire doesn¡¯t seem too interested in my geography lesson. She¡¯s just waiting for the catch. But perhaps I can hold off on that for a while.


    ¡°It¡¯s on the island, so we¡¯d have to take a ferry.¡±


    Her silence is only broken when she realizes I¡¯m done talking.


    ¡°Is that it?¡± She asks.


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°So, then, why would you have to go by yourself?¡±


    I reply with an improvised answer.


    ¡°I thought there might be another storm.¡±


    The look I¡¯m given is one that can¡¯t choose between being relieved, or dumfounded.


    ¡°You worry too much.¡± Claire says. ¡°They¡¯ll cancel the boats if there¡¯s a storm coming. And you could have just asked me about it earlier instead of waiting all the way until now.¡±


    ¡°Sorry about that, I¡¯ll be sure to next time.¡±


    She seems satisfied with that, but I can see the doubt within her beginning to bloom.


    ¡°Why do you want to go there anyways?¡± She asks.


    My reply is a wary one.


    ¡°Just a hunch.¡± I tell her.

 9. New Horizons

    An extended arm blocks our path. An older lady in a white uniform holds us at the front of the line, awaiting orders to allow us to pass. There¡¯s a kid who looks no older than myself standing beside her, dressed in the same uniform. He looks lost, but idles patiently, nonetheless.


    I keep a hand in my pocket. It works away at the newspaper that sits within, ripping into several thin strips.


    Claire ganders about the corridor. Above windowless walls, a peaked glass roof lets in the evening light. From below, the howling of arriving trains moves closer, and to a stop. But of all those that have come, there hasn¡¯t been the sound of a single departure. The walkway is already narrow, but right down the center, a makeshift partition runs through, separating our line from the frantically scurrying railway workers.


    There¡¯s a restless buzz bouncing about the passage. Those in line behind us are whispering amongst themselves. They all share the same common confusion. On the other side of the divide, a different uncertainty lingers.


    Claire leans over, speaking over the murmurs and scuttling footsteps.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± She asks.


    A grain of rolled paper falls from my pocket.


    ¡°You¡¯re only wondering that now?¡± I ask in return.


    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t really know what¡¯s considered normal, so, wait, are you making fun of me?¡±


    I roll the final scrap and let it fall to the ground.


    ¡°If I was making fun of you, I¡¯d make it more obvious.¡±


    A shout from down the hall takes Claire¡¯s attention off of me. The lady ahead nods as she receives her signal, then she turns to us.


    ¡°You two are together?¡± She asks.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Claire replies, before I get the chance.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to have you two follow Arthur, he¡¯ll show you where to go.¡± She says, gesturing to her helper.


    We¡¯re taken down the corridor to an open lobby, separated into several improvised booths, each with its own number. An interviewer sits across many more just like us at the tables. For the most part, they¡¯re wearing that same white uniform, but a few of them are in plain clothes. Our guide keeps us at another partition. There¡¯s a distinct difference in the restriction of mobility beyond it.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to need to ask you two to leave your bags with me, you¡¯ll get them back after we do a quick search.¡±


    Claire looks at me for some sort of validation. I hand my bag to the kid, and she does the same. He accepts them with a smile.


    ¡°I¡¯m also going to need you to leave anything you have in your pockets.¡±


    My fist clenches. I reach for the two envelopes. There¡¯s a brief moment when my senses pause and I¡¯m left with just my thoughts.


    Suddenly, Claire takes the boys attention, as she flips her pockets inside out. Quickly, I fold the letters over themselves, and jam it up my sleeve. As his eyes turn to me, my hands leave my coat, pulling out the insides as well.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± He says. ¡°You can head down to number 47 now, it shouldn¡¯t take long.¡±


    The partition is broken as we¡¯re allowed to pass. As soon as we¡¯re through, I place my hand back in my coat, leaving that envelopes back where they were.


    We walk by the others being interviewed. A man vibrates his heel repeatedly. Another keeps pulling down on his shirt. Claire shuffles ahead beside me, like she¡¯s incomplete without her things in sight. I provide her with some reassurance.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    ¡°Just let me do most of the talking.¡±


    The numbers on the tables grow larger, and number 47 comes into view.


    Awaiting us is a man wearing a black buttoned jacket. He invites us to have a seat, before flipping to a clean document and uncapping his pen. I ask an urgent question before he has a chance to speak.


    ¡°If I may ask, has something happened here, I¡¯m just a little bit worried.¡±


    The man looks at me skeptically, ignoring my question.


    ¡°Could I get your names please?¡± He asks.


    Claire blurts out her name almost immediately.


    ¡°Claire Lang.¡± She says. ¡°Claire is spelt with an ¡®e¡¯ at the end.¡±


    I give a few seconds for the man to quickly scribble on his paper, but he looks up at me, unimpressed by my slack.


    ¡°Klaus. Lang, as well."


    He writes as he continues the interview.


    ¡°You''re siblings?" He asks.


    Claire glances to me.


    "No, I''ve just been staying with them for a while." I tell him.


    His eyebrow flinches and he takes a quick note, but doesn''t question it any further.


    ¡°What are you two here for?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re looking for my father. He went missing about a year ago.¡±


    Claire is given the same look as I was.


    ¡°How old are the two of you?¡±


    ¡°Fifteen.¡± Claire responds once again, instinctively.


    ¡°I¡¯m the same.¡± I add.


    The man rolls his pen about the papers for an uncomfortable amount of time. Claire looks like she¡¯s about to explode in her seat. Finally, the man taps the back of his pen on the table.


    ¡°Fifteen is a little bit old to be staying with your parents, don¡¯t you think? You two from the country or something?¡±


    Claire nods, and from the opposite side of the table, there¡¯s an inaudible sigh.


    ¡°That¡¯ll be all from me for today.¡± The man says.


    He points his pen down the aisle.


    ¡°Just head down that way, the guys there will have your things.¡±


    We stand and push in our chairs, looking towards the exit. But our interviewer leaves us with a final piece of advice.


    ¡°I hope you find your father okay.¡± He says.


    ----------------------------------


    It¡¯s a night between seasons; a setting orange sky and light drizzle. Walking through the near vacant streets, the pebbled ground beneath us begins to slope downwards, as we approach the riverside.


    Claire runs ahead, passing by the last closed shops, and towards the railing overlooking the water. She leans over the edge. Her silhouette casts a lost figure over the evening reflection. Looking out at this small island town, she seems right where she belongs. But this place won¡¯t welcome us so easily.


    I make to her side, and see where the city lights stop. She speaks in a voice captivated by the fallen sight.


    ¡°So that¡¯s it.¡±


    A ways upstream, two arms once connected dip into the river. A road now broken splits the divided city in two. The flailing beams bob in the water, from the distance appearing no longer than the suns flickering image.


    The low tide brushes up against the wall. A riverside breeze and the dipping light drown the need for either of us to speak, even if only for just a moment.


    ¡°How did you know it would be here?¡± Claire asks


    ¡°Lucky guess.¡±


    She brushes my answer off, not asking any further.


    ¡°Do you think they¡¯ll catch him?¡±


    I take my eyes off the wreckage and look into the depths.


    ¡°Maybe.¡±


    There¡¯s so much more I could say. But I don¡¯t. A part of me wants it all to stop and wants to believe it will. But I know it won¡¯t. I want to see it for what it is. But everything, everyone, has a reason.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me sooner?¡±


    I reply a truthful reply, but I can¡¯t tell how much of it is lies.


    ¡°To be honest, I would have preferred it if you never found out.¡±


    My stare is still towards the water. I can¡¯t look her in the eye.


    ¡°It¡¯s dangerous just to know his name.¡±


    As the sun sets further, the flowing mirror looks back at me. I thought I had changed, but I¡¯m just the same as I used to be. There¡¯s no one left I can lean on now, though. What would she do if she were in my shoes?


    ¡°Didn¡¯t I tell you, you don¡¯t have to worry-¡±


    My hands grasp Claire by the shoulders.


    ¡°No, don¡¯t tell me I¡¯m worrying too much, that is what he¡¯s capable of. What if you were on that bridge, then what? Then forget about finding your father, what would I tell him if I did? What do you think he would do if he found out his daughter died out looking for him? Do you have any idea how important you are to him? And your mother too, you¡¯re their legacy. You can¡¯t have so much disregard for your own safety.¡±


    A tear escapes Claire¡¯s eye.


    She stumbles to her knees.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I didn¡¯t mean to snap at you like that.¡±


    Claire pulls back her tears in a single sob.


    ¡°No, you¡¯re right.¡±


    I step back and lean back over the railing. The half-lit light on the shallow waves fades as the evening sun dips into the night, and the blurred lamps grow more prominent.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to stop you from coming with me, but you have to be absolutely certain.¡±


    The heel of Claire¡¯s shoe taps the stone as she stands behind me.


    ¡°You¡¯re, still going?¡±


    ¡°I have a feeling I¡¯ll find him along the way.¡±


    ¡°Why are you doing all of this?¡±


    I turn to face her.


    ¡°Because I have to.¡±


    Claire wipes her arm across her face.


    ¡°I won¡¯t let you go alone.¡± She says. I can¡¯t help but smirk.


    ¡°Figured you¡¯d say that.¡±


    I look directly into her eyes, and she looks back in mine. There¡¯s a na?ve resolve within, but it¡¯s in no way hidden. But perhaps that goes for both of us.


    ¡°We should get heading back. There¡¯ll be trouble if we¡¯re caught out after curfew.¡±

 10. Deafening Sky

    Under my feet, the wheels turn. I hear the screeching as they whirl across the tracks, spinning water into the air and spitting it against the train¡¯s steel bottom.


    The raindrops run quickly across the window. A new one lands on the glass. It grows thinner, leaving a line of water in its wake, as it skitters away towards the edge.


    I look to my side where Claire is seated, staring forward, blankly.


    "Hey, Claire. What¡¯re you thinking about?¡± I ask.


    She remains absent. I try to get her attention again.


    ¡°Hello? Anyone home?¡±


    My hand waves in front of her eyes, but she still does not notice.


    I poke her shoulder. She finally snaps out of it.


    ¡°Oh, sorry. Did you say something?¡± She asks, startled.


    ¡°I was just wondering what you were thinking.¡±


    Claire places her hands in her lap and returns to looking forward, eyes pointed just above the seat ahead of her.


    ¡°Do you think, we¡¯ll find him? What if-¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t think like that. We¡¯re getting close. I feel it.¡±


    ¡°But what if, what if you,¡±


    She lingers on her thought.


    ¡°Never mind. It couldn¡¯t be.¡±


    Couldn¡¯t be what, I wonder? But I don¡¯t ask. Instinct, perhaps.


    She sits tensely, shifting about her dress. It¡¯s something I haven¡¯t seen her wearing before. I was beginning to think she only ever wore baggy blouses and baggy pants ¨C ¡°poor¡± clothing. But I guess it makes sense. She wouldn¡¯t wear something like this on the farm, it would get dirty in an instant.


    ¡°You look pretty today.¡±


    I regret my words immediately. Claire gives me a funny look.


    ¡°You know what never mind. Forget I said that. My sister always liked it when I complemented her looks. But you¡¯re not her. Obviously. You already knew that though. I mean, of course you did. What am I even saying?¡±


    Claire smiles warmly.


    ¡°You mean Theresa, right?¡±


    ¡°No, I meant the other one.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Of course.¡±


    I expect her to continue saying something else, but she doesn¡¯t. It¡¯s not like her.


    ¡°I was thinking,¡± I begin. ¡°There¡¯s something you should know, about me.¡±


    ¡°Oh. What¡¯s this all of a sudden?¡± She asks.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I¡¯d call it sudden. It¡¯s been on my mind for a while.¡±


    Her ear perks up slightly.


    ¡°Okay. Then, whenever you¡¯re ready, I¡¯ll listen.¡±


    ----------------------------------


    ¡°We ask that you please remain in your seats. We are currently working to find an alternative solution.¡±


    A voice comes from above, muffled by the persistent pelting of rain.


    ¡°Lio?¡±


    An indistinct chatter arises.


    ¡°Lio is that you?¡±


    I reach my arm out and-


    My head falls forward, having slipped off my hand. The sudden strain in my neck brings it bouncing right back up.


    The water no longer rolls across the window, rather directly downwards. Beyond, the darkness remains. Claire leans out into the aisle, anxiously looking about.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on, are we there already?¡± I ask.


    She shifts back into her seat, but her back is still stiff, allergic to rest. Her foot vibrates rapidly.


    ¡°The train stopped. There¡¯s an obstruction on the track, is what they¡¯re saying.¡±


    The way she stares into the seat ahead, it¡¯s frightening. Like it¡¯ll burn a hole straight through it.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll be able to clear it soon. We¡¯ll be moving before you now it.¡±


    I speak what I hope to be the truth, but without her telling me, I sense that I speak only lies.


    ¡°The way they¡¯re talking about it is making it seem like it¡¯s something big.¡± She says, racing through her words. ¡°What are the chances?¡±


    My hand instinctively moves over my pocket. I run my fingers along the edges. The square of paper is still there.


    I try diving back into the rain on the window, but even with my face pointing one way, my eyes remain glued in the other. The tapping of Claire¡¯s heel, drilling silently into the ground, it makes me dizzy.


    Suddenly, she grabs my wrist and stands, all at once. She looks only forward towards the front end of the carriage.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to have a look.¡± Is all she says.


    My feet stumble over each other as she drags me away.


    We reach the steel plates above the intersection of the carts. Claire lets me go and pulls on the door with both hands. It slides open, bouncing back slightly as it hits the end.


    Cold air rushes in, followed quickly by the piercing rain. Claire pays it no attention, jumping out onto the pebbles below, still wearing but just that thin summer dress. She immediately heads towards the front of the train.


    I stick my head into the storm. Water forces its way into my squinting eyes.


    ¡°Wait!¡± I yell. ¡°They said to stay seated!¡±


    Claire doesn¡¯t flinch, continuing forward. The crunching of the stones beneath her shoes fading into the ringing of the bullets of the night sky.


    My lips try to speak another word, but they are already frozen. I look down, then back to the girl, the distance growing ever farther.


    Looking back to the wet stones beneath me, I make the leap down.


    My body brings itself closer, hands grabbing either arm. A drop of water rolls across my eyelid. I shut the eye and carry on forward, ignoring it; ignoring all of it. My pace is slow, but Claire soon comes back into view. Her stature rising just above the height of the train¡¯s wheel.


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    I stop a distance behind her.


    ¡°What were you thinking? We have to get back inside.¡±


    She looks to the track ahead; a large pile of boulders, leaning from the hill on the other side.


    It¡¯s only when I take a closer look, that I see how far she¡¯s lost. Teeth clenched, her cheek tightened, and her dress a wet rag. I take a step closer and place my coat over her shoulders, heavy with rain.


    ¡°Look, I know you¡¯re upset, but we can¡¯t stay out here.¡±


    Claire grabs hold of the coat. Water wrings out from where she touches. Her neck begins to lower. She tries to hide her sob.


    A noise from behind rings out. A crash of metal. It dies quickly. Claire doesn¡¯t look back, and neither do I.


    ¡°Sir, miss, I¡¯m going to have to ask you to come back inside.¡±


    I wait for Claire to move, but she only trembles, her whole body over.


    ¡°Can you hear me? It¡¯s not safe out there.¡±


    Still, Claire does not turn. The stones crunch once more, then again, and again, as the lady behind approaches.


    I whisper to the girl frozen ahead of me.


    ¡°Hey, what do you say? Let¡¯s head back, shall we-¡±


    A frozen hand takes hold of my wrist. She starts to run, dragging me along. Faster, and faster; she doesn¡¯t look back. Past the boulders, and away from the faint light.


    With not the starlight to guide her, she follows the rails. The rain crashes down on her shoulders, but it does not stop her.


    We run, and run, until finally, my legs give in. I stumble onto my knees.


    Claire lets go of my arm. Her feet take her two more steps, before collapsing under the weight of the rain. The coat rolls off her back. Then, she lowers her face into her arms, and cries.


    ----------------------------------


    Night falls behind the darkness. When the blur of the shower fades, and starlight appears below the low swaying leaves, it is only then I realize the day has passed.


    From the damp wood upon which we sit, I¡¯m reminded of the days before; running with nothing but the clothes on my back. Following the rails, I¡¯ve already seen it all; the waves of wind through the fields of wild grass. The rolling hills looming under the retreating clouds. The solemn trees.


    How many cities, towns, villages, I visited, I do not remember.


    How many kind-hearted strangers stopped to offer me their help. Food, clothing, a place to stay. I never understood why.


    I¡¯d always thought I¡¯d had an overly idealistic idea of what the outside was like, but it turns out, I wasn¡¯t too far off. Ever since I got here, though, I¡¯ve been hiding - hiding in the shadow of a perfect world.


