Greta watched on the tablet screen as the tell-tale confusion moved through Sanburn’s mind, for just a moment, before he fell into a deep sleep. She was familiar with the map of neurons before her. She had been present at all the sessions with Sanburn’s psychologist as he recounted his memories of his brother. Andre, she thought, her eye scanning the image for all the places in Sanburn’s brain the name had lit like Christmas. She could imagine the dead man’s face, the sight of him stepping from the curb, the sound of metal crashing against his flesh.
“Ready, Dr. Rudolph,” Greta announced calmly, wiping her mind clear of the memories that were not her own. “I have his charts.”
Dr. Rudolph’s tablet was connected to the port on Sanburn’s skull with a long white cord. “Share the map of his trauma first. I need a reminder.”
Greta tapped the arrow icon on her screen. “Sending now.”
Dr. Rudolph pulled a pair of rimless glasses from the pocket of his white coat, placing them gently on his nose as he gazed at the screen in front of him. “MmmHmmm,” he murmured. “Okay. Yes, I see,” to said to himself. “Okay, Greta, let me have the map of his hopes.”
“His hopes for this procedure, doctor?” she asked.
“Oh. No, his hopes for the future with the brother,” he clarified.
Greta swiped through the maps available in Sanburn’s file. “Sending now,” she said.
The maps of hopes always made Greta sad. Sanburn had wanted Andre to be an uncle. He had wanted to take a trip to British Columbia with him. He had been looking forward to a summer of baseball games, bratwurst and beers together. He had hoped to be Andre’s best man. The wedding had just been scheduled the week before he was killed. The hope maps held thousands of tiny deaths, each one a reminder that life owed them nothing.
“This one is…full,” Dr. Rudolph commented, speaking to the image on his tablet.
The image of Sanburn’s brain was dotted with millions of bright lights. “Andre was very important to him, Dr. Rudolph. They were as close as two men can be, I think.”
Dr. Rudolph regarded her over the lenses of his glasses, his eyes like a bore. “Greta, I’ve warned you about letting the death of their dreams impact you like this.” He removed the glasses from his face, and stared at her with compassion in his expression. “Do you need another session with Dr. Guldenshuh?”
Dr. Guldenshuh was the psychologist. She was available on demand for any clinic employee. This job had emotional hazards. “No, doctor. I’m alright today.”
Dr. Rudolph nodded firmly, placing his glasses back on the bridge of his nose and turning his attention to the brain image. “Okay, then. I see where we need to do some work,” he said.
As he typed away on the screen, Greta flipped to the application that was monitoring Sanburn’s vitals. Heart rate was steady, slow. Breathing was the same. She watched the lines flickering with each beat, each breath. She scrolled down the screen to his brain waves. Everything was perfect, the blue lines cresting in regular intervals. “He’s ready, doctor.”
Tap. Tap. Tap. Greta watched as Sanburn’s brain absorbed the incoming information, as the complex neurological patterns designed specifically for him based on his feelings of Andre reshaped how his neurons fired. The blues lines wiggled erratically, but steadied after a moment. Greta scrolled up to his other vitals. Heart rate was still stable. Breath was beautiful.
“He’s tolerating well, doctor,” Greta announced.
“Very good,” Dr. Sanburn said slowly, almost to himself. “Now, the map of what he hopes to feel afterward, please.”
This type of map was difficult to create. Sometimes, Dr. Guldenshuh had to resort to extreme measures, digging deep into memories to find ones that produced enough satisfaction, happiness and gratitude to burst through a patient’s crippling depression. Sanburn’s session had been among the longest Greta had seen. He had recounted endlessly to Dr. Guldenshuh about the times in life he had been happiest, most satisfied, safe, grateful, hopeful, joyful. His brain told the psychologist otherwise. Every memory had someone been connected to Andre, tainting the map they were trying to build. Dr. Guldenshuh pushed him to go further, deeper, until he hit on something that had few overlaps with his memories of his brother—walking to get an ice cream cone with his high school girlfriend over summer break.
Once that memory had been identified, they used it to create a new map for his neurons, one that would help him feel less of the pain of losing Andre, and more of the satisfied, happy feelings of those ice cream cone dates. The memories of Andre would become more like the memories of the ice cream. It had been painful work for Sanburn. Greta had several sessions with Dr. Guldenshuh after the fact to help her process the secondary trauma.
“Sending now, doctor,” Greta said, as she tapped the arrow on her screen.
The sing-song notes of Dr. Rudolph saying to himself MmmHmm as he reviewed the image lightened her mood. Dr. Rudolph had a passion for this work. For him, this was a regular day at the office, but he also recognized the weight his work could take from his patients. Greta smiled. Dr. Rudolph glanced at her, returned the smile shyly, and then went back to tapping on his tablet.
“I’m not sure I’m worth so much admiration,” Dr. Rudolph said, his tone light and full of whimsy. “I’m just a regular shmuck, you know. Just like everyone else.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” Greta joked.
He laughed. “How’s he looking, Greta?” he asked, turned the conversation back to Sanburn.
She pulled up his vitals again. “Everything is beautiful, doctor.”
“Alright, here we go,” Dr. Rudolph said. Greta watched Sanburn’s brain waves as the new pathways were loaded. “I’ll let you take over from here,” he said after a moment.
“Yes, doctor. I’ll let you know when he’s awake,” she said.
Dr. Rudolph set his tablet on the white cart with the other instruments. He took his glasses from his face, tucking them gently into the pocket of his coat. “Good work today, Greta,” he said to her.
She glanced up from her own tablet, smiling warmly at him. “Thank you, doctor.”
Dr. Rudolph nodded to her, then made his way slowly to the door. With a soft hush, the door slowly shut behind him. The latch clicked into place, like a period at the end of a story. When Sanburn woke, he would be different. He would be better.