    I could never stay anywhere too long. Whenever I would see the smiles on such nice peoples¡¯ face¡¯s; when they¡¯d tell me I could stay however long I needed, all I could think of was the morning they would wake up, and find that final note.


    Was it selfish for me to wish that one of them would just come running behind me, begging for me to stay?


    I cried the day I met Claire. When her father found out we were gone, he came out looking for us. He embraced not just his daughter, but me as well. So, I cried into his shoulder, and long well after.


    It was nice having a new family to care for. There¡¯s a part of me that wants to stay forever, watch the seasons change with her just one more time. But someday, I¡¯ll have to leave again, for their sake. And when that day comes, I¡¯ll tell them everything. Maybe then, it¡¯ll help ease the pain.


    Claire and I don¡¯t speak tonight. It doesn¡¯t bother me though. Huddled together under the weight of our one coat, we face in opposite directions. She passes out long before me. I guess she didn¡¯t sleep on the train.


    ----------------------------------


    A silhouette fades in behind the morning mist. Dark, and tall. A building.


    The tracks run forward, disappearing into the fog.


    ¡°Hey, is that it?¡± I ask.


    Claire shakes her head.


    ¡°That¡¯s another city. From the old world.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± I reply.


    Leading into the ruins, the rails plunge towards the earth. Trees sprout outwards through the rubble, arching above the half-submerged tracks. Dissipated pools of light shine within the water.


    A light catches my eye, and I look to the side. Among the now colourless brick walls, new life flourishes between the cracks. And beneath a lone overhang, a small window remains. Just the one, is all that has its glass still intact.


    ¡°Do you ever wonder? What must have happened before?¡±


    Claire speaks serenely, looking up towards the gaps between the leaves.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I never really gave it much thought.¡±


    ¡°I was always fascinated by this place.¡± She says, prancing ahead a few steps, leaving only perfect ripples behind.


    ¡°Ever since I laid eyes on these trees for the first time, I always wondered what it must have looked like here long ago.¡±


    She twirls once around, arms wide and looking to the sky.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been here before?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Just once, with my mother.¡±


    She comes to a stop as she finishes her sentence, her arms straight and hands held behind her back. I carry forward, water sloshing side at my feet.


    ¡°Is something the matter?¡± I ask.


    She raises a hand above her eyes. The mist lifting among the glare¡¯s descent.


    She gives me no immediate reply. I wonder if she could be missing her mother. I wonder if I could be missing my sister.


    With a flick of her arm across her eyes, Claire gracefully spins around to face me.


    ¡°I just remembered something,¡± She says. ¡°There¡¯s a place where you can see the entire city from. Let me show you.¡±


    The girl prances ahead along the river rails. I follow shortly behind. We enter a clearing in the trees, where there¡¯s a gap between the buildings that line either side. A street just as wide as ours cuts through, but the rails continue running forward.


    Claire looks up and to the left. I look to the same direction. A tall building looms over the roofline, still well above the others, despite looking like it¡¯s missing its top half.


    Back on the ground, Claire waves for me to follow before making a turn down the intersection.


    I stumble over the plants and cracks in the ground. The fluttering white winds through nook and cranny, but never out of sight. Under fallen walls ant hose overgrown, I follow. Whenever the sky comes into view, I look up. The building that towers above moving ever closer.


    Claire finally stops, but only when we reach the tower base. She stands still facing away. I come to a halt, gasping for dear life.


    ¡°Why¡¯d you take off like that?¡± I ask, taking two big wheezes before I can continue. ¡°We could have just walked.¡±


    The dress over Claire¡¯s back loosens as she straightens her back. An arm flicks across her eyes once more, but this time, in the light of the new day¡¯s sun, I see it. Tears.


    ¡°Sorry about that. I guess I just got a little excited.¡±


    She turns. I look away.


    ¡°Well, this is the place.¡± She says.


    The stairs wind upwards, turning back every so many steps, then ascending so many more in the opposite direction. The encasing wall is only present half the time, the hand railing as well. But at least when it is, my steps quietly echo.


    The sky once again reappears above us. And all around below, a forgotten city. Buildings standing far off in every direction, running to summer¡¯s clouds. It¡¯s so much larger than anywhere I¡¯ve ever been. Yet the streets would be silent if not for the rustle of leaves between the breeze.


    ¡°Really makes you wonder doesn¡¯t it?¡± Claire asks.


    ¡°Seems so.¡±


    ¡°You see that little building on the corner there?¡±


    Claire leans over the broken stone wall, pointing into the distance.


    ¡°I think that must have been a flower shop. And the one right across from it, that one¡¯s a restaurant. It was quite a popular one too. Everyone in town and people all over went there to taste their food.¡±


    I search for the place she speaks of, and find a corner under an overpass. There¡¯s an insignificant building on one side, and another across from it.


    ¡°They look just like any of the other places to me. How can you tell what they are?¡± I ask.


    ¡°I can¡¯t. It¡¯s just fun to pretend.¡±


    ¡°Okay then. What can you say about this building?¡±


    Claire walks towards the center of the concrete floor. Six beams rise from what is still intact. I imagine they once held up the levels above. But now, with their ends broken, they hold up nothing but the sky.


    Claire places a hand on one of the pillars, raising her eyes to its peak.


    ¡°This place,¡± she says, ¡°this place was an art gallery. It had all sorts of treasures, and people of all ages would come to look around.¡±


    I envision paintings on the absent walls behind her. There¡¯s a portrait of a young lady, a house. A landscape of the hills, with white windmills, spinning in the distance.


    ¡°I think you might be right about that one.¡± I tell her.


    ¡°You say that like I was wrong about the others.¡±


    ¡°Well. Maybe.¡±


    Suddenly, the world begins to grow fainter. The invisible walls become invisible once more as I drop to my knees.


    ¡°Hey, Klaus are you alright?¡±


    Claire rushes to my side, placing her hand over my forehead.


    ¡°It looks like your fever is returning.¡± She says.


    ¡°This is all my fault. If I didn¡¯t, if I didn¡¯t run,¡±


    I shake my head, but she continues.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, it¡¯s just that, it feels like the entire world is trying to stop us.¡±


    ¡°No, don¡¯t think like that. We¡¯ll make it in time. I know we will.¡±


    She nods.


    ¡°We¡¯ll stay here until it comes down again. In the meantime, I¡¯ll go find you something to eat.¡±


    ¡°Hold on I¡¯ll go with you.¡± I say, weakly.


    ¡°Absolutely not, you¡¯re in no shape to move around.¡±


    Claire helps me to one of the pillars, leaning me down in its shadow. She places the jacket over my chest.


    ¡°You know, if there¡¯s one thing you¡¯re really good at, it¡¯s hiding your pain.¡±


    I crack a smile.


    ¡°Try to get some rest. I¡¯ll be back in no time.¡±


    She turns away towards the stairs. Before heading down, she looks back one last time.


    Her footsteps gradually fade. I curl up into a ball, pulling the jacket over my shoulders. My hands find themselves in my pockets. There¡¯s something crusty stuck to the inside of one of them.


    It''s the letters Charles gave me.


    Will it be time soon?

 11. Feint

    A clock ticks on plain walls. Sleek lights hang on the high ceiling. The large space beneath is sparsely used. Shutting out the city night and homely drizzle, there¡¯s an airy feel about the room.


    I enter through the double glass door. Behind me, Claire peaks in slowly. She brushes at the washed patch where the weather had stained her dress. Between the two of us, there¡¯s not a single item in hand, but it¡¯s not anything unordinary for either of us.


    The stroke of time strikes the hour, and we approach an empty desk. A minute passes with our scanning eyes, watching for any sign of hospitality. But our gazes always end up at the desks rim, where a silver bell lies waiting.


    I press the pin and a ring bounces about the walls.


    There¡¯s the same static air as the sound dissipates. The stress in Claire¡¯s posture relaxes into a disappointed desperation. My feet shift in their place. There¡¯s a single carpeted footstep. A lady appears behind the desk. She hides her unease as she turns the corner. And as unease conceals shock, it¡¯s just as quickly masked by the expected smile.


    Her greeting is veteran.


    ¡°Hello there,¡± She says. ¡°I hope I haven¡¯t kept you two waiting long. Did you have a reservation?¡±


    Claire responds in stiff stance once again.


    ¡°We don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°If there were any free rooms we could use, even if it¡¯s just one night, we¡¯d greatly appreciate it.¡± I add on after her.


    The lady reaches to the side to grab something, but I can¡¯t see her hands over the ledge.


    ¡°I¡¯ll see what I can do for you.¡± She says.


    As she looks through her pages, I catch the glimpses of ink as they flip above the counter. Each blur passes by in rhythmic succession. She doesn¡¯t flip back once. My eye flickers to the girl beside me. Her eyes squint ever so slightly, a trigger has tripped.


    ¡°Where are the two of you from?¡± The lady asks, still focused on what¡¯s in front of her.


    She¡¯s given a hesitant reply.


    ¡°We¡¯re from the countryside, far inland.¡± Claire tells her.


    There¡¯s another gap of ambience before the lady takes a moment to keep the small talk going.


    ¡°Have you seen the ocean before?¡± She asks.


    Claire continues the conversation.


    ¡°Just the other day actually. For the first time.¡±


    The pages keep turning, with seemingly no end; there¡¯s more of everything in the big city. More lights, more people, more eyes.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay if you haven¡¯t got an extra room,¡± I tell the lady, still looking through her papers. ¡°We appreciate that you would go out of your way to check for us.¡±


    The receptionist smiles under a soft expression, and from the edge of my sight, I catch a glimpse of Claire, catching a glimpse of me.


    The flipping finally comes to an expected stop, and the lady looks up. As soon as she does, I prepare to ask the next step of my question, but to my surprise, Claire asks the same thing first, almost like she took the words straight from my mind.


    ¡°Is there a last room you found?¡±


    She¡¯s given an immediate reply.


    ¡°The last one, yes. You two are a lucky pair.¡±


    Claire returns a smile.


    ¡°I won¡¯t have you wait too much longer. I¡¯ll just need your names and I¡¯ll let you go.¡±


    There¡¯s another glance between the two of us. My instinct kicks in. Her mind is sharp but she doesn¡¯t know what I know. Before Claire is able to speak a word, I answer for the both of us.


    ¡°I¡¯m Klaus, her name¡¯s Claire.¡±


    There¡¯s a stare from beside me, but I ignore it. I watch intently as the lady¡¯s eyes scan across the paper, following the letters of her pen.


    ¡°And your second names?¡± She asks further.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    I¡¯m the one to respond once again.


    ¡°Lang. For both of us."


    ----------------------------------


    The lights of city night line the walkway, a pristine glow in the fading drizzle. An array of paths run through and between the buildings, winding around patches of greenery. There¡¯s a direct view of the ports ahead. The cranes and late running ships illuminate their own positions. Hidden to the side, the locomotives pierce through the air as they come and go on the still operating tracks.


    We head down the path which we¡¯d only just came. Our backs are to the inn, the distance slowly growing. Claire twiddles her thumbs, itching to get her urges off her chest.


    ¡°Hey,¡± She finally says, looking to continue, but instead waiting for my assurance.


    ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got a little idea, or theory or something or another, just, hear me out on this one.¡±


    I nod as we carry on at the same pace.


    ¡°Okay, I¡¯m not the best explainer, so, I don¡¯t really know where to start, but. That lady, the receptionist a minute ago, when you asked her whether they had any empty rooms, she said she¡¯d check for us, right?¡±


    ¡°She did.¡± I tell her.


    ¡°Well, I figured since all the other places we¡¯ve stayed have been nearly empty, it would be the same here. So, shouldn¡¯t she have known off the top of her head that there would have been some free rooms?¡±


    ¡°That does sound reasonable.¡±


    ¡°And at the end there, she also said that there was only one room left.¡±


    I nod again, waiting for Claire to carry on, but she takes a moment just staring at me. Like she¡¯s trying to figure out if I¡¯m even listening.


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t seem right to you, doesn¡¯t it?¡± She asks.


    ¡°No, it does not, but what¡¯s your point?¡±


    She closes her eyes and inhales deeply, double, and triple checking her logic, so she doesn¡¯t make a fool of herself. But I know how she¡¯s thinking. It¡¯s correct, only incomplete.


    ¡°I think, it could be possible that we seem like, how do I put it, like we¡¯re defecting. If you know what I mean.¡±


    Claire studies my eyes carefully as she says that word. But there must have been no comfort in them, because she shies away quickly after.


    ¡°Never mind actually, it¡¯s just a stupid idea, I must just be paranoid.¡±


    She hides herself even further away from my gaze with a timid nod. I spare her the anxiety and look away to the faint stars.


    ¡°So you think they¡¯re putting us in a specific room to keep track of us?¡± I suggest.


    With those words, the girl looks like she¡¯s about ready to fizzle away.


    There¡¯s a long silence as we carry down the walkway. The tension is relived by the wide city design.


    As the path stretches above the shallow oceans edge, my steps begin to slow. Leaning over the railing overlooking black sky and shimmering waves, Claire stops and joins my side. A shadow passes the waning moon and lets it reappear again before one of us gathers the courage to speak.


    ¡°What is it, that you want to tell me?¡± Claire asks.


    I take a numb hand out of my pocket. Gripped between my two fingers, I hold the weathered envelopes for her to see.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±


    Her voice seeks understanding, but I can only stare out to sea.


    ¡°They¡¯re from your parents.¡±


    There¡¯s a pause in Claire¡¯s breath. The letters I¡¯ve long guarded slip from grasp.


    ¡°Try not to drop them into the water.¡± I tell her.


    She thinks to speak before remembering to breathe.


    ¡°Where did you get these?¡±


    ¡°Charles.¡±


    Claire doesn¡¯t question any further. The first flap opens; the first letter slides out. Under the moon and shifting stars, with the city lights behind us, our time seems to come to a halt. My ears synchronize with the melody of disordered ships and trains, as the tides wane. Losing all awareness to the sounds of night, I hear the call of the past, dragging me back to meet the dead.


    A white line pokes into my tunneled stare, awakening me to the present. Claire holds out the envelopes in both hands, letters sealed back inside.


    ¡°Why are you giving them back to me?¡±


    I turn away, leaving her hands hanging. She doesn¡¯t move them back.


    ¡°Did you read them?¡±


    Claire nods, still holding her arms forward.


    ¡°Why did you show this to me now?¡± She asks.


    ¡°There¡¯s a request I want to make.¡±


    An abandoned soul lurks beneath her gaze.


    ¡°But before that,¡± I continue, ¡°There¡¯re probably a lot of things you¡¯ve been wanting to be ask me, so ask away.¡±


    Claire takes a moment to gather her thoughts.


    ¡°He¡¯s still alive, right?¡±


    ¡°I would think so.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re going to find him still, aren¡¯t we?¡±


    I bite my lip.


    ¡°An old friend of mine once told me not to make promises I can¡¯t keep.¡±


    My reply leaves her in a nervous reservation.


    ¡°Okay,¡± She says, ¡°Next question.¡±


    I await her words, but she hasn¡¯t yet thought it through.


    ¡°Do you think dad is trying to find that guy?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a good chance.¡±


    ¡°Do you think he¡¯s getting close?¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t seem like it.¡±


    ¡°Why are they having so much trouble finding him?¡±


    ¡°Because he¡¯s smarter than them all.¡±


    Claire pauses her rapid enquiring and looks out to sea. I do the same.


    ¡°How do you know?¡±


    Her question is incomplete, but it¡¯s all that I need. ¡®How do you know where he¡¯ll be?¡¯


    ¡°Because he¡¯s telling me where to go.¡± I tell her.


    There¡¯s a look of disconnect between the two of us. Like an ocean apart, and the weight of the water hiding the day dawns on her shoulders.


    ¡°Alright then. Last question.¡±


    I answer with a ready silence.


    ¡°What was that request of yours?¡±


    An inaudible sigh forces itself out my chest.


    ¡°I want you to go ahead without me.¡±


    I¡¯m given only an anxious stillness.


    ¡°I¡¯ll catch up with you once I¡¯m done here.¡±


    The growing expectancy lingers.


    ¡°I¡¯ve already got the next destination in mind, it¡¯s not too far, so you don¡¯t have to worry about getting lost. And even if you do, I¡¯ll come find you, so really, don¡¯t worry about it too much.¡±


    I begin to notice my own impatience.


    ¡°It¡¯s too big for me, isn¡¯t it.¡±


    Claire turns with a surrendering smile, and a tear in her eye.


    ¡°I wish we could go back to the way it was.¡± She says.


    ¡°I don''t know about that. Meeting me was probably the unluckiest thing that could have happened to you."


    I step away from the railing, facing down the walkway.


    ¡°We¡¯ll head down to the station first thing in the morning,¡±


    The way I end my sentence makes it seem like there¡¯s something else I was going to say. Claire waits for what I have to say, but I decide against it. They can watch me if they want to. I might not get any sleep with a thousand prying ears and eyes on us. My ignorance has long since been lost to the wind, but not hers. And it¡¯s not my place to take it away.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get some rest, we¡¯ve got an early start tomorrow.¡± I tell her instead.