A notification dinged from the tablet on the cart, signifying that the data had been transferred. She set her own tablet on the cart, then picked up the one running the upload application. She shut off the program. Then unplugged the cord from the port on Sanburn’s scalp. Carefully, she peeled the metal disks from his neck, wiping them clean before placing them onto a tray on the instrument cart.
She waited. She never knew how long it would take. Sometimes a patient fell into deep sleep, and it was best to let them wake naturally. It was never more than a few hours. Sometimes, their arousal was near instantaneous. She closed the open files on her tablet, exited the records database, and laid her own tablet on the cart as well. She checked Sanburn’s pulse manually and watched the rise and fall of his chest. His eyes began to flicker. She reached for the glass of water that sat on the instrument cart. They were always thirsty afterwards.
A whimpering sound escaped from Sanburn, and he swallowed loudly. He moaned, but he still did not open his eyes. Greta leaned forward, hovering over his face. “Mr. Sanburn?” she called softly. “Can you hear me, Mr. Sanburn?”
Slowly, he lifted his lids. His eyes were different, the fog of unhappiness no longer profound. She smiled, letting the warm glow of satisfaction fill her.
The room was bright. The clinical whiteness of it brought words like sterile and pristine to his mind. He squinted. The smooth walls blended into the tile floor almost seamlessly. In the center of the room was an exam table. White leather top. White paper liner. White plastic legs. White canvas pillow. Nothing else. No counters or cabinets or windows. No sink or trash bin or sharps disposal. He rubbed his hands over his arms, his nerves fraying.
“Lay down, Mr. Sanburn,” the nurse behind him said.
He turned to regard her, staring at her white smock, her white name tag with large black block letters. Greta. She held a tablet and was tapping away on the screen. It too was white. Everything was white. Sterile. Pristine.
Greta looked up from her screen. “Are you nervous?” she asked him.
He rubbed his hands over his arms again, swallowing hard. “I suppose I am.”
“I assure you, it doesn’t hurt. It’s like waking up from a dream. You feel bad now, but we make you feel good. And it happens gradually, so you don’t get any shock from it.” She sounded as if she was speaking to a child. He imagined that she wanted her smile to seem friendly, but it only seemed robotic. How many other people did she offer than smug look, which barely concealed the impatience he heard beneath her words?
“Okay,” he said, giving her a half smile. He turned back towards the exam table. “Um…Do I need to…to disrobe or anything?”
Behind him, Greta laughed softly. The laughter was like fresh dew. “No, no. That’s not necessary.”
Still, he hesitated.
“Are you having second thoughts, Mr. Sanburn?” Greta asked. She touched his shoulder. “There is still time to change your mind.”
Her touch was cold, like the room itself. He considered leaving. This procedure couldn’t be worse that what he was living now, though. Whatever they did to him, whatever they removed from him, it had to be better than living as he was. He couldn’t go on like this. “No, I haven’t changed my mind,” he said, though he sounded weak.
“Lay down, then,” Greta prompted, giving him a nudge forward with her icy hands.
He did as he was told, slowly climbing onto the table, the paper crinkling and crunching underneath his weight. He laid on his back, staring into the too white ceiling. He closed his eyes for a moment, shutting out the brightness.
“That’s good, Mr. Sanburn,” Greta said, as her fingernail clicked against the screen of the tablet. “Just relax. Keep your eyes closed and breath deeply. Dr. Rudolph will be in shortly.”
He kept his eyes closed. Greta’s shoes retreated from him, clicking on the tile all the way to the door. The door opened slowly, then softly closed. There was silence. He was alone with the still air and the noiseless, clinical, whiteness. He tried to do as Greta had directed, and take slow, deep, even breaths.
Before too long, the door opened, and different set of shoes clicked across the floor. “Hello, Mr. Sanburn,” a man greeted.
He opened his eyes. The man standing next to the table was also wearing white and carried a white tablet with him. The black letters on his white nametag read Dr. Winston Rudolf. He was smiling, a much warmer smile than Greta had worn. His hair was salted, and his face was just beginning to wrinkle. He had a day’s worth of growth on his face, but his upper lip was carpeted in a thick, dark mustache.
Sanburn tried to rise, propping himself up on his elbows, but Dr. Rudolph placed a hand on his shoulder, softly pressing him back into place. “No need to get up, Mr. Sanburn. This works best if you stay nice and relaxed.”
He let go of the breath he’d been holding, feeling his body relax as the air left his lungs. He closed his eyes. His heart slowed, as he’d come to expect from the practice sessions he’d done. He closed his eyes again. “Yes, you’re right. They reminded me of that when I arrived today.”
“We’ll just take everything nice and slow. Easy. Light,” Dr. Rudolph said. Sanburn heard the doctor tapping on the tablet. “Now, tell me why you’re here.”
“I don’t want to feel certain things inside me anymore,” he answered. His body was like jelly. He felt like he would melt off the table with his next exhalation. He had mastered the relaxation techniques they had taught him at previous appointments.
“Yes, and we can help you with that. I’m just going to hook a few things up now,” Dr. Rudolph said.
The door opened again, and the clicking of Greta’s heels echoed through the room again, but Sanburn didn’t care to open his eyes to regard her. He knew from the other sounds in the room that she had brought in a rolling cart. He imagined it was also made of shiny white plastic. He had practiced this tool, numerous times, until he could get through the placement of all the devices without his heart rate spiking. He felt well controlled. In fact, he felt almost like he wasn’t in the room at all.
“Now, Mr. Sanburn,” said Dr. Rudoph. “Tell me what is bothering you.”
The first instrument was placed on him. A round metal disk. It was cold against the skin of his neck. He felt hands on his neck, taping it in place. Soft hands. He imagined they belonged to Greta.
“I lost someone I care about,” Sanburn explained.
“How did you lose them?” Dr. Rudolph asked, typing on the tablet as Greta placed another metal disk, this one equally as cold, on the other side of his neck.
“He was killed in an accident,” Sanburn explained. “The train was running late, so we left the station, tried to hail a cab instead. He stepped off the curb.” His words were coming out too fast.