 12. Interlude

    A horn long since muted rides the high winds, above the now open locks and twisted paths. It demands no presence, only wishing to blend back into the norm. But I look up. To the air which it lingers, over the height of a distant city and looming clouds; the early winters sunrise, and sky deep blue to black, but still stained gray. A mark never to be forgotten.


    I turn from pebbles to a narrow, beaten dirt. The new crop grows passed the slope on either side, and the wires run overhead on wooden stilts. Amidst the low willows and brush ahead, a single building stands, a speck behind the rolling green.


    The dust stirs as I step over dry land. In the rising light, the posts cast a motionless reflection in mirrored water, and a long shadow in my path.


    My vision fades darker, and my neck snaps back. I look up, the stones now peaking over the hill.


    Looking higher still, the gathering gray shows unveiled. I clutch the hooked rod tighter in my palm, picking at the button on its strap, as I make the turn up the steps.


    There¡¯re rows of old stone. Flowers, ashes, and names. At the end, one final aisle of spotless marble.


    The sky opens upon longstanding crevices, as well as those yet to be dug. And leaning lifeless against a special marker, the coming shower¡¯s drizzle lands on a girl¡¯s shut eyes, pooling up where where the emptiness dries.


    I step closer, pebbled steps quieter than the breeze. Kneeling in front of her, she still does not move. My fingers wave over her sleeping eyes. There¡¯s a strain in my back as I take in the winter air.


    I open my umbrella, and balance it on the stone, over the girl¡¯s head. Then I fold over, on the chilled smooth marble, I lay down my head. And around the memoirs of the passed, my eyelids flicker, as the rain drips on my shoulder.


    ----------------------------------


    There¡¯s a large room at the far end of the bottom hall. Worn wooden boards lined the walls in elegant fashion, and the floor much the same. Above hung crystal lights. But drifting aimlessly through the morning haze, a sea of dust. And wasting away in the center, a tall black box.


    Underneath it¡¯s cover, lied conflicting shades, like the games we played, only there was no opponent. What would things look like now, perhaps, if we¡¯d spent our days on that other chest of black and white? I wonder if it still awaits us, in the wake of burnt flames. Or if like the shards of glass since healed over, it now only sings in silence, remembering the days before, and never to be whole again.


    My sleepless legs are nudged up by the ascending floor as it comes to a stop. The silver doors open to either side.


    When the few others move out, clearing the view ahead, we¡¯re greeted by a high open ceiling, the panes shedding a rising sun through the white grid beams. Rows of not half-filled seats accompany the patient agendas of those going about their regular lives.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    We file our way through an empty line, greeted by a young man in the familiar white attire. It¡¯s beginning to get tiresome, standing on the other side of the desk.


    Our banter goes through one ear and right out the other. Following the trail beaten by the accustomed conversations, I ask the questions I came to ask, all the while watching as the hazy divide of light and shadow slide across the counter.


    Arriving at the fifth of nine loading bays, I stop upon the rows of benches back to back. My eyes are to the ground, away from the blinding sky and troubled stare. Claire takes our free reign of empty chairs, seating herself directly in front of the stairwell. I sit next to her. Above the steps leading down to the rails hangs a sign of pixeled lights. Just three numbers and a long list of blank times.


    With only the stations echoes and a waking city to keep me company, I synchronize my breaths with the blinking of the colon, as the awaiting digits ever so slowly approach the ones above.


    As the minutes pass, and then the hours, there¡¯s no sign of attention from my short-lived partner. No short glimpses of mine returned, or even noticed. She only looks beyond the walls, burning a lonely hole through the screen. Neither anxious nor distressed, her back remains relaxed, pressed up against the bench. A newly replenished bag wedged between her feet, and arms perfectly still in her lap. It¡¯s impossible to tell what¡¯s on her mind.


    Waiting seems to take all of someone¡¯s mind, I¡¯ve noticed. As the clock ticks closer to the arrival of the bullet to unknown lands, the look in their eyes was and will always be the same. Just as will the mundane fascination of destination capture there hopes, like it once did with the two of us.


    From the edge of my fixed view, a figure in white enters, walking calmly towards the center of my sight. Upon reaching the gate, she pushes it aside, adjusting her cap as her head descends below the shadows. I glance up at the time, and all at once, a warning call rings throughout the hall, heeding the attention of the zero other people whose line is soon to arrive.


    As the message comes to an end, I notice a weak grasp, tugging on my finger.


    As I look to Claire, hunched over and almost ready to cry. But it¡¯s under my eye that a droplet rolls. Not tears of parting but for lessons learned.


    I can only nod, at a loss for words.


    And as the final minutes flutter away, the past weeks run through my mind. But it comes not diverging at its end, rather the pieces fall into place around me, as the pendulum aligns with the clock.


    It¡¯s the piercing scream of shattered windows that hits me first. Then the strike of blaring alarms, the hammers wailing on the bells. The ground beneath rumbles.


    My head moves my frozen line of sight to the tug on my shoulder. It¡¯s Claire. She stands now, holding my arm with both hands, pulling with an unwavering urgency. My gaze rises, and I see the terror in her eyes.


    Bellowing into the sky is a rolling blackness.


    The people around us scramble in panic. Their paths cross one another, only their feet to decide where to run.


    Claire mouths her cries, as I get up from my seat. The people still scatter, funneling along the directions of those in white. There¡¯s nothing else that can be heard over the alarms. But it¡¯s suddenly overtaken.


    The floor roars like a wave through stone, knocking the two of us back to our knees. From the buildings rear, the ocean¡¯s currents follow behind, slamming the foundations over and over, as the pillars beneath are shattered. I look back, pushed by the inherent urge to watch the terrors unfold.


    The wall unhinges from the roof. It begins to collapse, but before I can see it play out, a cloud of dust rises from the base upon which it falls, swallowing the fires and the blackened sky.


    My sight swivels on track. From the terminal to the side, smoke and sand spews from its entrance. The hand of a brave silhouette waves us the way out. A rising gray envelopes his signal. But in my last glimpse, there¡¯s a crack louder than it all. A ripple shoots through his body. His arm stops. The dust darkens, and the black shadow falls.

 13. When the Time Comes

    The faint outline of the city skyline still peaks above the shallow roofline. But the glow on the darkness above comes not from the lights of late days.


    Rough stone brick streets, already narrow any other time of year, are made tighter still by makeshift wooden stands, and tarps propped up between the night and supper. Yet with the departure of any walls to lean on, the people flock away from their busy lives, if only to spend just this one night under the light of the stars.


    An orange hymn flickers among cobble crevices, a small crowd gathers around, watching the open flame and sizzle of oil. The man behind the coal-black wok has his sleeves rolled up high, and the sweat on his forehead shines, but he burns with an even brighter passion. It makes me stop for just a moment, watching from a distance.


    As I carry on down the path, children squeeze through the empty space in the masses of coats and winter robes, under watchful eyes. Mother¡¯s and father¡¯s, caretakers and old friends, occupy the lines of closely packed tables that jam up against the walls. Chatting amongst themselves with a drink not too far from hand, whatever worries that plague the mind seem to wash away into the sea of euphoria. And given due time, perhaps the memories that pretend to be forgotten will eventually disappear too; nothing more than starlight on the edge of the full moon.


    A group of oncoming people nears, and I take a step to the side. One of them shoots me a nod with a smile as they pass by. But when it hits me to acknowledge this stranger¡¯s gratitude, my eyes have already flickered away to the ground. It¡¯s anticipation, rather than curtesy that comes naturally. I quickly glance back up, scanning the wandering crowds for the stranger long gone, but instead I happen upon a small child, through the gaps between those passing by. Her chin is to the sky, with a gaze that doesn¡¯t move.


    Amidst the lights on the night above, one glimmers a different colour than the rest, as it slowly vanishes into the dark. A single paper lantern dispatched before the others. Alone not by choice, but submitting, nonetheless. How insignificant we were supposed to be.


    ¡°Hey, you there, young man.¡±


    A voice hollers over the bustling rapture. I turn towards the sound. Behind a noodle stand not two arms lengths away, the cook leans over the counter, looking straight in my direction. I point to myself with my best look of uncertainty.


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m talking to you, don¡¯t just stand there, have a seat.¡± He says, eagerly.


    The two other patrons already sitting there glance over their shoulders, with welcoming smiles.


    ¡°I really shouldn¡¯t, I was just getting somewhere.¡± I reply.


    But the cook insists.


    ¡°There¡¯s no need to be shy, have you forgotten what day it is?¡±


    I swivel my head to either side, searching the crowd one more time, before giving in to the innocence in his eyes. A look long lost and grounded deep inside.


    As I take my seat, the other pair turns back to their own conversation.


    ¡°Just looking for something light,¡± I tell the cook, who¡¯s already pulling a bowl and utensils from under the counter. ¡°I¡¯m going to be meeting up with someone later tonight.¡±


    He nods, turning to the worn frying pan behind him, picking up all he needs in fluent motion. I find myself watching the man with a stagnant stare. My sight blurs into the sash tied around his waist, and the lifts of his elbows; taking my mind away from the edge of dreaded expectancy.


    The cook talks to me over his shoulder, having noticed my silence.


    ¡°What¡¯s you¡¯re name, kid?¡± He asks.


    ¡°Klaus.¡± I tell him. His response lingers, anticipating more. But there isn¡¯t anything else. Not anymore.


    ¡°Just Klaus?¡±


    I nod but, of course, he doesn¡¯t see it behind his back. My silence that comes along with it carries the same message though. He¡¯s careful not to dig too deep, or ask the wrong questions.


    ¡°You from around here?¡±


    ¡°Not too far.¡±


    He waits to see if there¡¯s anything more to my answer, but then carries on.


    ¡°First time in the city for new years?¡±


    I lower my chin to hide my smirk.


    ¡°Was it that obvious?¡±


    The man makes a final toss before setting the pan to the side.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been doing this for a something coming close to a decade now, and I¡¯ve yet to see anyone as lost as you.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s just a lot on my mind.¡± I say, speaking ahead of thought.


    The cook pivots to my direction, a deliberate pause in whatever he was doing. There¡¯s a comforting look on his face.


    ¡°I know how that feels.¡± He says, carefully reading my faint reactions. ¡°If it¡¯s not too much to ask, I¡¯d be happy to lend an ear.¡±


    His words take me back, but to more hopeful memories. Something that in someway doesn¡¯t seem right, but it¡¯s reassuring, nonetheless.


    ¡°There¡¯s a friend of mine, I¡¯m, not sure what I should tell her, right now.¡±


    There¡¯s another pause, the man taking the time to make sure he says the right things. As he ponders, the two others beside me rise from their seats and thank the cook, then disappear into the ecstatic air.


    ¡°She might not know what to say to say to you either.¡±


    He awaits my response, but it¡¯s like he¡¯s standing in front of a rock. Leaving me in stillness, he spins back around and quickly finishes the dish, placing it on the counter.


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    ¡°Let me tell you something that my teacher taught me.¡±


    The man gives the bowl a slight turn towards me.


    ¡°Just eat.¡± He says, with a warm smile.


    I take a breath and sit up a bit straighter.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I tell him. ¡°You¡¯re a good man.¡±


    His reply is a modest one.


    ¡°Just doing what I can.¡±


    I pull the bowl closer to myself, but it¡¯s at that same moment that I feel a sudden sting on the back of my neck. The beam of prying eyes. The cook looks up to greet a customer, and even before the newcomer speaks, I feel the familiar presence. He slides into the seat beside me, a man of sizeable stature, wearing a thin jacket for the cool night. My chest beats quicker, like a string wrapped tightly around, pulling with discomfort. And as the cook turns back to the stove, whatever it was that I was thinking a moment ago is replaced only by a red haze.


    ¡°Of course they picked you.¡± I mutter. But my words are drowned even to my own ears.


    The man places his forearms on the table. Not once does he look in my direction, but greeting me nonetheless.


    ¡°Haven¡¯t seen you in a while.¡±


    The taste of fresh blood seeps onto my tongue, lip pinched between my teeth. He sits awaiting, giving himself no right to speak. None of the lines I¡¯d prepared make their way out of the swamp consuming my mind. But nothing reckless comes out either. Suppressed is the growing unrest that boils within.


    ¡°Well,¡± I tell the man. ¡°I¡¯ve been here and there.¡±


    He gives a slight bow of his head. I glance at his lowered eyes, then return to myself, and the bowl in front of me. As I make my way through local flavour, the ambient celebratory noises begin to set in. The shuffling stone. The near and distant chatter. The scattering oil.


    I lay down an empty bowl. The cook collects it quickly and quietly, before turning to the since filled seats to my other side. Sitting between blissful future and burdened past, I gather myself once more.


    ¡°You going to order anything?¡± I ask the man.


    ¡°Just figuring out what I¡¯m in the mood for.¡±


    He raises his head and looks to the cook, who finishes his banter with the others, before taking back to the stove. Once again, I watch his every motion. But perhaps this time, it¡¯s only because my eyes are pointed in his direction.


    A soft steam rises from the dish as it¡¯s placed in front of the man beside me. He still waits though. The warmth begins to cool.


    I shift my foot back a step, preparing to leave.


    ¡°I should get probably get going. I¡¯ve already taken up this seat for too long.¡±


    As I begin to stand, a jacket rustles, and the man speaks.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry about what happened.¡±


    My movements pause for just a moment.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t your fault.¡±


    I¡¯m on my feet, facing the thinning crowd. The people head in only one direction now, a hopeful expression shared by them all. An abrupt request comes from behind.


    ¡°We need you¡¯re help.¡±


    There¡¯s something lifted from my shoulders with those words. A weight of expectancy departed but leaving in it¡¯s place a heavier burden.


    ¡°Look for me again sometime. I won¡¯t make myself too hard to find.¡±


    I take a step forward, but before blending myself into the masses, I stop for one final parting.


    ¡°It was good seeing you again,¡± I tell the man.


    ¡°Alfred¡±


    ----------------------------------


    Written on the black of night, the first of the floating flames rises above the lightless hill. I remain motionless, stopped halfway between steps on stone stairs. The flickering of lanterns peaks through the willows, swaying in the soft breeze that carries the lights along.


    I carry on up the steps, the rough granite molding the thin soles of my shoes. Approaching closer to the top, the moonlit stones peak their heads above the hill, followed by the brick aisles that intersect. The wind chills my ears, as it washes over the patches of grass.


    I make my way through the familiar path. The rows of marked hedges stand out to me tonight, more then I remember them ever having before. Perhaps it¡¯s the way each crack and scar casts its own little shadow upon itself, how the specks of shining dust within the rock seems to sparkle in the night. Or perhaps it¡¯s because the past keeps creeping back on me, a reminder of what was going through the mind of that scared little kid, as the whole world came to a halt.


    Nearing the end of my route, I find myself staring down at an empty shadow. Only noticing I¡¯m all alone when the breeze whistles by once more.


    There¡¯s a presence against the wind, and I turn to face the way I came. A silhouette stands in the path, back to the moon, a hazy outline surrounding the figure.


    ¡°You came to see me?¡± The girl asks.


    She steps forward and out of the shadows.


    ¡°Is that so surprising?¡± I ask, in return.


    It¡¯s replied only with a shy smile towards the ground. The girl passes in front of me, holding her hands behind her back.


    ¡°I went to look for you.¡± She says, looking up at the drifting lights.


    As she brings her gaze back down, her chin is lowered towards the ground, and eyes tilted to my feet.


    ¡°I thought you might have left already.¡± She finishes.


    I shake my head at the stone, and tell her earnestly.


    ¡°Not yet. There¡¯s still something I¡¯ve got to do here.¡±


    The girl looks away embarrassed, having realized what was implied. As she spins her back towards me, I notice what she holds in her hands. A lantern hanging from her wrist, a matchbox, tucked under her palm, and between her fingers, a pair of envelopes.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry we didn¡¯t celebrate the last new year.¡± She says.


    ¡°That¡¯s alright, the only thing I used to ever do was put up a tree in the room.¡±


    She looks back over her shoulder, with a vain intrigue that invites me in. I step forward, returning to her side.


    ¡°You never told me about that.¡±


    ¡°About what?¡±


    ¡°About new years, where you¡¯re from.¡±


    I rest my head atop the illuminated stone, cushioned in my bare arms.


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t anything exciting.¡± I tell her. ¡°Just like any other day really. It was the people that made things special.¡±


    I hear the girl lower herself to the ground. Her things make a soft noise as they¡¯re spread out on top the grave.


    I expect her to say something, but she doesn¡¯t. When I take my sight away from the fleeting flickers, I¡¯m met with a pair of eyes waiting for me to notice them. I join her on the cold stone. She props up the paper lantern, then fumbles with the match box. On the third strike, a lonely flame glimmers an orange light, tracing a path in the darkness, as it sets the candle alight. There¡¯s a gentle breath that puts the matchstick out. I feel the air on the back of my hand.


    ¡°Did you know,¡± The girl says. ¡°We call today the moonlight festival, because we send our wishes to the moon.¡±


    Under the dim light, she takes both letters out of their envelopes, and tears a small hole at the top of each. Finding the strand of twine attached to the bottom of the lantern, she threads it through, and ties it in a knot. Then she picks up the candle, and places it inside.


    The lantern floats in the girl¡¯s hands. She raises it high above her head. And with the parting of her fingers, it begins to rise, above the blackness of the ground and sky, towards the light and its inevitable demise. I follow its trail across the stars, carried along by the wind, as it shrinks to just a dot.


    ¡°What about your wish?¡± I ask, out of the blue.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re sending off your mother and father¡¯s wishes. But, what about yours?¡±


    A tear begins to well up in the back of her eye, but she doesn¡¯t take her sight away from the sky.


    ¡°Mine, is the same as theirs, I guess.¡±


    I look back up to the spark, just in time to see it flicker for the final time. I can no longer see it, but I imagine its silhouette, as its descent commences. Along with it, the long-foreseen eventuality that¡¯s been welling up inside begins to tug away at me, becoming one with the peaceful loneliness.


    ¡°Will you be going now?¡± Claire asks.


    All I can do is nod, without a word.


    She places her palms on her knees, bringing her face down to her chest. The moonlit lines on the stones behind become hazier, and a drop of light falls from Claire¡¯s chin.


    I shut my eyes. And in the emptiness, a pair of arms is flung over my shoulders.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I can go on alone.¡±


    There''s a damp spot on the back of my shirt.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I can be who they want me to be.¡±


    Her voice is desperate, yearning for comfort that cannot be given. I embrace her with all that I can offer. My eyes hold shut, but they just want to burst.


    It¡¯s here once again that I find myself, striding towards the past that I tried so hard to forget. With memories forged in glass now a clear reminder. A reminder of the consequences if I am to fail. She forces herself back into my memory from beyond, looking down from the new world; her dream that we¡¯ll chase until the very end.


    ¡°Come visit me sometime.¡±


    I nod, but my chin does not lift from her shoulder.


    ¡°I will.¡±

 14. Encumbrance

    A hand waves high ahead on the shallow slope, a blur on the late summer sky, still a deep gradient blue. It¡¯s as if the sun is refusing to go down, after having slept all winter long.


    I look up to where the girl stands. Below the wisps drifting amongst the sky, she calls cups her hands to her mouth, and shouts towards us. But she¡¯s like a lone tree from afar. My thumb could cover up her from head to toe.


    A second figure just ahead of the girl turns at the sound, no doubt much louder where she stands. Their two heads stick out from the sky around them. A soft brunette and jet black. Colours nowhere to be found amidst the overgrown grass, but at the same time, it¡¯s not like they don¡¯t seem to belong. A crow resting on a branch, perhaps. Though, that somehow doesn¡¯t seem right. Maybe it¡¯s because the crow is always the one supporting us, like the insignificant branch in the background.


    Suddenly, there¡¯s another hand waving in front of me, only this one much larger, much closer. Right in my face.


    I look to the side, and Ciel puts down his arm.


    ¡°Okay, look who¡¯s finally back.¡± He says. ¡°Thought you might¡¯ve fallen asleep while walking for a second there.¡±


    His comment rolls straight through my ears.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s possible.¡± I tell him.


    ¡°You never know until you try.¡±


    He perks up his eyebrows with a wayward grin, and a quick glance behind us.


    ¡°You want to stay up all night tonight?¡±


    I look at him like he¡¯s a going crazy.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you tired? You know, from walking the entire day.¡±


    Ciel puts his hand to his chin. He¡¯s about to say something incredibly stupid.


    ¡°Have I ever told you the trick to not be tired?¡± He asks, but continues before I can even answer. Not that I was planning to.


    ¡°You just have to turn your brain half-off all the time. Then you¡¯ll have twice the amount of energy.¡±


    My eyes swivel back forward. Any form of reply would just encourage him.


    Up ahead, to my surprise, Lio is still on the hilltop waiting. She¡¯s sitting on the ground now, almost pouting. Teri stands beside her with a misplaced smile. Ciel looks ahead too, then behind us once again. Trailing just a few steps back, a man keeps pace. His expression changes from the awaiting chaperone to a look of approval, but before Ciel takes off, he looks behind even further, into the long shadow of our attendant where another one of us follows closely behind.


    ¡°You coming?¡± Ciel asks.


    He¡¯s given a reluctant turn. But Ciel doesn¡¯t give up so easily. His heel digs into the dirt as he comes to a stop. Sensing the upcoming situation, the man takes a step aside, and I do as well.


    ¡°You know, I really don¡¯t understand why you¡¯re the one worrying so much. Don¡¯t you think that¡¯s my job?¡±


    The boy, now standing in the clear light, raises his chin as if he has something to say, but doesn¡¯t. So Ciel does.


    ¡°She¡¯ll be here soon just fine, so you should try to enjoy yourself while we¡¯re here, I mean, it¡¯s not every day that we get out of that cramped building.¡±


    Again, he¡¯s not given a reply in any words, but I can tell he¡¯s close. He can as well, of course. Ciel looks to the man standing idly by, requesting third party confirmation.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°Alfred,¡± He says, rather demandingly, ¡°When did they say they¡¯d get here?¡±


    His answer is quick and serviceable.


    ¡°I believe I recall hearing by nightfall.¡±


    Immediately following those words, Ciel turns back, waving a finger in the air. But before he can say anything, he¡¯s given the reply he¡¯s been looking for, though spoken in a quite irritated manner.


    ¡°Alright, I get it, you don¡¯t have to keep pep-talking me to death.¡± He says, as he walks ahead of us, careful not to make eye contact.


    Alfred catches my attention before I head off as well, and as he begins to speak, the others make sure to listen as well.


    ¡°I¡¯ll leave him to the two of you then. Try not to do anything that could get any of you hurt, it wouldn¡¯t be of help to any of us.¡± He says, with a calmness that helps get across his intent.


    ¡°And one more thing. I¡¯ll head back and check to see how the other two are holding up, for Emile¡¯s sake.¡±


    Our friend ahead doesn¡¯t give any words of thanks, or any words at all, only a wave over his shoulder as he makes his way towards the horizon. Perhaps it could be seen as rude, but that¡¯s how it¡¯s always been, how he¡¯s always been. Never showing his preferences, or weakness, or much of anything really. Not to any of us at least.


    ----------------------------------


    A breeze runs low, and my eyes open just barely. They return shut just as quickly. I try to remember how the wind felt, but I can¡¯t make anything out, even it only being a few seconds ago. Perhaps it wasn¡¯t though. Perhaps since I closed my eyes again, I¡¯ve fallen asleep again, and woken once more. But that¡¯s not likely. I know what it feels like to be awake. And now that I¡¯ve noticed the dim glow of starlight, it doesn¡¯t seem like I¡¯ll be going back to sleep any time soon.


    Making my way onto my two bare feet, I feel the chilled stone against my soles. Shrubs of grass grows between the bricks. It¡¯s difficult to see much of anything but I can feel them brushing my toes. I place my hand on the broken walls. The silhouettes of ruins guide my way.


    As I near the edge of the rooftop, a peculiar shadow etches itself into the specks on the sky. I approach quietly from behind. He doesn¡¯t seem to pay me any attention, leaning his head against his palm on the railing, I can¡¯t tell if he might just be asleep.


    I take the spot by his side, looking down upon the city below.


    There¡¯s a brief silence.


    ¡°What¡¯re you doing up so late?¡± Ciel finally asks.


    ¡°The wind woke me.¡±


    He doesn¡¯t give a quick reply, as he usually does. Only when I look over at his dimly lit eyes do I understand why. He¡¯s staring off blankly into dead space. Like he¡¯s not even blinking.


    ¡°What about you?¡± I ask.


    He takes a moment.


    ¡°Watching.¡±


    His reply lingers along with my confusion. As I look to him for an explanation, he just raises his free hand, pointing a finger towards the dark streets beneath us, still without averting his gaze.


    I squint in the general direction, but all I see is a sea of black.


    ¡°Can you see it?¡± Ciel asks.


    I shake my head.


    ¡°On the building at the wide corner. He¡¯s sitting on the ledge.¡±


    I give it another try, and again, nothing. But it¡¯s then that I see a tiny shift in the darkness.


    ¡°Don¡¯t take your eyes off him.¡± Ciel says, having noticed my discovery. ¡°You¡¯ll lose sight if you blink.¡±


    With my focus now occupied, I ask the question on my mind, skipping all those that should have come before.


    ¡°They still haven¡¯t made it yet?¡±


    Ciel¡¯s silence is as good an answer as any, though it leaves me unsure of what to say next. Whether I can say anything that wouldn¡¯t just be hopeful thinking, or even just a lie.


    ¡°I think I should let you know,¡± Ciel says, breaking the returning stillness.


    ¡°When we get back, I¡¯m going to tell them, that I want Emile to go with her. Instead of me.¡±


    This doesn¡¯t surprise me, but I didn¡¯t expect him to tell me this now. Or at all even. I can¡¯t think of how to reply.


    ¡°Do you think this makes me a bad brother?¡± He asks.


    I shake my head again.


    ¡°You¡¯re doing what you think is best.¡±


    ¡°I hope it is.¡±


    Studying is eyes once more, I wonder whether he¡¯s looking for some kind of comfort.


    ¡°You know, you¡¯re always saying this and that about Emile, but you¡¯re worried yourself, aren¡¯t you? You¡¯re just not showing it.¡±


    I look back to down to the corner, but it¡¯s all just black once again.


    ¡°They¡¯ll be able to treat her better in the city.¡± I remind him. ¡°It¡¯ll be alright.¡±


    Alright. I say that, but inside, it feels like anything but that. I lean forward into the railing, tucking my head in my arms, and wondering if I¡¯ve said too much.

 15. Conjecture

    He¡¯s looking out the window, eyes traveling along with the distance, then bouncing back, repeating the cycle all over again. Seems I¡¯m always on the move these days. I try not to pay him any attention, but even with my face planted deep into the table, his endless cycle of boredom is all I can think about. Perhaps because I¡¯m feeling the same way. But that can¡¯t be though. There should be plenty on my mind right now. Perhaps I¡¯m looking for a thought to escape to. Perhaps he feels the same way.


    I shove my hands into my coat pockets then take a breath, still resting my head against the polished wood.


    ¡°How long¡¯s it been?¡± I ask, breaking a seemingly endless silence.


    Alfred snaps out of his trance, turning and seeing what must look like a lifeless corpse sitting in front of him. Though a corpse that speaks.


    ¡°Since we left the station, four hours.¡± He responds, promptly.


    I recall the map and timetables that I was studying one of the nights before.


    ¡°Four hours sounds a little bit long, doesn¡¯t it? Shouldn¡¯t we be there by now?¡±


    ¡°We stopped for around an hour a while back. You were sleeping then.¡±


    He leans back into the cushioned seat, and crosses his arms around his chest, and puts a leg over the other. I don¡¯t see him do any of it, but I just know that¡¯s how it is. It seems like something he¡¯d do.


    ¡°They¡¯re changing the timetables on the fly for some of the important shipments, so it¡¯s affecting the rest of the schedules as well, and unfortunately, passenger trains like ours don¡¯t rank very high up there in terms of priority.¡±


    I think I almost let out a grumble upon hearing this, but I can¡¯t say for sure.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me that sooner?¡±


    Alfred doesn¡¯t answer my question. That¡¯s not a surprise though. I was whispering to myself after all.


    The train makes a slight turn and the glaring evening sunlight shifts directly into my eyes, so I drag my face across the table and look the other way. But seeing the shut cabin door reminds me that I¡¯m almost about to suffocate in this tiny room.


    ¡°Why couldn¡¯t they get us a spot on a private train?¡± I ask, audibly this time.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Alfred has no reply.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to answer that,¡± I continue, lethargically. ¡°I already know why.¡±


    He shifts uncomfortably in his seat.


    ¡°I¡¯m talking with my colleagues up top. It¡¯ll just be a little while longer.¡±


    There¡¯s that same response again.


    ¡°How ¡®up top¡¯ are these colleagues of yours, anyways? You think I¡¯ll ever get to talk to them?¡±


    The table that my head rests upon bumps up just slightly, and I roll my eyes over to look at Alfred, who has shifted back in the position he was before. This time I see it though. So I was right last time, I must have been.


    ¡°They¡¯re not telling me much either.¡± He says, in a somber tone.


    It¡¯s like he¡¯s trying to convince me he¡¯s not lying. But that¡¯s rather unnecessary; I know he¡¯s not. It¡¯s not really his style. But I don¡¯t tell him that.


    ¡°I guess they don¡¯t trust either of us.¡±


    The air in the cabin turns stale, as the disturbance of the short tunnel winds howls on the other side of the compartment. I wait until we exit before talking again.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to answer this, but,¡±


    I preface my question, speaking sharply, and turning to look out the window, but still keeping Alfred in the corner of my eye. There¡¯s a pause as I judge his immediate reaction. The brief moment of intrigue, and a slight raise in his eyebrows tell me more than any words he could say. There¡¯s something there. But I won¡¯t get it now.


    ¡°What have you been up to, since, then?¡±


    Alfred grimaces at the table.


    ¡°I took a break, from Conservatory. Ended up running into an old friend from the orphanage I grew up in. Turns out he¡¯d opened up a small bread shop that¡¯s been doing quite well, and I passed my days helping out there.¡±


    His sentimental tone almost makes me forget about it all. But his next sentence brings me back.


    ¡°They called me back when you showed up again.¡±


    I sit up in my seat, hiding away from the sunlight.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been meaning to ask,¡±


    Alfred cuts me off, anticipating my question. His expectancy must have been brewing all this time as well.


    ¡°They told me that they searched for just a few weeks. They figured you were dead. It¡¯s up to you whether or not you want to believe that though.¡±


    He avoids looking in my direction, but when he flicks his eyes to catch a glimpse, he¡¯s startled to see me studying him so intently.


    ¡°You don¡¯t speak the same way you used to, do you?¡± I ask him, the realization only just appearing in my mind.


    ¡°What¡¯s that mean?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you mean, ¡®oh, how so?¡¯¡±


    I cross my arms on the table, one over the other, leaning forward.


    ¡°That¡¯s what you would have said before.¡±


    Alfred smirks and faces the side, with no intention to provide any kind of answer. I look the other way, out the window again, feeling no need to get that sort of acknowledgement. A thin cloud passes over the afternoon sun, and the cabin dims, leaving just a single beam of light still shining through, and the dust that dances within it.


    ¡°By the way,¡± I begin to ask, out of the blue. ¡°did they ever tell you anything about Ciel¡¯s sister?¡±


    ¡°Priscilla?¡±


    Alfred responds.


    ¡°Not a word.¡±

 16. Choice

    I keep the doorknob held down until the door rests still in its frame, only then do I let the handle lock back into place. Hurriedly, I make my way through the short and narrow passage connecting to the next room, scanning the array of wooden desks as I move closer. As I enter the sunlight room, I immediately set my course towards the desk at the very back on the right. Dust drifts aimlessly through the shadow of the half open curtain, and there, in that shadow, I find a small rubbish bin sitting next to the empty desk.


    The door clicks behind me once again, the stale air of the large warehouse and the scent of sun-baked paper greet my swift return. I quickly make my way down the two steps in front of the door and head straight passed the high stocked shelves and towards the printing presses at the very back of the room. Alfred stands there, still conversing with a lady that looks just a few years older than him. They¡¯re both staring intently inside the press.


    I return to Alfred¡¯s side just as the two are finishing their conversation. The lady gives her parting and acknowledging me with a nod and a smile before stepping round the hefty machine, exiting the way I just came.


    Alfred¡¯s eyes remain fixated in the press even after the echo of the shutting door disperses across the warehouse. I linger around, running my gaze across the maze of steel beams holding up the ceiling, until suddenly, a slight gasp by my side breaks my daze.


    Alfred stands facing me, a flushed look covers his face.


    ¡°Is something the matter?¡± I ask.


    He shakes his head.


    ¡°No, no, it¡¯s nothing. I just didn¡¯t realise you were standing there the whole time.¡±


    I give him a moment to catch his breath before asking him another question.


    ¡°Did she tell you anything new?¡±


    ¡°Nothing important. They just checked the logs, and it looks like none of the presses have been used since the last scheduled printing day, It¡¯s unlikely that any extras managed to slip by since Conservatory was able to show up so soon, so it looks like we¡¯ll be able to wrap up here soon. There¡¯s just the rest of the files that we¡¯ll have to look through tonight, but I doubt we¡¯ll find be able to find any kind of actual leads.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t be helped, I guess.¡± I reply.