“Stay relaxed, Mr. Sanburn,” Dr. Rudolph instructed. “Take another deep breath like you practiced.”
Sanburn did, exhaling the guilt and the regret and the grief. He wiped his mind of pain, until all he had inside himself was a void. It lasted only a moment, but it was long enough for him to regain control.
“Good,” Dr. Rudolph said. He felt the doctor’s hands moving along his scalp—he knew it was the Dr. Rudolph this time because the hands were not as soft. “Now, tell me, when your brother died, what did it feel like?”
Sanburn could not speak for a moment. The pain had been crushing, but he knew to voice this would make his heart rate rise, would force him to go through another round of breathing exercises to control his body. He stayed smooth as glass by not speaking, not thinking.
“Mr. Sanburn?” the doctor prompted.
“It felt like losing a part of myself,” he whispered.
Dr. Rudolph found what he was looking for along Sanburn’s scalp—a port. He brushed the hair sway from it. Greta’s heels clicked, and she picked up something from the tray. “Exhale one more time for me, Mr. Sanburn,” Dr. Rudolph said.
Sanburn followed the instructions, feeling his heart slow to the point that he felt that he could fall asleep. Something clicked into the port in his scalp.
“You might feel dizzy for a moment, but it will pass,” Dr. Rudolph said. Someone flipped a switch.
Sanburn was not prepared for the disorientation that overpowered him, but Dr. Rudolph had not lied. It lasted only a few seconds before he lost all conscious thought.
They spent the day doing mundane things together. They went grocery shopping. They took a walk around the neighborhood. Mark bought them sandwiches for lunch, from a food truck that had set up near the park. They worked on a puzzle in the afternoon. They sat on the porch in the early evening and drank IPAs. Brian did not come up, and neither did the question of when she was going home.
In the early evening, Mark set the steaks he had bought that morning on the counter and went outside to start the charcoal. Anna sat on his couch, scrolling through the options on Netflix when her phone lit up with a notification. It was a text from Brian. Anna set the phone on the coffee table, heart beating too fast, breath coming in shallow gasps. She left the phone on the table and went outside.
Mark looked up from the grill as she came onto the back porch. The screen door banged shut behind her and Mark’s expression grew concerned.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She stepped off the porch and went toward Mark slowly. He was no longer focused on the steaks. He wiped sweat from his forehead, eyes on her as she neared. A flame shot up from the grill but he didn’t react.
“Brian,” she said. She couldn’t say anymore. Fear closed her mouth.
“What did he say?” Mark asked. He dropped his eyes to the grill, flipping each steak as he waited for an answer.
“I didn’t read it,” she whispered.
He looked up from the grill. “You want me to read it?”
She nodded, turned slowly, dragged herself back into the house. She took the phone from the coffee table. There were four texts from him now. She carried the phone back outside. Mark was flipping the steaks again.
“Grab me a plate?” he asked.
She handed him her phone before ducking back into the kitchen, pulling a plate from the cabinet and returning to the grill. He was scrolling on the phone with one thumb. His face was set in anger, stony, like a volcano. She stood awkwardly next to the grill, waiting for him to finish. The fire glowed a glorious amber, and she imagined there was a fire inside Mark to match.
When he looked up from the screen, he seemed less angry, and incredibly unsure. “You wanna know what he said?” he asked.
“A lot of stuff about killing himself, and how I’ll regret leaving?” she guessed.
Mark nodded faintly, took the plate from her hands, pulled the meat from the grill. He placed the lid over the coals, shut the vents. “A few other things too,” Mark answered.
“What other things?” Anna asked softly. Brian had a deep well of awful accusations and threats. She was familiar with every one.
Mark was holding the steaks out in front of him. The meat smelled amazing. Her stomach growled. “I don’t even want to repeat it to you. It’s not fair for him to call you those things, or to threaten you like that.”
“He threatened me?” Anna asked, though she was not surprised. Last time the thread had nearly snapped he had said he’d make her pay for the pain she caused.
“Anna…” Mark began, but she interrupted him.
“It’s okay,” she said, though it really was not. She could feel her spirit withering. “He’s said things like that before.”
Mark began to move, and Anna followed him into the house. She opened the fridge, finding the broccoli salad Mark had also purchased that morning. She also grabbed two more beers. She took two forks and two knives from the drawer and joined Mark at the table. He popped open the beers as she took her seat.
They ate in silence for a time, both of them stewing. Finally, Mark couldn’t keep his anger contained. “I don’t think you should go back to the apartment alone. You’re not safe there.”
She had already come to this conclusion too, but she wasn’t sure where she was going to go. “I know. If I stay, I’ll need to have the locks changed.”
“Even then,” Mark said, looking at her meaningfully. “Anna, he could kill you.” His face was a mask of rage and fear. His gaze seemed to burn her with its intensity.
She sliced another piece of steak, savoring the juiciness of the meat as she chewed. “I know,” she answered. “And this time, I actually believe it.”
Brian did not text her anything else that night, but Meredith did. Did you go home last night?
They were watching a movie, although she wasn’t really watching. Mark made popcorn, and he had eaten most of it. She was on her third beer and feeling rather tired. I went to Mark’s place. She hit send. Still there she typed in a second message.
Good choice Meredith answered. You need me to get some things from the apartment for you? I don’t mind.
Anna looked over at Mark, whose eyes were glued to the screen, thinking of Meredith’s assessment of him. Was he really in love with her? Wouldn’t Meredith do exactly as he had done today if she’d gone to her place instead?
I don’t need anything yet she typed. But I might take you up on that offer in a few days. She set the phone down on the coffee table, reached for the popcorn. It was buttered heavily and salted almost to the point where she didn’t want to eat it. The movie played and her mind wandered, wondering where Brian was. She had the creeping thought that it was a good thing he didn’t know where Mark lived.
The movie’s credits were rolling, and Mark stretched. He took their empty bottles to the kitchen. She heard the glass clinking against the other bottles in the bin. He returned to her, but he stood in the doorway instead of entering the room. He looked expectant. He leaned against the doorframe, his whole body stiff with the things he wanted to say. He smiled at her weakly. “Mind if I go on to bed?”
“It’s fine,” she answered. “I’ll be alright on my own.”
His skepticism was plain in his eyes. His smile changed, almost a smirk. “Okay,” he said.
She listened to his retreating feet with worry. She was a liar. She knew as soon as she tried to sleep, she would not be able to. Not if she was alone. She picked another movie, letting it play as she lay on the couch, quietly crying.
She sat in the car, feeling sick. She wondered if anyone else had gotten food poisoning at the restaurant. She opened the car door, nearly slid from the seat to the pavement. She couldn’t get up from the ground. Her legs were like spaghetti. She had the feeling this had happened before. She was reliving something awful.
She managed to crawl around the front of the car, and pull herself up onto the hood. There was a bright light behind her. She wondered if it was an angel coming to collect her, or to announce a miracle, or to help her into the house. A figure moved towards her and she squinted into the brightness. It was not an angel. It was Brian.
“Good thing I followed you,” he said. It wasn’t his voice. He was the man from the bar—the one who had drugged her. This wasn’t food poisoning. She tried to call for help, but everything was slow.
“Let me help you,” he said, but now he was Brian again. He put one hand over her mouth and another around her neck.
Anna woke with her heart racing. The movie she had chosen was no longer playing. Her eyes were raw. She sat up slowly, gasping for air. She put a hand to her neck, expecting to feel his hot fingerprints.
She checked the time. 1:13 am. She wondered if Mark was asleep. She could hear something playing from the other side of the house. She rose from the couch, crept down the hallway to his bedroom. The door was ajar. She could see the blue light of the television casting its shine on the walls. She pushed open the door, her heart still beating wildly. She peered inside.
He was awake. He was watching an episode of The New Girl, laying propped against a pile of pillows, covers thrown off because of the heat. The ceiling fan spun with a soft whirring white noise. His gaze went to her, almost magnetically, as she pushed the door further open, stepping into the room fully. He’d taken off his shirt, and she was suddenly aware of how thin her tank top was. He sat up, looking somewhat embarrassed, but he didn’t make a move to cover himself. She came to the edge of the bed, standing there awkwardly as he stared at her. She had not noticed before that he was only wearing his underwear.
“Can I…can I sleep in here?” she asked weakly, her voice cracking.
Mark turned back the covers for her and she slid between the sheets. He took a pillow from the stack he was leaning against, tucking it under her head as she laid on her side. She faced him, wiping fresh tears from her eyes. Mark muted the television and waited for her to say what was on her mind. She didn’t know where to begin. She cried harder and he put an arm around her, pulled her closer to him until her cheek was against his bare chest.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re safe.”
“What about when I leave here? I’m not safe with him, and I’m not safe on my own either.” She choked on the words.
“What do you mean?” Mark asked.
Her face was wet with her tears and his sweat. She wiped her eyes again. “I can’t go home. What if he comes back for me? And I’m not safe on my own either. There’s always another one out there’s who is just as bad.”
“That guy from last night,” Mark reasoned. She sniffed in response. “How many other times were you out with Meredith and nothing happened?”
Anna didn’t answer. He was right and he was wrong. She didn’t have the words to explain.
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t be scared, Anna,” Mark continued. She snuggled closer to him, letting her tears leak slowly. “I’m just saying that right now, you’re safe.” He paused, gave her a little squeeze. “Okay?”
She nodded, then cried until she was empty. She slept.
Mark was still sleeping when she woke again. It was early morning, the sky just starting to gray with dawn. She had rolled away from him in the night, but he still lay on his side, curled inward as if he still clutched her. He’s in love with you. She watched him sleep, thinking about what Meredith would say when she told her about this weekend.
She went to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of juice. She took a scalding hot shower. She made a plan for the day and hoped that Mark would help her.
“I need to go home,” she said over breakfast, as she buttered a piece of toast he had made for her. Mark stopped chewing, looking at her as if he disagreed. His eyes were dark with worry. “To pack my things,” she clarified. “I’ll get a unit for the furniture until I find another place. And I’ll pack a suitcase for a few weeks, until I can find a new apartment.”
Mark nodded. “You think we can get a truck and storage unit today?” he asked skeptically.
We. He assumed he was part of the plan. She didn’t have to ask for him help. “There’s always the option to rent a pickup from Home Depot,” she said as she shrugged.
Mark drove her to the apartment. He turned off the car, but she couldn’t get out. It was like she had frozen to the seat. The space between the car and door was a canyon waiting to swallow her.
“You want me to go in first?” he asked.
She nodded, her eyes widening with fear. She handed him her keys and watched as he slowly moved towards the door. He unlocked the apartment, then ducked inside. After a few minutes, he came back to the stoop, and beckoned her. She slid from the car, moving towards him, feeling like death was waiting inside.
But inside, she did not find death. She found the leftover chaos of a hasty move-out. Brian had taken most of his belongings. There were no clothes, no movies or games, no toiletries. He had taken the television, the living room furniture and the bed. He took the towels and the bed linens and the washer and dryer. He had left her bookcases, all the books, the dining set and the living room rug. Thankfully, he had also left her computer and her tablet. He had taken about half of the items in the kitchen, including the good knives and the small appliances. He had taken most of the dishes too but had left the cookware. He had emptied the fridge and the pantry.
On the counter sat a stack of her grandmother’s china plates, pristine and beautiful. But one of the plates had been thrown against the wall. She could see the mark where it had struck. The shards of it covered the stovetop and had rained down at the oven’s feet. She felt tears pricking her eyes. She wondered if he had intended to smash them all. She imagined him standing here, in a blind rage, throwing that one plate before he came to his senses.