    As Alfred nods in agreements, he notices my eyes lowering to the floor beside me. The blinding shine of sunlight reflects off the silver blanket, wrinkles in the foil wrap around the lump underneath.


    ¡°Will someone be taking care of this?¡± I ask.


    Alfred averts his gaze before giving an answer.


    ¡°As soon as we¡¯re out of here, the people from the morgue will come and get her.¡±


    There¡¯s a moment of silence, as a train¡¯s horn wails far outside. Alfred then turns, heading towards the warehouse door.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get started. I¡¯d like to be out of here by tomorrow morning.¡± He says.


    ----------------------------------


    ¡°Tell me everything that happened, start to finish. I need every detail.¡±


    My fingers crawl over the laptop keyboard as I type out the first line. Sitting at the dining room table, the sun begins to part through the window. The light a smear of glare on my screen. I stand to close the curtains, as I hear the man sitting across from Alfred take a last breath before speaking.


    ¡°It was around ten in the evening that night. I¡¯d been working nonstop since I¡¯d gotten home at six, since deadline was the next day, and I was fairly behind on my work.¡±


    The man pauses. He speaks clearly and without any kind of indecision. He¡¯s probably practiced this explanation many times before. As I shut the curtains, I look at back at the two sitting in the living room half of the small apartment. Alfred sits on the couch, his back facing my direction. Across from him is a young man, I¡¯d guess no older than 25, sitting on a chair taken from the dining room. He clenches his hands tightly in his lap, his figure closed and hunched, despite his best attempts to be mindful of his nervousness.


    I return to my seat, my fingers hovering over the keyboard, ready for his next sentence.


    ¡°I¡¯d gotten down to the last article when I¡¯d realised that I had forgotten the transcription of the interview I needed at the office. I normally go for an evening stroll at around eight, right after having my dinner, so I figured that since I hadn¡¯t done either of those things yet, I¡¯d walk back to the office to pick up the interview, and on my way back I¡¯d grab some food.¡±


    There¡¯s another break in his speech, allowing me to catch up on my transcription.


    ¡°When I¡¯d arrived at the office, I could hear the sounds of a press operating, which I thought was abnormal, because no one should have been in the back at the time. I thought that maybe someone had just accidentally left the machine on, because recently, one of our presses has had a problem with shutting down properly, and I figured that the warehouse workers might have just left it without double checking it.¡±


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    He takes another moment to gather his thoughts, but for brief second, as he begins to speak again, there¡¯s a slight hesitation in his voice.


    ¡°I was quite convinced that the issue wasn¡¯t anything major, but just to be safe, I¡¯d remembered what the person from Conservatory had told us and went to get the pistol that he¡¯d left us.¡±


    His voice continues to grow shakier by the word.


    ¡°When I entered the warehouse, I noticed that the only lights that were on were the night lights, which automatically turn on at midnight, and I remember specifically thinking that I couldn¡¯t believe it had already gotten so late, so I decided to fix the printing press quickly so I could get back home and finish the work I still wanted to get done.¡±


    My hands quietly lift from the keys. I shut my eyes as I wait, but the pause is longer than the last few times. I swivel my eyes to see a grieving man, trying to hold back tears.


    ¡°When I got closer, I noticed a shadow behind the shelves.¡±


    The man swallows gulps of air. Still doing his best to hold himself together.


    ¡°She must have heard I was there, and she, Constance, she, - I, ¡±


    I shut my eyes once again, and push the air out of my ears to drown out the sound, but it doesn¡¯t stop me from seeing, or hearing, the pain.


    ¡°My apologies, this must be difficult for you.¡±


    Alfred¡¯s voice.


    ¡°We¡¯ll head outside for a couple of minutes, give you some time to collect yourself.¡±


    ----------------------------------


    Buried in a pile of loose papers, I struggle to keep my eyes open as I quickly skim over the contents of each one, before placing them in the ever growing ¡®finished¡¯ stack. The still indoor air grows colder as night approaches.


    Almost falling asleep on resting on my upright arm, I look over my shoulder, where Alfred sits, efficiently and systematically filing through a mountain of documents like he hasn¡¯t already been going at it for hours.


    My arms reach high in the air, and I let out a big yawn, but Alfred seems to pay me no attention.


    I get up from my seat and head over to the window by the back, opening it wide open. But Alfred still doesn¡¯t so much as look up from his desk.


    I sit back down in my seat, letting my arms hang flimsily, and drooping my head upside down across the back of the chair.


    ¡°Hey, Alfred,¡± I say, trying to finally get his attention.


    ¡°Yes, what is it?¡±


    Surprisingly, I receive an almost immediate response.


    ¡°How do you think he did it?¡± I ask, purposefully vague, invoking Alfred to question my question.


    ¡°How did who do what?¡±


    ¡°How did he gain such a dedicated following within the media?¡± I ask, fully expecting him to be unable to come up with any kind of legitimate answer.


    ¡°Honestly, I really couldn¡¯t say.¡± He says. ¡°If anyone would know, I would think It¡¯d be you.¡±


    I sit back normally before speaking again, facing the air in front of me.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. He was always the smart one. I was just living in his shadow.¡±


    The sounds of shuffling sheets disappears behind me.


    ¡°You still admire him quite a lot, don¡¯t you?¡±


    I feel a stare on the back of my head, and I turn around to meet Alfred¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°You¡¯re still doubting me, aren¡¯t you?¡± I ask in return, assessing his reaction. ¡°Do I have to tell you again?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± He says, as he shakes his head, returning to his work.


    There¡¯s a brief silence. I shut my eyes and listen carefully to the sounds outside, waiting for the signal. But there¡¯s nothing just yet. Perhaps he just needs a little encouragement.


    ¡°Hey, Alfred,¡± I say, the same way as before. ¡°Why don¡¯t I go get us something to eat? It¡¯s getting pretty late.¡±


    He stops what he¡¯s doing to respond.


    ¡°Technically, they don¡¯t want me to take my eye off of you,¡± He says, leaving his sentence lingering uncompleted.


    ¡°-but,¡±


    ¡°but we also probably shouldn¡¯t leave this place empty.¡± He finishes. The expected response.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go get dinner. I don¡¯t like most of the food around these parts, so you¡¯d just get the wrong thing.¡± Alfred says, as he gets up from his seat.


    ¡°I know that already, you¡¯ve told me that so many times.¡± I tell him.


    ¡°Can¡¯t wait until they send us back across. I haven¡¯t had a meal I¡¯ve enjoyed in way too long.¡± He says, putting on his heavy coat and nearing the door.


    ¡°That¡¯s a joke, right?¡±


    He shrugs, without a final word before slipping out into the cold.


    As the shutting of the front door swiftly becomes nothing more than a distant memory. I lay my head down on the table. Facing away from the breeze of the open window, I close my eyes, and begin to let my thoughts drift. But I know I cannot allow myself to fall asleep.


    I rise from my seat and head outside. But I don¡¯t go far, I just lean on the wall next to the door.


    Eyes still shut and thoughts still drifting.


    But my ears are wide open, waiting for the signal.


    Though the curfew has long since been out of effect, the streets at this hour are still fairly empty. There¡¯re only the sounds of the evening train, and flickering lights on the wind. And then there¡¯s one more sound. The crunch of the paper in a recycling bin.


    Quickly, I make my way around the corner to the building¡¯s adjacent wall. The one with the open window. There, I find a man, kneeling on the ground, his arm reaching through the window, at the rubbish bin on the other side.


    He looks me in the eye, recognizing me, if not by name then at least by my face. He doesn¡¯t even begin to try and run. He doesn¡¯t even try to move.


    Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the pieces of a few torn sheets of papers.


    ¡°I take it this is what you¡¯re looking for?¡±


    The man takes his arm out of the windowsill, standing up straight and brushing himself off.


    ¡°Correct me if I¡¯m wrong, but you weren¡¯t the one who killed her, Constance. You didn¡¯t kill her did you?¡±


    There¡¯s no sign of denial.


    ¡°The two of you¡¯d realised that that Conservatory was about to show up. So she killed herself. To save you.¡±


    He nods just barely enough to be noticeable.


    ¡°That¡¯s why there was nothing in the printer, even though by your story, Constance would have had plenty of time to have used it. You were getting these from your desk.¡± I tell him, holding up the ball of scraps.


    The man¡¯s legs struggle to keep him upright as he stumbles forward. He falls back onto his knees, seemingly accepting his fate, and unable to speak a single word.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, nobody else knows, and I won¡¯t tell anyone.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± the man mutters into the stone. ¡°You can¡¯t do that, if they find out they¡¯ll-¡±


    ¡°- I¡¯m well aware of that, but why are you trying to throw away your life so readily? You don¡¯t seem like the type to do that. Otherwise you wouldn¡¯t have come back for these.¡± I say, holding up the papers once again.


    In the man¡¯s complete state of breakdown, he manages to utter one more question.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I just need to know, the person who put the two of you up to all of this. Do you still believe in what he stands for?¡±


    ¡°I do. His world was Constance¡¯s dream.¡±


    ¡°And did you have anyway of contacting him directly?¡±


    The man shakes his head, almost apologetically.


    I nod gently, having been giving the answer I¡¯d expected.


    ¡°One last thing,¡± I begin, before sending him off.


    He awaits my words nervously.


    ¡°What do you plan on doing from here on out?¡±


    The man gathers himself from the dusty sidewalk and rises to his feet.


    ¡°I¡¯ll, continue fighting. For what she wanted.¡±

 17. Biased Impasse

    There¡¯s not a single pair of eyes on me.


    Even among the people monitoring the area, none of them seem to pay any extra attention to the two of us walking into the rubble, where once stood the heart of this city.


    Perhaps it¡¯s Alfred¡¯s presence. His long stride steps evenly behind me, despite the rough surface we stand atop. Stone and concrete, that¡¯s impossible to tell which floor it came from.


    We enter further into the ruins, beyond the view of all the other staff. I look to the side, then scan my way around. Every direction looks the exact same. Just gray with shadows. Finding nothing of particular interest, I come to a stop in the shade of the one ¡®wall¡¯ still left standing, away from the clear noon sky.


    Turning around, Alfred stands waiting, his heavy trench coat still in the low autumn breeze.


    ¡°Remind me,¡± I begin, ¡°How long do we have here?¡±


    Alfred checks his wristwatch.


    ¡°Eight more minutes, on the dot.¡±


    I look away at the sun.


    ¡°That¡¯s eight minutes too long then. I didn¡¯t think there¡¯d be a whole lot we could find. Coming here only confirmed that.¡±


    I¡¯m given no immediate reply, so I study the area another time. But once again, all I see is rocks. He did a thorough job as always.


    ¡°Why not have a look anyways. Never know what we might find.¡±


    Alfred says. I turn my side to face him.


    ¡°Our time would be better used elsewhere. They¡¯ve probably already searched the place many more times and with many more people.¡±


    Alfred nods once, looking down at the ground in front of him.


    ¡°Well, regardless, I think it would be best if we stayed our full time. Wouldn¡¯t want them to think we don¡¯t appreciate the opportunity.¡±


    Hearing his thoughts, I place my hands in my coat pockets, and listen to the faint noises from the distance, as I prepare to stand for another few minutes.


    My gaze wanders around the buildings still standing in the vicinity, and those that¡¯ve fallen in the collateral. My thoughts can¡¯t help but wander as well. After all these weeks, even reaching into months, I still find myself wondering what it was I thought I could accomplish before starting out. But it¡¯s always been this way I suppose. He¡¯s always been the one who decided how much I was allowed to know. I just hadn¡¯t realized it back then.


    ¡°You know, Alfred, I¡¯m actually kind of relieved,¡±


    Alfred responds as a formality.


    ¡°And why¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s been rather quiet for some time now. I was beginning to get a little worried that he no longer had it in him.¡±


    ¡°And by that you mean?¡±


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    I put off his question and return promptly with another one.


    ¡°Have you gotten back from them yet?¡±


    Alfred knows almost intuitively what I¡¯m asking about.


    ¡°No not yet.¡±


    I give a silent sigh.


    ¡°Tell them it¡¯s very important.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll make note of that.¡±


    ¡°Also tell them to throw in this time¡¯s list as well.¡± I tell him, though knowing fairly well that any attempt is most likely futile. But as if on queue, a soft buzzing disturbs the peace.


    I remain completely silent as Alfred answers his phone. No matter how hard I try though, I can¡¯t hear what¡¯s being said on the other end.


    ¡°Yes.¡± He replies.


    A long silence on his part follows.


    ¡°Of course.¡± He finally says. ¡°We¡¯ll be there.¡±


    I watch him slip the phone back into his pocket, awaiting the news.


    ¡°They said there¡¯s something important we need to see.¡±


    I wait a few seconds after he speaks, expecting there to be something more.


    ¡°And the information I asked for?¡±


    He shakes his head.


    ¡°Still nothing on that part.¡±


    I look away once again, disappointed, but not surprised.


    ¡°Our train will be arriving in twenty minutes.¡±


    Before stepping towards the path back, I take a final look over my shoulder.


    ¡°You know, Alfred, I never had the motivation to be better than him before.¡±


    I say, as I turn around to face him.


    ¡°But I think I¡¯ve found it now. So that¡¯s why, it¡¯s good to know that he¡¯s back.¡±


    ----------------------------------


    A young man and a woman come to meet us at the front of the busy station. Alfred hands the man our two small suitcases, and he quickly disappears into the crowd.


    Following the woman¡¯s lead we step our way up the wide stairs leading up to the station entrance. I tuck the paper I was reading into my pocket before entering the front door.


    We¡¯re quickly brisked away to the front of the line, where our guide parts.


    There¡¯s an array of staff standing at long makeshift tables, going through the belongings of each passenger, before sending them on their way. Alfred nudges me forward, having gotten caught up in the commotion.


    We walk straight down the aisle, earning a moment of attention from a few of the nearby passengers, but not a single one of the staff.


    As we enter the waiting lobby, the density of the crowd drops significantly, and I¡¯m finally able to get a good look at the station.


    A tall glass domed ceiling, and a second floor with restaurants and other kinds of shops. The sunlight from above shines off the marble floor. People scatter like ants up, down, and across the floors. Quite the sight, but I¡¯ve come to expect nothing less, especially for a station in a major area like this.


    There are a total of sixteen waiting docks, eight on each side.


    I follow Alfred to the seventh dock on the left. All the seats in the waiting area are full, but the attendant there notices our arrival, opening the gate down to the train platforms and directing us downward. Alfred gives the attendant a nod as we pass by.


    We head down the steps, leading to the wide expanse of rows of platforms, raised from the ground and the rails in between them. Alfred puts out his right hand before we¡¯re off the stairs, signalling the side we¡¯ll be waiting on. I follow him to the near empty portion of the platform. The other side packed with passengers awaiting another train¡¯s arrival.


    Standing in the shadow of the floor above us, we wait without a word between us. The sun¡¯s heat doesn¡¯t reach where we stand. The cold isn¡¯t something I¡¯m not used to, but even through my thick winter coat, there¡¯s a chill that spreads all over.


    I take my hands out of my pockets and hold them up to my breath. I can feel them warming up, but it¡¯s only then I realize I still can¡¯t move my fingers.


    From the distance, I can hear a train approaching. Then another.


    Not a minute later, a gust of air comes from behind. And just as the bags behind us begin to rise, and the passengers begin to shuffle about, there¡¯s a second wind, as a train pulls in on the rails in front of us.


    The door to one of the two passenger cars opens, and an attendant stands waiting on the other side.


    Alfred steps forward. He¡¯s already at the doorway when I remember to move. But right before I do, I feel a tap on my shoulder.


    ¡°You dropped this.¡±


    A voice from behind says to me.


    It¡¯s a familiar voice, but one I haven¡¯t heard in too long.


    I take the folded piece of paper from the hand by my side.


    The voice speaks again, but in a soft whisper.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be at the capitol next. In the meantime, my sister will be looking for you. Don¡¯t trust her.¡±


    I put the paper back in my pocket, then quickly swivel around.


    But all I see are the backs of a crowd.

 18. Reroute

    The world runs by outside, but it¡¯s only the brief shine of the narrow river bellow that holds my attention. As it drifts away, blending in with the bush and hills, I find my gaze looking back down at the table in front of me, and the papers in my hand. After another quick scan of the page, I square the few documents up and place them back into their file, then hand the thin folder to Alfred, who sits across from me. He puts down the lofty stack of sheets in his hand on the empty seat beside him.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± He asks.


    I turn to look outside as I answer his question.


    ¡°It¡¯s all of the important things.¡± I tell him.


    Even though he¡¯s not directly in my sight, I can tell he¡¯s rather surprised, or perhaps confused. He looks over to the other side of the train car, where there¡¯s another table and two bench seats, all stacked to the limit with documents of all kinds. Their positions having reached a stable equilibrium from the trains many turns, with what hasn¡¯t balanced well enough now laying scattered on the floor.


    A black wall passes by the view outside as we enter a tunnel in the hillside. The lights in the cabin flick on immediately as if on que.