Mark began to sweep up the shards of the plate without comment. She leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen, numb, watching him work. This is how it should have been, she decided. This is what love looked like—self-less, patient, kind. How had she not seen it before? She had been too busy trying to fix Brian that she forgot to think about if he had earned the effort it took from her.
Mark deposited the shattered pieces into the garbage can. She was still watching him. He caught her gaze. “What?” he asked. He looked almost confused by her expression of affection.
“Thank you,” she replied. The words were sweet and wonderful. She hoped he could feel the depth of her gratitude.
They packed up the rest of the apartment. They found a truck, but not a storage unit. They rearranged Mark’s garage, and moved her things into it temporarily. Mark tidied his second bedroom, enough for her to lay out an air mattress and use her suitcase as a dresser. She put her shampoo, her soap and her razor in his shower. She put her deodorant and her hairdryer in the bathroom cabinet.
You don’t need to get my things for me, she told Meredith at the end of the day. Mark and I moved everything out today.
Where are you staying? Meredith asked.
With Mark.
Meredith sent a winking emoji. Anna smiled but didn’t reply.
“What are you smiling for?” Mark asked, a smile of his own creeping across his features. He was standing in the threshold between the living room and dining room. He had a bowl of freshly popped popcorn in his hands. He hunkered down next to her on the couch.
Anna took a handful of the popcorn, daring herself to tell the truth. “Meredith is gonna try to set us up, I think,” she said, stuffing the kernels into her mouth.
Mark laughed and shoveled a handful of popcorn into his own mouth. He chewed, looking thoughtful. “I’m worth more than some rebound fling, don’t you think?”
He’s in love with you. Anna leaned her head on his shoulder. “You are,” she answered smoothly.
He turned on a movie and she reveled in the fact that the thread had finally snapped. She was finally safe.
Anna stirred her drink with the fancy cocktail straw, watching the slice of lemon swirl in the glass. “I gotta get out here,” she said to Meredith, barely audible over the noise in the bar.
“Already?” Meredith asked, eyeing the half-full glass.
Anna shrugged. “I’m just not feeling like myself today,” she said, looking across the room to the man who had been watching her for the last thirty minutes. “Plus, that guy is creeping me out,” she said softly, turning her eyes back to the drink in front of her.
“Oh, yeah…” Meredith groaned. “He can’t stop staring over here.”
Anna thought about Brian; what he was doing tonight. She hadn’t seen him in 2 days. She hadn’t returned any of his messages either. She couldn’t stop herself from wondering if he was also out a bar trying to forget about the explosive argument. She didn’t want to go home again. The apartment felt empty, even as it was full of bitterness. But she didn’t want to stay here in the bar and get stared at by stranger either.
Her phone screen lit up. She saw the message preview in the banner. Did he come home yet?
“Who’s that?” Meredith asked.
“Mark,” Anna said slowly.
Before she could say more, Meredith’s eyes went wide. She picked up her drink and took a long swig. “He’s coming over here.”
Anna steeled herself, putting on her best disinterested face. It didn’t always work. Sometimes they didn’t take the hint and told her to smile.
“Hi, ladies,” he purred. She hated everything about his voice. It was gruff and his tone was insincere. “Having a little girls’ night out?” He had the audacity to sit down at their table.
Neither Anna nor Meredith replied. Anna lifted her head a little higher, staring at the man who had inserted himself where he didn’t belong. His head was shaved, and his blond beard was nicely trimmed. His eyes were like dust, and there was nothing in them that pulled her in. This man had predator written all over his features. When he smiled it looked like it pained him.
“Whatcha drinkin’?” he asked. “I’ll go get another round for us.”
Meredith cleared her throat. “I don’t think so,” she said.
Anna turned her eyes downward, watching another message from Mark pop up across the screen. She picked it up, swiped to unlock, then pulled up the messages. Are you home now? Are you safe there?
Anna looked at Meredith, whose eyes were also on the texts. Meredith was wearing a pleased smile. “What?” Anna asked.
“He’s in love with you,” she answered.
“No, we’re just friends,” Anna said. “We were kids together.”
“Uh huh,” Meredith said, picking up her drink. The tone said everything the words did not.
The unwelcome man they’d been ignoring was suddenly uncomfortably close, standing over her, almost leering. Anna shrunk away from him. “We could have a good time together,” he said. “Let me buy you another drink.” He dipped his face close to Anna’s. She cringed as she pulled further away, leaning into Meredith’s personal sphere.
“Get out of here!” Meredith yelled.
The murmuring around the bar went quiet, and Anna could feel eyes watching them, weighing intervention. The intruding figure sucked his teeth as he straightened and then wandered away from them without saying another word.
“Creep,” Meredith muttered.
Anna stirred her drink with the cocktail straw, then took another sip. She still had her messages to Mark open. She began to type out a reply, conscious of Meredith watching her. Judging her? No. Hoping for something more for her maybe. I don’t know if I’m safe there.
“Just go to Mark’s house,” Meredith said. “I’ll swing by your apartment, get a bag of stuff for you. Just stay over with him a few days until you know where Brian went.”
She swallowed down the anxiety Meredith’s suggestion caused. She didn’t care where Brian had gone, as long as he wasn’t coming home. “I already have a bag in the car,” she replied slowly. Her words stuck in her mouth, like thick syrup. “I was going to get a hotel.”
Her phone lit up. Do you need me to come over? Mark asked.
Anna drained the drink in front of her, considering her reply.
“Just tell him the truth,” Meredith prompted.
Anna pulled her hair back over her shoulders, chewed a fingernail, used one thumb to type out a response. I wasn’t going to go home just yet.
She sighed, then looked at Meredith. “I’m gonna go.”
Meredith needed no explanation. She nodded approvingly. “Call me if you need me, okay?”
Anna grabbed her purse, headed out of the bar into the warm summer night. She walked one block to where her car was parked, placed her bag in the passenger seat and pulled her phone from her pocket before she buckled herself. Mark had sent her another text. I’m home if you need to come here.
She considered the options. She wanted time to think, but also knew that being alone would not be the best thing for her. Mark wouldn’t pry, but maybe she needed him to ask her about the last few days. If she went to a hotel, then she would have no one to help her with the toxic thoughts racing through her. She felt a mix of relief and regret, the thread between her and Brian cut so thin that it would snap. But it hadn’t snapped yet. She did not know where he was, or if he planned to come home. Until she knew that, she knew she couldn’t go back there. He would try to wind himself back around her, and the thin thread would start to thicken once again.
She began to drive, the anxiety her thinking had stirred up melting from her. She relaxed. Everything felt slow. By the time she was sitting at the light at Baker, where she would turn to get to Mark’s house, she knew something was wrong. One drink wouldn’t make her feel like this. She thought of the man who had sat down at their table. She wondered if he was following her. She stuffed down the panic, and turned right.
Mark lived in an old neighborhood, where the small houses were so close together you could high five your neighbor out the dining room window. There were no driveways. There were barely any front yards. She drove three streets over, driving so slowly that people behind her were passing her, or honking. She made another right, praying she wouldn’t have to parallel park. The car was crawling now. She could barely press her foot against the gas. She scanned the street. There was a long, empty stretch at the curb right in front of Mark’s house. She pulled up, shut off the car, muttered something about being thankful even though there was no one to hear her.
“Siri, text Mark,” she slurred.
“What do you want to say to Mark?” the robotic voice replied.
“I’m here. Help me,” she said. She was vaguely aware of headlights behind her. They reflected in the rearview mirror, but it could have been a blinking lightning bug. She shut her eyes for a second, rubbing her face.
“Your message says ‘I’m here. Help me.’” Siri told her. “Ready to send it?”
“Yes, send it,” Anna said, but her voice sounded strange.
“Okay, I’ll send it.”
Anna grabbed her purse from the passenger seat, exited the car, and stood next to it for a moment, trying to get her bearings. Her body felt like noodles. She leaned against the car frame, the driver’s door open. Someone else shut off a car engine, and she heard a door open, then close.
She turned. It was the man from the bar.
She tried to back away, sure now that he had drugged her. Her legs didn’t respond the way she wanted them to. She tripped, falling against the hood of the car.
“Glad I followed you,” the man said. He was smiling as he came near her. Anna watched in horror as he licked his bottom lip. “Looks like you need some help getting inside.”
“Hey!” she heard from over her shoulder. Mark’s voice was firm, indignant. “Who are you?”
The man didn’t wait around for more confrontation. He retreated. Anna didn’t watch him go. Her eyes were on the pavement. Arms came around her. Mark’s arms. He lifted her off the hood of the car. “I got you,” he said.
Anna lost herself somewhere between the car and the front door.
When she woke, she was on Mark’s couch. He’d taken off her shoes and placed them neatly under the coffee table. Her purse was set on top, next to a tumbler, which was beaded with condensate. She had been drooling. The pillow he had given her—one from his bed, not a throw pillow from the couch—was soaked. She wiped her mouth, then looked for the smear of lipstick across her fingers. It wasn’t there. No lipstick stained the pillowcase either. Mark must have wiped it off her lips for her.
The TV was on, and so was the lamp. She threw off the knit blanket he had covered her with. The clock read 4:37. She sat up, reached for the water, guzzled it until she felt like she would burst. It was then she noticed Mark was sleeping on the other side of the sectional. She smiled, before she remembered the reason why she was here, and what had happened outside the house before he had come to her aid. She switched off the television, curled into a ball, and quietly cried until she fell back asleep.
The next time she woke, the lamp had been switched off, but daylight was streaming in the windows. He had east-facing windows in the living room, and the morning sun was gorgeous. She could almost forget about her problems in that sunlight. It’s beams were freeing, healing, restorative.
She could hear him in the kitchen. The sound and smell of bacon cooking floated to her, almost beckoning her. She padded through the living room, past the dining table and around the corner to where he was standing at the stove. “Hey,” she called.
He was in a pair of black gym shorts and an undershirt. He was wearing a ballcap to keep his hair from falling into his eyes—or into the food—as he cooked. He had that greasy look about him, like he hadn’t showered yet. His eyes were tired, but he still smiled as he turned his attention towards her. “Hey,” he said. He hesitated, then asked what was on his mind. “What happened last night?”
“Oh,” she said. “Um…I think that guy drugged me at the bar,” she answered slowly, the realization of it weighing heavily in her chest.
“Yeah,” Mark agreed. “That’s kind of what I thought too.”
She chewed her lip. “I was going to get a hotel last night,” Anna explained, “but I was sitting at the light on Baker and I started feeling really wrong…” She held in the tears that wanted to leak out, but her voice still cracked.
Mark glanced at her, watching her with concern. She didn’t continue. He plated three strips of bacon and a huge helping of scrambled eggs with cheese, handing her the food. “Eat,” he instructed. “I’ll be there in a minute.” She took the plate from him and turned towards the table. “I’ll bring you a cup of coffee. Give me just a second.”
He’s in love with you. Meredith’s words crawled through her.
She sat, ate the eggs slowly as she waited for him. He joined her, bringing with him a mug of coffee. He set his plate down on the table, then returned to the kitchen for a second mug for himself. They sat in silence for a time, eating slowly. She sipped her coffee, watching him. He took off his hat, smoothed back his hair. He lifted his mug to his lips.
“You wanna talk about it?” he asked, before taking a tentative sip. The liquid steamed around his face.
“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully.
Mark looked up at her and in his eyes she saw a kind of hurt she’d never seen there, the kind of hurt that happens when someone you care deeply about is in trouble, or in pain, and there is nothing you can do to rescue them from themselves. “How long has it been since you talked to him?”
“Oh, you were asking about Brian…” she said. “I thought you were asking about…that other guy.”
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She was not, but she also didn’t want to think about what might have happened if Mark hadn’t been there. “I guess it’s good that he doesn’t know where I live, and that he knows this is where you live,” she joked. But it wasn’t funny. It tasted like vinegar.