    Alfred has picked up the file I passed him, flipping through the thirty or so pages in its contents.


    I wait for him to close the file before speaking.


    ¡°From almost every place he¡¯s been, there are two things he seems fixated on.¡± I begin.


    ¡°The first is the railway map,¡±


    Alfred opens the folder back up, taking a second look.


    ¡°and the second is a map of the locations of every Conservatory in the world.¡±


    Though studying the pages quite carefully, Alfred seems to still be lost as to where to begin.


    ¡°If you look closely, you¡¯ll notice that the hidden railway sections don¡¯t match up with the locations of the Conservatories for the most part.¡± I tell him. ¡°But if you look at the numbers, I¡¯ve written at the top of some of the pages, you¡¯ll see that some of them do match with each other.¡±


    I give him a moment to check the differences for himself, enough time for the daylight to return and the lights inside to shut back off.


    ¡°From this it¡¯s quite easy to see that there¡¯s a good chance that many of these maps were made as decoys.¡±


    Alfred nods, seeming to at least somewhat agree with what I¡¯m saying.


    ¡°However, I do believe that of these sets of maps, one of them is the real thing.¡± I tell him.


    I reach out my hand, and Alfred hands the folder back to me. I lay it down on the table and flip through for the pages marked with a ¡®5¡¯ in the top corner. I place the on the table and spin them around so they¡¯re facing him.


    ¡°With so much data, it would probably be impossible anyone to find any difference between a fake and something real, but whoever they¡¯ve got in charge of this project made one little oversight.¡±


    My finger hovers over the sheet before landing on a single dot on the other side of the ocean from us.


    ¡°Out of all the sets of maps, there¡¯s only one with a Conservatory marked here.¡±


    I take my finger away from the map, revealing the area underneath it. Just a single dot, marked with the name, C1328. Home.


    ¡°This dot is certainly real. So, it would be a reasonable assumption that this set of maps is the real thing.¡±


    Alfred places his hand on his chin and stares at the pages on the table for a good minute, seeming to not even take a moment to breath. He then straightens his back and sits up in his seat.


    ¡°How are you so certain that that dot is what you think it is?¡± He asks.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    I reach my hand down, feeling the other page I¡¯d left beside me earlier.


    ¡°Do you remember when we went to the old city? It took us three days to walk there, heading down south by the water.¡±


    Alfred nods, waiting for me to continue.


    I place the page at my fingertips on top the table over the pages from before. He takes one glance at it and seems to be satisfied with that.


    ¡°There¡¯s one other thing, that more or less confirms my suspicions, which is that the location that was holding the half of this set of maps was the railway station that he hit before disappearing for a few months.¡±


    A frown begins to envelop Alfred¡¯s face. A serious look this time, one I¡¯ve never from him before.


    ¡°So. That¡¯s it then.¡± He says, almost frozen in time.


    ¡°What¡¯s it?¡± I ask him, though already knowing fair well what he must be thinking.


    He crosses his arms, falling deeper into his seat.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you already know.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but I need to hear you say it.¡±


    He lets out a heavy sigh.


    ¡°Yesterday morning. It was a weapons facility.¡±


    As I hear him speak those words, I realize that at some point I¡¯d stood up, my knuckles pressing against the wooden table.


    ¡°You have to tell me now, what we were all raised for.¡±


    I make my demand outright, worded more personally than I¡¯d intended. But he just closes his eyes and shakes his head.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    A sudden urge to cause some damage swells up from within me, without me even seeming to realize it¡¯s there. Perhaps there for some time now. But as a sequence of the shadows of a line of trees by the side of the tracks draws a blur across the light through the window. I feel my fists rest, and I drop myself back down into my seat.


    The sky outside is a pure blue.


    ¡°Just promise you¡¯ll tell me someday.¡±


    ¡°Of course. As soon as I can. I can promise you that.¡±


    ----------------------------------


    We step out of the black vehicle, greeted by a wide paved walkway. It stretches forward, lined by flowers of many colours, and fields of grass of a singular height and shade. A row of hedge trees draws the boundaries of the premises. An almost perfectly maintained garden, with hardly a person in sight.


    Our driver sees us off, leaving just me and Alfred in the presence of a soft wind, rolling over the grass. I wait for him to take the first step, but when I realize he¡¯s just standing still without what seems to be a worry in the world, he tells me of what the plan is supposed to be.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been told it¡¯ll just be you heading in first,¡± He says. ¡°They want you to head to the back of the building.¡±


    I take a look down the stone walkway, scanning both sides of the building for a way around.


    ¡°That¡¯s all I¡¯ve been told.¡± Alfred finishes. ¡°I¡¯ll come find you around evening today.¡±


    I give him a nod, and without much else, start on my way down the path.


    My attention is captured by the dull colourless building at the end of the walkway. It¡¯s maybe two or three stories. It¡¯s hard to tell from the outside. I continue forward at a brisk pace, trying to keep up with my shadow, and as I get ever closer, I notice that the floors of the bottom floor are actually made of glass, having looked white prior from the reflection of sunlight.


    Looking from closer up, the building¡¯s design is not unlike that of the Conservatory. The glass walls, and the many identical windows on the upper floors. A wide entrance and vast fields all around. There¡¯s even a flock of white sheets set to dry on the rooftop, behind the ring of fences that surrounds it. If I didn¡¯t know any better, I might have thought this place was just that, but there is one small difference that I can see. Mixed into the bedsheets is a line of monotonous clothing. A single colour top to bottom, matching the sky above. That¡¯s all there is. It¡¯s all the people here wear.


    I reach the entrance to the building, and the glass door slides open, but I don¡¯t enter right away. On the wall to my right there¡¯s a sign. It reads from top to bottom:


    Entrance, emergency room, back garden.


    I head off in the direction the last arrow points me in, stepping off the paved cobble walkway in exchange for a narrow path of stone slab steppingstones.


    As I loop around the building¡¯s corner, the greenery becomes more and more lush, changing from flowers no higher than my ankles, to potted sections of plants, and trees grown in rings of stone. Taking a closer look, there seems to be a name written by each of the plants I pass by.


    I turn the final corner, received by a small garden much like the ones I¡¯d just been walking by. The path I¡¯m on becomes smoother, and wider. It intersects with another coming from the other side of the building. There are more fields, and the hedge trees are still there in the distance. And in the middle of it all, there¡¯s a single figure, casting a shadow at the place where the stone meets the grass. Just a few stairs difference is all that separates them. The girl waits at the edge, unable to bring herself down.


    I step quietly towards her.


    The two of us await next in each other¡¯s company, both not speaking a single word. She doesn¡¯t look up at me from her wheelchair, but even so,


    ¡°Shall I take you down?¡± I ask the girl.


    She shakes her head.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine up here.¡±


    Her voice is weak. Much weaker than I remember it.


    ¡°How have you been these days?¡± The girl asks.


    ¡°There¡¯s been ups and downs.¡±


    ¡°Is that so? I¡¯d love to hear about it.¡±


    ¡°Well, I finally beat your brother at something.¡±


    ¡°Good for you, that¡¯s no easy feat.¡±


    ¡°Not really. He kind of let me win.¡±


    There¡¯s a brief pause in our conversation.


    ¡°And what about the downs?¡± The girl asks.


    ¡°Well. Your brother is also now a terrorist. Cecile is nowhere to be found. And,¡±


    I find my sentence trailing off into the wind.


    A sudden warmth envelops my hand. Not another word is shared between the two of us for a while.

 19. Contradiction

    There isn¡¯t a window in sight, though plenty of glass. Behind some of it, sit nurses, or secretaries. And others form little rectangles on the many doors that line the hall. Most of them are covered still by the blinds on the inside. The blank white walls remind me of a certain place.


    Even though it¡¯s midday, there¡¯s no sunlight in the building, at least where we are now. The same can be said about the garden we¡¯ve departed. Supposedly, this place was built in such a way that none of the rooms windows directly face the sun during sunrise or sunset. A consequence of that is that the front and back of the building will be in its shadow for half of the day. That¡¯s what I¡¯m told at least. And I¡¯d like to think it comes from a fairly credible source.


    Suddenly, one of the doors on the left side of the hall opens, and a little girl walks out of it, followed by a nurse just behind her.


    As the girl exits the room looks around like she has some excess energy to burn, and her eyes soon spot a target for it.


    ¡°Hi C!¡± The girl says, almost yelling actually, addressing my wheelchair bound guide.


    Priscilla replies in a sweet tone. I try not to pay attention to their conversation, though perhaps its not by choice, rather my gaze is drawn towards the little girl¡¯s missing leg.


    An abrupt feeling of unease wells up inside me as I watch the girl¡¯s lips move as she speaks. Her expression seems happy enough, but something about that just makes it all the more difficult to pretend to act the same.


    The next words make their way into my ears are Priscilla¡¯s, and only just then realising I¡¯m now lightly leaning on one of her wheelchair¡¯s handles.


    ¡°Well, it was nice talking to you. I¡¯ve got to get going now, and Millie has been waiting patiently until now, but who knows how long that will last.¡±


    The girl nods and happily prances off, taking the hand of the nurse who was in the room with her. Once out of earshot, I hear Priscilla¡¯s voice again.


    ¡°You okay?¡± She asks.


    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s nothing.¡±


    I begin pushing her along heading straight down the hall. Before the quiet starts to set back in, I take the opportunity to ask a question.


    ¡°Do you know everyone here by name?¡±


    Priscilla takes a short moment to think the question through.


    ¡°Yes, I think I do, now that you mention it.¡±


    ¡°Another thing, I might have misheard, but I think that girl called you ¡®C¡¯, didn¡¯t she?¡±


    ¡°Yes, she did.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯ve even got people calling you that here too it seems.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t originally my intention.¡± She replies, as she points to the elevator coming up on the left.


    I push the button, before returning to wait behind Priscilla¡¯s wheelchair. But as I do, she speaks again.


    ¡°It really is fine if you just let me move on my own. I¡¯m not so helpless that I need someone to wheel me around wherever I go. Not yet at least.¡±


    ¡°It feels kind of weird just walking beside you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re afraid that people will think we don¡¯t like each other.¡± Priscilla mentions, observantly.


    ¡°Something like that.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not something you really have to worry about. I usually don¡¯t get anyone else to push me around either.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, it still feels like wrong.¡± I tell her, as the red digital number above the elevator door begins moving down.


    ¡°If it¡¯s other people¡¯s judgement that you¡¯re worried about, then I suppose I¡¯ll allow it if there¡¯s someone in the elevator when it gets here.¡± She says, just in time.


    The elevator door opens. It¡¯s completely empty.


    We exit at the third and final floor. The doors slide open again, and a young doctor in a white coat is waiting on the other side.


    I hold the open-door button and wait for Priscilla to leave the elevator, but I soon realise she isn¡¯t moving. Quickly, I grab the handles of her wheelchair and push her out, awkwardly passing by the doctor in the process. His kind smile just makes it worse.


    ¡°I guess it doesn¡¯t feel that weird after all then?¡± Priscilla says, rhetorically.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    ¡°Which way should we go?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Look behind us, on the left of the elevators.¡±


    Turning to her directions, there¡¯s a short staircase, not ten steps, leading to a large set of doors. The sunlight pours in from the two windows on either one. An empty wheelchair sits in the corner.


    Priscilla pushes herself ahead waiting at the bottom step. I rush over and offer her a hand, but she raises her own, telling me she doesn¡¯t need it.


    She speaks in a rather weak tone.


    ¡°I probably should have told you this earlier, but my legs aren¡¯t actually broken or anything.¡±


    Pushing her weight up from off the seat, the wheelchair slides out from behind, and she collapses to her knees, and then onto her side.


    Breathing heavily, she rejects my instinctive approach to help her up.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± She says, taking a moment to catch her breath. ¡°Just wait for me by the door, if that''s okay."


    I nod without a word, and do as I¡¯m told.


    After reaching the top of the steps, I look back down. Grasping the stair¡¯s railing, Priscilla is sitting on the second step, her body sprawled out below the waist. Her right shoe still not having left ground level.


    Before I even move this time, the girl senses my intentions, and tells me to look around.


    ¡°Is anyone watching?¡± She asks.


    There doesn¡¯t seem to be a soul in this quiet hall.


    I shake my head.


    All I¡¯m given is a look that tells me to just wait patiently.


    Priscilla carries on without a word, first pulling up her lower leg and placing it on the next step up, before lifting herself up to sit one step higher. She rests for a few seconds, then reaches for the railing again. Only once she has a firm grasp, she begins to move her next leg up. She does this over and over, never losing her resolve, and never once looking in my direction.


    As she approaches the final step. The railing is no longer there for her to hold onto, and instead she crawls upwards by pulling on the floor. Every time she gets closer and closer to the top.


    I move to get the empty wheelchair, but still, she tells me not too. As she finally makes onto flat ground, she pushes herself towards her wheelchair, swatting its legs and moving it against the wall.


    Finally, she reaches up, and pulls herself to sit atop it. Only then does she look me in the eye.


    ¡°Let¡¯s carry on then, shall we.¡± She says, as if the last few minutes had never even happened.


    I head towards the door, but I notice that there¡¯s a lock built into its handle.


    Coming to my aid, Priscilla holds up a dull silver key.


    ¡°The patients aren¡¯t usually allowed up here. I think I¡¯m the only one who has a key.¡± She explains, unlocking the door.


    We¡¯re greeted with a large breeze and the blinding light bouncing off the white sheets hanging to dry.


    The roof is wide with a tiled floor. A high steel fence lines its perimeter.


    Priscilla finds a spot near the edge nearest the sun. Overlooking the front of the hospital. From here, the roofs of the small town cover the horizon, past the hedge trees that surround the premises.


    ¡°This is where I¡¯ve been all this time.¡± Priscilla says, looking out into the distance.


    ¡°All eight of these years, I¡¯ve spent every minute of them right here. Kind of uninteresting, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    Unable to think of any reply, it¡¯s all I can do to just stand lonelier than the wind by her side.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to suggest something for you to think about for a while, then tell me what you make of it.¡±


    Priscilla gives me an opportunity to reply, one that I don¡¯t take, so she uses the moment to ready her words.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been wondering recently whether anybody ever does anything wrong. Sure, as humans, we lie and we steal, we kill, but I think that most of the time, nobody ever does those things just for the sake of doing them.¡±


    Her words seem somewhat familiar, perhaps because I¡¯ve been thinking something along those lines as well.


    ¡°I want to believe that there¡¯s a good reason behind everything.¡± Priscilla continues, ¡°I think that¡¯s another thing that humans tend to do quite a bit. We seek to justify everything, whether good or evil, whether we deserve the good, or have no choice but to commit evil.¡±


    There¡¯s no change in her tone, but her next words seem much more stern than I ever remembered this girl to be.


    ¡°I¡¯ve had a lot of time to think about, and I think I¡¯ve found the answer.¡± She says, concluding her question.


    I reply without much delay.


    ¡°I think your theory is mistaken. There will always be those who are evil just because that¡¯s who they are.¡±


    A brief smile creeps its way onto Priscilla¡¯s face.


    ¡°That¡¯s the correct answer.¡± She says, ¡°Now for my next question. Do you think the world would be better off without those evil people you speak of?¡±


    Her question catches me a little off guard, like she can tell what I¡¯m thinking before even I do.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s something for me to decide.¡±


    My reply appears to be somewhat disappointing for her.


    ¡°There¡¯s another thing that I¡¯ve noticed that humans do quite a bit. We try our best not to think for ourselves. It¡¯s easier if someone else tells us what¡¯s right, and for us to believe them without a shred of doubt.¡±


    Her criticism isn¡¯t exactly subtle, but she doesn¡¯t chase it any further.


    ¡°Tell me something, Klaus, did my brother ever tell you about us, before the Conservatory?¡±


    Prompted to speak, I muster up whatever answer I can find.


    ¡°He didn¡¯t really like to talk about it that much. But I think he once mentioned that he grew up in an orphanage overseas.¡±


    ¡°And do you think he was telling you the truth?¡±


    ¡°At the time I¡¯m sure I did.¡±


    Priscilla raises her gaze up to the sky.


    ¡°For as long as I can remember, he and I grew up alone in this world. My Ciel was a crybaby and a coward. As the older sibling, I felt like it was my duty to look after him. I probably still feel that way.¡±


    She takes a deliberate pause before asking her next question.


    ¡°Do you still love him? After all this time?¡±


    I give no immediate response.


    ¡°I must say, I still love him very very much.¡± Priscilla says.


    ¡°But I don¡¯t know how much longer I¡¯ll be able to continue looking after him. Every day, I can feel myself growing weaker and weaker. Some days, I¡¯m only awake for just a few hours, and others, I don¡¯t even wake at all.¡±


    Somewhere deep inside me, I think I always knew that this was a possibility, but there¡¯s something different about hearing her say it herself.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to give me answer right now, just answer the question for yourself.¡±


    Priscilla says.


    ¡°And whatever that answer may be, know that it will be the correct one. There are some things that we won¡¯t find reason for no matter how hard we try to justify it.¡±


    ¡°What if I don¡¯t know?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Then I suppose that¡¯s the right answer.¡±


    I¡¯m sure there¡¯s no way anyone would take that as a satisfying conclusion, least of all myself. But I suppose if there¡¯s one thing I can take from it, it means it looks like I¡¯m still somewhat human, still waiting for someone to come along and tell me what I¡¯m supposed to believe.

 20. Assignment

    ¡°You¡¯ll be meeting with her again for a briefing tomorrow.¡±


    That was what I was told later in the evening that day.


    Though I had never asked her, and she never directly told me, I¡¯d more or less figured something like this would be what would happen next.


    It¡¯s hard to tell how I should feel about a crippled girl like Priscilla partaking in a terrorist investigation, but then, if anyone were fit for the job, it would be her. I¡¯d thought that she probably volunteered for it herself, so when the next day came, it was quite unsettling to see her usually calm demeanor, replaced with a much more irritated one.


    After taking me to an inconspicuous building on the outskirts of the city, Alfred leaves me once again, directing me to head down the cramped hall to the left. There are a few people walking around dressed in important looking clothes, but none of them seem to pay me any attention.


    Eventually, I pass by a break in the rectangular shape of the hallway, where a thick closed door stands at the back of the wall. And waiting next to it, a girl in a wheelchair, with a frightening scowl on her face. Instinctively upon seeing this, I take a step back, but I¡¯m noticed before I¡¯m out of sight.


    ¡°Hi there.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Priscilla asks immediately.


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s nothing.¡±


    ¡°Was I doing the thing again?¡±


    I give a few quick nods.


    ¡°Sorry about that,¡± she says, ¡°It¡¯s the people from the Acer Section. They make me a little nervous.¡±


    ¡°Acer?¡±


    The name is a very familiar one. It belonged to all of us back in the Conservatory. Hearing the name again out of the blue catches me rather off guard.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it too much. They¡¯ll probably explain it all inside.¡±


    Priscilla moves herself to the door and gives it a few short taps. The dense sounds of her knocking lingers in the air for a moment, before the door is opened from the inside by a short blonde woman.


    ¡°Come in.¡± She speaks.


    The two of us enter the room. It¡¯s a rather suffocating little space, the walls curving inward as they approach the ceiling, and between them, a ring of dim light that illuminates the area. Two sofas face each other on the left and right, and an imposing wooden desk occupies the far end of the room. Awaiting us opposite the desk, a man stands facing away from us, seemingly separate from the rest of the world.


    The door shuts behind us, and as I peek behind me, I notice it¡¯s now only the three of us left in the room.


    As silence begins to fill the air, the man doesn¡¯t move, and neither does he seem to have any intention of doing so. It¡¯s quite obvious he¡¯s doing it on purpose, but even so, I can¡¯t rid myself of my anxious expectation.


    I glance down at Priscilla, hoping to find a moment of solace. But her too, though trying her best to hide it, her hands placed on her armrests, shivering.


    Finally, after however long we¡¯ve been kept waiting, the man speaks.


    ¡°It¡¯s good to finally meet you two.¡±


    An air of silence is left in the wake of his deep tone. But just when I think he is going to be given no response, Priscilla speaks up with a mask of confidence.


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    ¡°Who¡¯re you?¡±


    The man turns around to face our direction.


    ¡°You¡¯ve quite the sharp tongue, don¡¯t you miss? Not too popular with the boys I presume?¡±


    Priscilla dismisses the man¡¯s playfulness.


    ¡°I¡¯d just like to know why we¡¯re here.¡±


    The man exhales in a calm retreat, sitting down in his chair and motioning for us to come closer. On his desk, there¡¯s a single thin file.


    ¡°This is your next assignment. I¡¯ll give you a moment to look it over.¡±


    As she cautiously reaches for the file, Priscilla keeps her eyes keenly glued on the man¡¯s expression. She briefly skims through the papers like she¡¯s already seen them before, then hands the folder to me. Inside of it, I find the files of what appears to be information about a few specific individuals. Each with a photo, and a quick summary of their past records. In each box labeled ¡®section,¡¯ that name comes up again and again, ¡®Acer.¡¯


    I flip through the eleven files, all of them more or less looking the same as the next. Near the end though, two images in particular catches my eye. The first of an older man named Ambrose Lang, and the second, a younger boy, Emile Enfield.


    ¡°Three weeks ago, we received a message from one of the missing members of the HK train station. Though they had all been presumed dead up until now, we have since verified the identity of this individual. It hasn¡¯t been confirmed, but it is very likely that this message was sent from captivity. Your priority is the recovery of our personnel.¡±


    ----------------------------------


    There are a number of habits that I¡¯d developed over the past few years that I still haven¡¯t been able to shake off completely. It happens that one of those habits is to do a full scan of any room that I enter, checking to see if the walls have any eyes or ears. If there was a bookshelf, I¡¯d check between every open sliver, and I¡¯d make sure to feel the bottoms of every table. I¡¯ve since succeeded at suppressing such paranoid behaviours, but it seems that just like a kettle, you¡¯ll only ever find something when you aren¡¯t particularly looking for it.


    Such is the case as I Priscilla and I are shown to our new room. The camera isn¡¯t hidden in any way. Just a big hunk of metal hanging from the ceiling in plain daylight.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry too much about that, it¡¯s there for me, not for you.¡± Priscilla says, noticing my interest in the camera.


    ¡°What is that supposed to mean?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re worried about my health.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t that seem like a little overboard for just a precaution?¡±


    Priscilla shoots me a quick glance before moving over to open the window, letting the daylight into the blinded room.


    ¡°You should probably know that I was the one who put together the team at the train station. That¡¯s probably why we were given this assignment in the first place. So I can¡¯t blame them if they think I¡¯m at least a little bit suspicious given the circumstances.¡±


    No one had confirmed this for me earlier, but it seems all the more likely now. The people at the station were killed by gunfire, I saw it with my own eyes. If these higher ups, whoever they are, suspect Priscilla, than it only seems natural.


    ¡°Just a quick question,¡± I ask, ¡°In those files, there was someone named Emile in them, was that by any chance -¡±


    ¡°Seems you put things together quickly.¡± Priscilla answers, before I even finish my question. ¡°They wouldn¡¯t be doing a very thorough job if they didn¡¯t at least suspect that it was an inside job, in which case, I would almost certainly fall under suspicion as well. But I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll remove that camera if you asked them too, after they rule out that possibility, that is.¡±


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t they have ruled it out before giving us the assignment then?¡±


    ¡°I guess it means they don¡¯t think the probability is that high.¡±


    Finding her logic flawless as always, I decide to ask the other question that¡¯s burning on my mind. Once again though, I don¡¯t even have to ask to receive an answer.


    ¡°You¡¯re probably wondering about Ambrose Lang.¡± Priscilla says.


    She takes my silence as confirmation.


    ¡°It¡¯ll probably make things easier to explain if I told you that the train station team wasn¡¯t there to monitor the station. They were there to monitor you.¡±


    As she speaks, the picture begins to become clearer.


    ¡°I chose Ambrose Lang because his daughter was with you. Given that there was a considerable likelihood that something would happen to the two of you, I thought it would only be right to give him the opportunity to protect his daughter himself.¡±


    With one mystery solved out of the blue, it¡¯s hard to tell how I should feel about all of this. In a way, it wouldn¡¯t be much of a stretch to blame Priscilla for how things turned out. She was the one who put him in the line of fire. But maybe I just don¡¯t know how he would¡¯ve felt about all of that. Giving up your own life protecting your child, that¡¯s just something I have no way of understanding.


    ¡°When this is all over, if you go and see her again, you should tell her everything I just told you. If she blames me for what happened, then I¡¯ll gladly do whatever she demands of me.¡±


    Her tone is very sincere. I¡¯m not sure if its because of that, but I can¡¯t seem to doubt that what she says is true.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t we worry about that later,¡± I tell her, ¡°right now, we¡¯ve got a job to do.¡±

 21. Demands

    I push the door open, greeted by a bleak sky, one not fit for the middle of summer.


    Glancing around the rooftop, I find the girl who called me out here, sitting in her wheelchair looking out over the city.


    ¡°Thanks for coming out here.¡± She says, as I take my place by her side.


    ¡°It¡¯s not that I have any problem with it, but I don¡¯t see why we couldn¡¯t have done this inside.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m not great with closed spaces.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, you already told me that before.¡±


    I brush off her comment, hoping to skip the pointless banter.


    ¡°So, what am I here for?¡±


    The atmosphere surrounding Priscilla suddenly shifts, as if she commanded it to become still. Then she motions for me to lean closer, before grabbing hold of my shirt, quickly flipping through every one of its pockets.


    After being satisfied with what she finds, which is to say, absolutely nothing, she lets me go and returns to her usual resting position. It¡¯s only then I notice the object that¡¯s been sitting on her lap.


    Priscilla moves her hand to grip the metallic handle, her finger dancing around the trigger.


    ¡°Does it frighten you?¡± She asks.


    I find myself staring, as her words drift through me.


    ¡°My mother taught me how to use one of these when I was seven. She said if I ever see one of them, I should shoot them on sight.¡±


    Priscilla pauses, waiting for me to ask who ¡®they¡¯ were, but I can¡¯t find the will within me to do so. She doesn¡¯t push the answer onto me anyways.


    ¡°Before we met again, the people from Acer wanted to train you to carry a basic firearm, but I pushed against the decision.¡±


    I¡¯d like to tell her that I¡¯ve gotten over the past, and that after burying that thing in Claire¡¯s backyard, I¡¯ve never looked back, but I know that would be a lie.


    ¡°They seemed to think they could turn you into quite the efficient killing machine. Do you have any idea why?¡±


    My silence acts as my reply.


    ¡°A while ago, you and Alfred visited a press company. The informant you found there, the day after you talked to him, he turned himself in, gave quite a number of leads as well.¡±


    This is the first I¡¯ve heard of this.


    Noticing my discomfort, Priscilla jumps to a different question.


    ¡°When this is all over, what do you plan on doing?¡±


    Her question is one that¡¯s impossible to answer without knowing how it will all end.


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    ¡°I haven¡¯t thought about it that much.¡± I tell her.


    Priscilla smiles weakly, looking up to the gathering clouds.


    ¡°Acer is an organization that specializes in making deaths look like accidents. You of all people don¡¯t belong among them.¡±


    ¡®Them,¡¯ there¡¯s that word again.


    ¡°I¡¯ve had a lot of time to think about why I was born into this world, and I¡¯d thought I¡¯d figured it out. I could tell myself that I¡¯d done my part, and was allowed to join the rest. But there¡¯s still one more thing I have to do.¡±


    Pointing her arms in front of her, Priscilla aims towards the sky


    ¡°I¡¯ll finish what I started. I can at least try to stay alive until then.¡±


    ----------------------------------


    The elevator reaches the third floor, and the four guards exit ahead of us. We follow shortly afterwards.


    We¡¯re led to the room at the end of the empty hall. Inside, is a filing room, with ample space for the six of us. The steel cabinets sitting atop the tiled floor would be what anyone working in the restaurant below would normally be interested in, but not us. At the opposite side of the room, the curtains are closed on a glass wall, overlooking the buildings on the other side of the street. In particular, the hotel entrance directly across from us is in plain view.


    One of our bodyguards sets down the large black case he¡¯s carrying next to the glass. Another pulls open a small slit in the curtains and opens the window behind it. Out of the case, the man takes out several metal pieces, and begins assembling his weapon.


    Priscilla checks the time on her watch, then takes the radio from the side of her wheelchair.


    ¡°I need a status update from all teams.¡±


    She speaks calmly into the receiver, awaiting the response. Over the static noise of the radio, my eyes are drawn to the giant black rifle aimed out the window. The guard lays prone atop a table, which has been moved from the center of the room.


    ¡°It¡¯ll be alright. No one will be getting hurt today.¡±


    I look down where Priscilla¡¯s voice came from. She¡¯s looking back up at me, the radio now silent and in her lap.


    ¡°I know.¡± I tell her, but even I can hear the unease in my own voice.


    ¡°You¡¯ve done a lot the last few days. Just leave this to me.¡±


    All I can really do is nod.


    ¡°Do you trust me?¡± Priscilla asks.


    I nod again, afraid to hear my voice.


    ¡°I need to hear you say it.¡±


    I shut my eyes and manage to speak a few final words.


    ¡°I do.¡±


    Priscilla shows a slight smile. Then turns back to her radio.


    ----------------------------------


    Not ten minutes later, another team of four people show up at the door. They¡¯re all dressed in casual street wear. One of them is carrying a small plastic bag, with an envelope inside of it. Passing it off to Priscilla, she opens it up with little hesitation.


    Inside is single slip of paper, folded down the middle, fitting the envelope perfectly. There are only a few words written on it.


    ¡®At the capitol building, on the first day of the next month. My people for yours.¡¯


    Not knowing much of what to make of the letter, I look to Priscilla, but her face is expressionless.


    ¡°What is this?¡± I ask her.


    It¡¯s one of the rare times she doesn¡¯t give me any answer.


    I take the envelope and look it over, then doing the same for the letter.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯re going to find any markings on it like last time.¡± Priscilla says, suddenly.


    ¡°He left the serial numbers last time so we could track this next note down. There¡¯s no reason for him to do so again if he¡¯s already telling us where and when we need to go.¡±


    Accepting her reasoning, I replace the letter back where it came, and hand it back to Priscilla, who in turn, hands it to one of our guards.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t he just send this letter directly? Why make us go looking for it?¡± I ask.


    ¡°It¡¯s probably too early to say. If I had to guess though, he probably just needed to buy some time,¡±


    A voice from Priscilla¡¯s radio interrupts her before she can finish her thoughts.


    ¡°We¡¯ve finished searching the room. Haven¡¯t found any other objects of interest.¡±


    ¡°Good, do one final search and head out.¡±


    After giving her orders, Priscilla returns her attention to me.


    ¡°We should do the forensics tests just in case, but I highly doubt it¡¯ll give us anything useful. For now, we should figure out what we¡¯re going to do about his demands.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but he¡¯s asking for ¡®his people¡¯. I don¡¯t remember ever hearing about something like that.¡±


    Priscilla seems like she was thinking the same thing.


    ¡°Neither do I.¡± She says.

 22. Into Dawn

    I was never told directly, but it wasn¡¯t hard to tell that Emile and Ciel knew each other even before the Conservatory. It goes without saying then, that Priscilla had also know him previously as well.


    Although they¡¯d try their best not to mention the past, every now and then, one of them would let something slip. Something about ¡®that day,¡¯ or ¡®before here.¡¯ Little things that one would miss if they weren¡¯t paying attention.


    This all wasn¡¯t that much out of the ordinary, however. Many of the other children at the Conservatory came from the same places. What was of interest though, was the way Ciel and Emile would act around each other.


    For the longest time, I was under the impression that the two were friends. I¡¯d figured that the airheaded fa?ade that Ciel would play meant that he enjoyed someone¡¯s companionship. It wasn¡¯t until later that I realized that at least between the two of them, that persona of his was just to maintain appearances.


    It wasn¡¯t often, but once in a blue moon, when he¡¯d think that no one was looking, Ciel would let surface an incomparable look of disgust, even if only slightly. And every time, without fail, the target of his repulsion would be Emile. I never had the courage to ask the reason for it.


    Things were essentially the opposite when it came to Priscilla. Around others, Emile would try to keep his distance, hiding a genuine care he held for her. It was only after Priscilla¡¯s health began to take a turn for the worse that he abandoned this disguise.


    I did my best not to think about what must have happened between them in the past, but with the way things are shaping up now, that¡¯s becoming much more difficult to do.


    Priscilla seems to be waiting for me to ask.


    I suppose I just have to choose the right time to do so.


    ----------------------------------


    On a morning a few days later, after we¡¯d returned to headquarters, I find myself climbing a familiar flight of stairs towards a surely vacated rooftop. That is, except for one girl. And it still evades me why she insists this is where we have to meet all the time.


    Nevertheless, I arrive at the door and step outside, greeted by a bleak backdrop for an already bleak looking building. The girl I¡¯m looking for waits at the roof¡¯s corner, sitting still, but on the floor, with her wheelchair beside her. This is the first time I¡¯ve seen her like this.


    ¡°Do you need a hand?¡± I ask, as I approach behind her.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be just fine, thanks.¡±


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    ¡°So, what happened? Did you slip and fall?¡±


    ¡°No, nothing like that, I just wanted to view this city a final time, standing on my own two legs.¡±


    Given the circumstances, that sounds like it¡¯s probably true. As far as I¡¯m aware though, we¡¯ll still be here tomorrow, and possibly the day after as well, so there¡¯s only reason one reason I can think of that this would have to be the ¡®final time.¡¯


    ¡°I¡¯m no expert, but I think they call what you¡¯re doing ¡®sitting,¡¯ not standing.¡±


    Priscilla seems mildly amused by my comment.