“True.” The word slid from Mark awkwardly, as if he tried to pack all his feelings into it and none of them would fit. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment.
“For what?” she asked, sipping her coffee and trying not to fall apart.
“That he doesn’t value you,” Mark said.
She couldn’t look at him. The truth he spoke cut deep. She had invested too much energy in something that would never bloom, but pruning it still hurt. That’s why she was avoiding going home. She didn’t want any reminders of her wasted efforts.
Mark rose from the table, took her plate and his to the sink. She listened to the water running, the scraping of his fork across the plates. He opened the dishwasher, racked the plates, closed the appliance. He appeared at her side, standing over her as if he was waiting for an answer. She looked up from her mug into his concerned expression.
“You want the shower first?” he asked. She knew this was not the question he really wanted to ask, but an answer to it was more pressing than other answers he wanted.
“No, you go ahead,” she answered.
He squeezed her shoulder, then slowly, lowered his face to her and kissed the top of her head. Like she was a child, or his sister, or a close cousin maybe. That platonic kind of kiss that you give your daughter when she’s been hurting for as long as you can remember. She wanted to let everything inside her loose, but it didn’t feel like the right moment. She was too raw.
Mark went away from her, towards his bedroom. He moved through the back of the house, from his room to the bathroom. When he turned on the shower, she rose from the table, took her coffee and his bottle of Bailey’s onto the porch, and tried to think about nothing.
I stuffed those extra clothes into my backpack that morning, knowing they weren’t for running with Andrew. They were for running away. I needed some time. I needed to get out of here. Beth caught me though, and I had to lie to her. I hate lying. I’ve lied enough to myself about Andrew. I’ve lied to him plenty of times. I didn’t want to lie anymore. That’s why I needed some time. Time alone. Time to think.
That whole ride to school was awful. Beth knew. I don’t know how she knew, but she knew it. I could tell. She worries about me all the time, especially when it comes to Andrew. She’s right about him, she was always right, even when I didn’t want to see it. So I slumped into the seat, made myself smaller. I felt like I was going into a cocoon. I thought about transformation. I wanted to become something beautiful. But I couldn’t do that if I was always with people like Beth, worrying over me, never letting me process and heal on my own.
Angie was easier to talk to. I let her think that I was still trying to work things out with Andrew, when really, that note I had passed on Friday said we needed to talk. Talk about a breakup for good, that is. Joey got ahold of it, and I wasn’t great. I wish I had just talked to him after class instead, or after school. Or just sent him a text. That’s not really how I wanted him to find out, from his idiot friend who can’t mind his own business. But what happened, happened. That’s another reason why I had to get away. Just for a little while. I just had to get away for a little while.
I was feeling pretty sick by third period. It was just stress, honestly. I’m not pregnant. I never was pregnant. Andrew and I fought a lot, and people tried to find explanations for it all the time. It was pretty clear we were on rocky ground the last few weeks. People make up all kinds of things in the absence of an explanation. I didn’t really care what other students thought, but when the teachers started to notice…That’s another reason why I had to get away. Too many eyes on me. Too many concerned people wanting to help me. I don’t need help. I need space.
Andrew caught up with me after school before I could get away. I had snuck out the side of the school, into the staff parking lot. I should have known he’d be there. He was walking home that day. It was like he was waiting for me. “Hey, babe,” he said when he saw me.
“Don’t call me that,” I said. I tried to walk past him, but he grabbed my arm.
“Lizzie,” he said smoothly. “I just want to talk to you.”
He was standing in my way. I needed to get out of there! Didn’t anybody understand? I just needed some time to be alone. To transform. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”
“I don’t understand what happened,” he said. He tried to pet me, but I shrunk from him. “What did I do to you?”
“Andrew, please. Just let me go.”
He grew angry, his frown filling up his entire face. “I love you, Lizzie.” He didn’t look one bit sincere. He looked as oily as the stove top after Mom fries chicken.
I yanked my arm away from him. “I told you, I don’t want to be your girlfriend anymore.”
He got close to my face. “Then why did you say you still like me?” he hissed.
“I do like you, but you aren’t good for me.”
“I’m not good for you?” he asked. He was so wounded. It hurt to look at him.
“I told you already, Andrew. Give me some space. You’re smothering me.”
“You didn’t care before,” he hissed. “You liked it up until a month ago.”
That’s when Ms. Perkins interrupted us. I didn’t watch Andrew leave. I was too angry. I listened to what Ms. Perkins said only half interested. I wasn’t heartbroken. I was mad as hell. Maybe if I disappeared, then I could be free of him. Maybe if I transformed, then he wouldn’t keep reeling me back in. I needed wings, so I wouldn’t get stuck on his hook again.
I declined Ms. Perkin’s offer to take me home. I didn’t want to go home. Not until I was ready. Just a few days. I just needed a few days.
Beth had said the creek was flooded, but that’s where I was going anyway. I was sure I could find a place that wasn’t muddy or slick. I was thinking of going right up to where the creek empties out into the river. But if the creek was flooded, that probably meant the river was also high. As I made my way there, I started to get cold feet. But I kept going, thinking of being transformed. I kept thinking about wings. I could hide out under the bridge for a day. I’d go home tomorrow.
The water was really high, a lot higher than I expected. There was no way I was going to be able to set up a camp under the bridge. There was barely any dry ground left under it. I set my backpack on the ground and glanced up and down the bank. Now that I was here, it seemed like my plan wouldn’t work. There was mud everywhere, and no place to hide. If anyone came down this way, they would see me.
My feet were cold. I looked down, shocked to see myself sinking into the mud. I tried to slowly pull one foot upwards. The mud sucked at my foot as I raised it. It was trying to hold onto me. I twisted a little to try to free myself. It wasn’t working. I panicked, and began tugging my foot harder. I looked around me to see if there was anything within reach I could use to dig my feet out. There was a pretty large limb to my right. I squatted, stretched, grabbed hold, pulled it towards me. I lost my balance, and went face first into the mud. Now my hands were sinking too. I tried to lay flat, spreading my weight out and wriggling from side to side. It was working, but I was headed in the wrong direction. The water was lapping at my body. I was going into the river. But the more I moved towards the river, the freer I was of the mud. I took a chance, making a hard roll towards the water. I was free.