    ¡°Anyways, what am I here for today?¡±


    I wait for the anticipated response.


    ¡°We¡¯re proceeding with the plan.¡±


    That¡¯s all she needs to say.


    ¡°There¡¯s no other way about it then?¡±


    ¡°Not that I could think of. It¡¯ll be too late if we get detained.¡± She says, ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re good to drive?¡±


    ¡°I should be fine. I¡¯ve picked up a skill or two over the years.¡±


    Everything should be in place. All I¡¯ve got to do now is trust in this girl.


    ¡°Alan isn¡¯t going to be happy when we don¡¯t show up tomorrow.¡±


    Priscilla shakes her head.


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t imagine he will be.¡±


    ----------------------------------


    The clock ticks. Its rate is steady, but it feels like it¡¯s slowing down. As the minute hand draws ever nearer to midnight, I grow more restless. I count my things for what seems like the hundredth time. Considering that the list is only two items long, though, that¡¯s not entirely impossible.


    Staring out the window at the lightless sky, I remind myself of the past few days and months, wondering how I¡¯d gotten here, and more importantly, why.


    I don¡¯t know whether I¡¯d had a goal in mind when I left the farm, or whether I¡¯d picked one up along the way. I think there¡¯s a part of me that knows that¡¯s not true though, that the reason I¡¯m here has never changed since that day. It doesn¡¯t appear to matter if I¡¯m afraid to find the answer, because the path I¡¯ve set myself on never seems to stray to far from that original destination.


    I¡¯ll learn the truth of what happened that day.


    As I slide the window open, the night¡¯s air fills the dark room, but it doesn¡¯t slow me down in the slightest. My body seems to move on its own.


    Checking my pockets a final time, I feel out one key, and then the second.


    I climb out onto the windowsill, refraining from looking down the three stories to the ground.


    Taking hold of the ledge with both hands, I lower myself until my feet can touch the rim below. It¡¯s not large enough to use as footing, but it¡¯s curved in a way that I can grab onto it by curling my fingers around it. Switching one hand to hold it as such, I lower myself down one more level, with only two more to go.


    After I make it to the ground, I hurry around the building to the garage, steering clear of any lights.


    Using the first of my two keys, I open the side door and enter the dimly lit space, searching for the planned upon vehicle. Before long, I find it waiting right where we¡¯d left it.


    Two wheeled, and an electric engine slapped on the back. It¡¯s nothing like the one that Claire taught me how to use.


    I start the ignition.


    Slowly moving across the concrete and my destination in mind, I make my way out into the night. With the streets still empty, it feels like all the time in the world belongs to me. And when time starts again, I¡¯m met with a sight that no matter how much I¡¯d tried to visualize it before now, still seems like something out of a dream.


    There was Priscilla, waiting in the shadows, leaning against a wall, standing on her own two feet.


    She has no qualms this time as I help her onto the bike.


    Starting the engine up once again, we begin to move, forward, racing into the night.

 23. Pre Light

    The first light of day appears through the trees passing by outside the window. Asleep in the seat beside me is Priscilla, and even though the train progresses forward smoothly, she rests uneasy, like she¡¯ll wake up any moment now.


    Having parked the bike at the docks the night before, I can only imagine that walking all the way to the train station afterwards must¡¯ve taken quite the toll on her body. It wouldn¡¯t be an exaggeration to say that she¡¯d pushed herself to her absolute limits.


    I take the momentary peace to think back to the past few days, reassuring myself we¡¯ve made the right choice.


    Given the circumstances, as soon as the letter from the hotel raid reaches headquarters, Priscilla and I will undoubtedly fall under heavy suspicion. Ciel on the other hand is certainly planning something, having raided an arms deposit. If we¡¯re detained, then it¡¯ll likely be too late to change things afterwards.


    We¡¯ve made the right choice. The only choice. So why then, do I still have an anxious feeling about things?


    ¡°What¡¯s on your mind?¡± Asks a voice beside me.


    Looking over, Priscilla is now awake, even if only barely.


    ¡°Nothing in particular.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no need to lie. Are you nervous?¡± She asks.


    ¡°Can¡¯t say I am. Being on the run is nothing new.¡±


    Priscilla tries her best to sit up in her seat but lacks the strength to do so. I give her a hand, and only then do I notice how heavily she¡¯s breathing.


    ¡°You¡¯ve overdone yourself.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine. This much is nothing.¡±


    It doesn¡¯t seem to be the truth, but she seems to believe she¡¯s not lying. Her next question suggests she¡¯s thinking the same of me.


    ¡°How long do you think we¡¯ll have?¡± She asks.


    She saves her breath by reducing her words, sadly at the cost of her question not making much sense.


    ¡°Until they catch up with us?¡± I add, to clarify.


    Priscilla nods.


    ¡°As long as it takes.¡± I tell her.


    ¡°You seem confident.¡±


    ¡°Should I not be?¡±


    ¡°How long do you think it took them to find you last time?¡±


    She asks a question I¡¯ve tried not to think too much about. I can¡¯t come up with any kind of answer that doesn¡¯t seem like a lie.


    ¡°I¡¯d think I have a fairly good understanding of how you see things, if you¡¯d care to listen.¡±


    I prompt her to begin.


    ¡°I¡¯ll start from the beginning then.¡± Priscilla says.


    ¡°Where I grew up, there was this group of people that we were taught was pure evil. And I believed it. I¡¯d seen the bodies, sometimes two to a stretcher. I¡¯d seen my father dragging back limbless torsos into the camp, still hanging onto their last shreds of life.¡±


    There isn¡¯t a morsel of compassion in her tone.


    ¡°I told you once that my mother taught me how to handle a gun. What I didn¡¯t mention then was that I was the one who asked her to teach me, even though she didn¡¯t want to see something like that in the hands of a nine-year-old child. She only caved when I stole one off one of the corpses that father brought back. And when she and father were carried back into the camp the next day, I told myself that the day I saw one of them, I¡¯d shoot to kill, or kill myself before letting them take me alive.¡±


    From the same place her fury came, I myself had only found fear. She bottles back what emotion still lingers before continuing.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you can imagine then how surprised I was when I woke up to find myself under their care. After my body had deteriorated to the point that I could no longer even move, the very people that I¡¯d taught myself all my life to despise were now taking care of me better than anyone ever had before.¡±


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    At a loss for words, I fail to notice that I must¡¯ve been staring.


    ¡°Sorry if I scared you, that wasn¡¯t my intention.¡± Priscilla says.


    ¡°No, it¡¯s alright. I just had no idea, what you¡¯d been through.¡±


    Priscilla looks away coldly after what I said, or perhaps she¡¯s just embarrassed having opened up about herself. Nonetheless, it doesn¡¯t look like she wants to dwell on the subject for much longer.


    ¡°We¡¯ll have an entire division of special operatives on our tail pretty soon. I¡¯d say we can last at most two weeks with the preparation I¡¯ve done. In case my plan doesn¡¯t work before then, I apologize in advance. You should be cleared of any involvement after they do a thorough investigation.¡±


    Though this is the first time she¡¯s mentioned it explicitly, I¡¯d just assumed that Priscilla always was proceeded with some kind of plan in mind. At least it felt that was the case. It¡¯s reassuring to have my intuitions confirmed. But then a sudden thought crosses my mind.


    Priscilla has never lied to me before. I wonder why then, I considered that she might be now.


    The thought doesn¡¯t last longer than a brief moment. Probably just a product of my nervousness. Priscilla has always pulled through in the past. I¡¯ve trusted her this far. Just one final time, and she¡¯ll put an end to all of this.


    ----------------------------------


    It¡¯s a small room, with one large window opposite the entrance. There¡¯s a kitchen area, a washroom, and a closet. Though it¡¯s nothing incredible by any standards, it¡¯s definitely impressive that she was able to set this up in such a short amount of time.


    The sunlight of midday fills the dreary room, revealing the dust that¡¯s been hiding in plain sight. I move to close the blinds.


    ¡°Let¡¯s leave that open for now.¡± Priscilla says, as I reach the window.


    She suddenly collapses to the floor, her crutches falling beside her as well. I rush to check her condition. She¡¯s sweating profusely and is short of breath.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me,¡± She says.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you just rest for now?¡±


    After she nods weakly, I gently lay her on the ground, then head to the closet, finding a stack of sheets and pillows inside. When I return to Priscilla, she¡¯s already passed out. I cover her well, before standing up and getting another good look at the room.


    Across the street outside the window, there¡¯s another building, taller than the room we¡¯re in. The sun shines in from above it. People wander by the dozens below. The best place to hide a drop of water is the ocean. Likewise, the best place to hide a person would be amongst other people. It seems so obvious I don¡¯t know why I hadn¡¯t realized it myself before.


    I head to the kitchen, or perhaps more accurately, the corner of the room with a single small freezer and an electric stove. Inside the fridge, I find it stacked to the brim with cans of preserved foods, probably around a weeks¡¯ worth for the both of us at the most. It¡¯s not the most appetizing thing I¡¯ve ever seen, but given the circumstances, I couldn¡¯t ask for more. Priscilla made it very clear that I was never to leave her sight, so as much as I¡¯d like to surprise her by going out and picking up a nice dinner, that doesn¡¯t seem like it¡¯ll be possible.


    There¡¯s no table, no chairs. Nothing but the slowly rotating ceiling fan, and the oblivious world outside to listen to. I suppose this is all she¡¯ll have to spend her last days.


    ----------------------------------


    A rustling wakes me from my light sleep. I sit up and look around. It¡¯s already dark outside.


    ¡°Hey.¡± Priscilla greets me, having just woken up herself.


    ¡°Did you sleep well?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Well enough.¡±


    I point to the two cans placed on top of the upside-down cardboard container that they came in.


    ¡°I prepared those earlier, but it¡¯s just slightly warmed canned food, so I wouldn¡¯t set my expectations too high.¡±


    Priscilla tosses her covers aside and drags herself to the makeshift table. I take the can opener from the kitchen and join her.


    ¡°I remembered you like carrots, so I picked you one of those.¡±


    Priscilla sits quietly, as I cut open the cans.


    ¡°Now that I think of it, does the name ¡®C¡¯ stand for carrots? I mean, it¡¯d make sense, since that was what Emile called you, and he was the one who cooked for you as well.¡±


    Showing no signs of interest, the girl across from me sits still, blowing softly on her food. She¡¯s unusually aloof. I come to the sudden realization that this is the first time I¡¯ve ever considered how vulnerable she must seem.


    Not trying to push the unwanted small talk any further, I decide to silently eat my own food. The whir of the fan, and the occasional scape against the can are the only sounds in the room. That lasts until the ambience starts to get to me.


    ¡°Is he really going to show up?¡± I ask.


    Receiving nothing but silence for an answer, I look across the cardboard box, finding Priscilla poking at a still full can. I watch in a cloud of confusion for a moment. Then she closes the lid and places her spoon atop the can.


    ¡°Sorry, I don¡¯t think I¡¯m hungry right now.¡±


    With a short crawl to where she left her sheets, she lays back on the floor and hides under the covers, facing away from me.


    ¡°Are you alright? Are you feeling okay?¡± I ask, in a bit of a panic.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine. Eat that before it gets cold. Don¡¯t let it go to waste.¡±


    Her words trigger something inside of me. I stand up and march over in front of her.


    ¡°What¡¯s up with you? If something¡¯s wrong, you can tell me. You trust me, right?¡±


    ¡°I do.¡± She says.


    ¡°If you do, then tell me what¡¯s wrong. I¡¯ll be able to help.¡±


    Priscilla rolls over to face the ceiling. I wait for her to say something, unsure of what to do if she doesn¡¯t. Eventually, though, she does.


    ¡°Can you tell me I¡¯m doing the right thing?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    The immediate exclamation I let escape is somewhere between relieved and confused.


    ¡°Can you tell me I¡¯m doing the right thing?¡±


    Priscilla asks the same question again.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter if you believe it or not, I just need to hear someone else say it.¡±


    I stumble over my next words.


    ¡°I, don¡¯t know.¡±


    A weak smile appears on Priscilla¡¯s face for no longer than an instant. She rolls over once again, leaving me staring at her back once more.


    ¡°Thanks, for not lying to me.¡±


    As the last words of the night drift into the air, I wonder whether she had been doing the same to me.

 24. Validation

    It¡¯s raining outside the window. A welcome change to the stale scenery I¡¯ve gotten used to over the past five days, not that I¡¯ve ever had anything against the rain. That¡¯s not to say I¡¯m particularly fond of it either, though. In all my memories, whenever it falls, it seems it never means anything good.


    ¡°If you could choose to, would you stay ignorant forever?¡±


    With a look over my shoulder, I find Priscilla, gazing out the window as well.


    ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just a question.¡± She says, pushing herself forward to my side. ¡°You don¡¯t have to answer it if you don¡¯t want to.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s great, but my problem isn¡¯t so much whether I want to or not.¡±


    She listens to my concerns, but then return her gaze back outside. The sounds of rain begins to set in once again. A familiar scent lingers in through the breeze from the small opening in the window. It¡¯s the scent of smoke, the scent from that day.


    A sharp ringing hits my ears as the fire alarms in the halls goes off.


    Through the vents on the walls, a thick gray haze leaks into the room.


    ¡°Open the window all the way. We¡¯re staying here.¡±


    I do as I¡¯m asked without a second thought. As I¡¯m doing so, Priscilla reaches under the seat of her wheelchair, brandishing her weapon. The visibility in the room quickly decreasing, she stands from her seat, giving one final command before disappearing into the fog.


    ¡°Switch places with me.¡±


    The air becomes more tense to breathe by the second, but it¡¯s not suffocating. The room warms, and my skin feels moist. It¡¯s just steam.


    There¡¯s a click at the door, and the wailing of the alarms becomes suddenly louder. Then, a someone yells over the noise.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°Walk towards the door Klaus.¡±


    I know the voice well.


    A sudden gunshot rings out before I can make out the situation.


    ¡°Drop your weapon, it¡¯s over.¡±


    It¡¯s Priscilla¡¯s voice this time, followed shortly by the clatter of something falling to the floor. Then, a long pause. The fire alarms drown out, as the door is closed shut again.


    He¡¯s right behind me. Just like Priscilla said he would. After all this time, that liar is standing within a few steps from where I am, and yet, I can¡¯t seem to move at all.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    The liar¡¯s tone is honest, pleading for something he truly doesn¡¯t understand.


    ¡°Why are you siding with them?¡±


    There¡¯s no reply.


    ¡°You saw what they did, the people they¡¯ve killed. Mom, and Dad, did you forget? They made us starve in a hole in the ground. They give you a room and a bed to sleep in and suddenly you¡¯re on their side? If you like Conservatory so much, then let¡¯s do it their way, tell Klaus everything you¡¯ve done. Let him decide who¡¯s right.¡±


    Priscilla doesn¡¯t waste a breath acknowledging his comment.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter if it¡¯s not me. The world is already changing.¡± He continues. It feels like he¡¯s talking to the air.


    ¡°Please, just look after Klaus for me.¡±


    My old friend¡¯s voice is defeated. I close my eyes and await the following gunshot. But a second passes and it doesn¡¯t come. Then another, and another, until finally, the floorboards shake, just every so slightly, as a body collapses to the ground.


    I remain still in my seat. The alarms continue wailing behind me, but I can no longer hear them. Slowly opening my eyes, the fog is beginning to clear, and as it fades, there¡¯s a soft weeping taking its place.


    ¡°I guess I couldn¡¯t do it in the end.¡±


    It¡¯s Priscilla¡¯s voice. More quiet and frail than I¡¯ve ever heard it before. I look behind and make out two figures in the clearing mist, one in the arms of the other.


    ¡°The steam was a smart idea,¡± She mutters weakly.


    There¡¯s no reply from Ciel. It¡¯s only now I realize that the tears belong to him.


    ¡°You know what will happen if you continue down this path?¡± Priscilla asks. Ciel nods. I catch a glimpse of Priscilla¡¯s final smile.


    ¡°Leave me be.¡± Priscilla says. ¡°I¡¯ve called Emile off. You can leave from wherever.¡±


    Ciel doesn¡¯t move from his spot. With the last of her strength, Priscilla pushes Ciel¡¯s arm, though it doesn¡¯t budge.


    ¡°You have to go now. They¡¯ll be here soon.¡±


    Reality slowly washes over, and after another moment, Ciel rises to his feet. He looks me straight in the eye. Without a word, I stand to join his side.


    He heads for the door. But my attention is stuck on the girl on the floor, breathing her final breath.


    At the doorway, Ciel stops, with a single last word for his sister.


    ¡°Thanks.¡±


    He opens the door, having never looked back.


    I follow behind. Priscilla¡¯s eyes close for the final time as I shut the door behind us.