The current was strong though. And it carried me. For a moment it was sort of fun. I floated on the surface, under the bridge, staring up at the cloudless sky. But soon it grew scary, and I wanted to swim to the bank. The river was moving fast. Almost too fast. I struggled to swim. I didn’t want to get stuck in the mud again, so I looked for a place with more grass or rocks. The river turned around a bend, and I saw a place where I could more easily exit, if I could be quick enough. I pumped my arms and legs as hard as I could, making for the cluster of rocks. I reached for one, grabbing hold as the water sloshed around me. I struggled, pulling myself up onto it.
Slowly, I made my way from rock to rock, careful not to misstep. I was wet and slimy and my footing wasn’t sure. I slipped, crashing to the ground. I felt the pain in my forehead for only a moment before I lost my thoughts.
We found her around midnight. Andrew told us she would probably be at the water, and he was right. We followed him down there, and we found her backpack on the bank. We had a whole search party out looking for her, which was scary in the dark, that close to the river. She was a lot further downriver that we thought she would be. I found her among a cluster of rocks south of the bridge. Lizzie was cold, and there was so much blood that I thought for sure she was dead. She was alive though. She tried to stand up as soon as she came around, but I wouldn’t let her. Dad called an ambulance and Mom rode with her to the hospital. Dad and I followed in the car.
I watched her sleep. Nurses came in and out, checking on her, checking on us. They had sewn up the gash in her head. She looked like Frankenstein’s monster. I imagined two bolts sticking out of her neck. The doctors said she was lucky not to have broken it. Her face was bruised and swollen. Her eyes flickered open as she looked for a moment like she might fall asleep again, but then she turned her head towards me. I could see in her eyes that the motion pained her. She let out a squeak.
“Don’t,” I said. I moved my chair closer to the bed, glanced at Mom and Dad, who had somehow managed to fall asleep in the chairs they had drug in from the waiting room. “You hurt yourself pretty bad, Lizzie,” I whispered.
“On the rocks?” she asked.
“You remember?” I was a little surprised. She had been unconscious for hours. I imagined that she wouldn’t remember the accident.
“I was trying to get out of the river,” she said. She swallowed. “Everything hurts.”
“You were in the river?” I asked. It made sense now why she had been so wet.
“Yeah, I kinda…fell in.”
I studied her, aching, the question bubbling inside my chest until I couldn’t keep it to myself. “Did you do it on purpose?”
She smiled at me. “No, Beth. It was an accident.”
“Okay,” I said. “It’s just, you were so morose yesterday.”
“I know. I needed to get away. But I didn’t mean to fall in…or end up here.”
“It’s a good thing Andrew knew where you might be. I don’t know how we would have found you otherwise.”
Her face changed. I couldn’t identify the expression. It looked like grief, but it also looked like disgust. “Do you know what it’s like, Beth? To try to pull yourself free of someone, when the whole world is set up to put you together?”
That wasn’t what I had expected. I had no idea she was trying to break up with Andrew. I thought she was still pining over him, chasing him. “What do you mean?”
“He’s always there. And he’s always going to be there.”
“Is that why you were running away?” I guessed.
“I was going to come back. I just needed to…” She paused, and I waited until she had the right words. I wanted to fill in her sentence with all kinds of words. But this was Lizzie’s story and I wanted to hear what she had to say. “I needed to transform.”
“And you had to go to the water to do that?” I asked, not understanding.
“It’s where I always go,” she whispered. “Whenever I need strength. It’s like…it’s a sacred place, Beth. You know what I mean?”
All this time, she wasn’t trying to hang onto Andrew. She was trying to break away. “I’m sorry I didn’t know.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” she said.
I took her hand. “So, did you do it?” She stared at me for a moment, thinking about the question. “Did you transform?”
I watched a peace settle over her, that kind of peace that creates a holy space around two people. Like God is coming down right between you and filling you with all the love you’ll ever need. “I don’t know yet.”
I squeezed her hand. “Well, next time you need some strength, just let me know. I’ll go with you.”
She had tears in her eyes now. “You sure?”
“Of course, I’m sure,” I said.
Lizzie sighed contentedly, and seemed to sink further into the pillows. “Okay. Thanks,” she said, before she closed her eyes. “I love you, Beth.”
I resisted kissing her forehead because of the bandages. “Love you too, sis.” I watched her fall asleep again. I kept a vigil over her until I started to sag forward, and my eyes started to close against my will. I laid my head against the stack of pillows propping her up in the bed, drifting. I could be a little less protective, I decided. Lizzie was stronger than I realized.
I waited around after school for a bit, just in case Lizzie didn’t actually go on that run with Andrew. Sitting in the car, just scrolling through Instagram, the windows down. It was a nice afternoon. That was before we knew she was missing though. I saw Derrick and Ethan crossing the parking lot. Ethan waved at me, and Derrick got this look on his face. You know the one boys get. That look that says everything he’s not saying. I waved to them, and watched Ethan nudge Derrick toward my car. He seemed reluctant, but eventually obliged.
I put my phone down in my lap and rested my arm against the open window. “Hey,” I said slyly as he came forward.
Derrick looked back at Ethan before he answered me. “Hey, Beth. You waiting on your sister?”
I nodded, smiling. I tried not to seem shy. “I might be. I think she was going on a run. Not sure though. Didn’t want to leave her here, in case she changed her mind.”
Derrick looked like he didn’t know how to respond. He fidgeted for a moment before asking, “Want me to wait with you?”
I felt a slight fluttering in my chest. “That’d be nice,” I said. I picked my bag up off the passenger seat and tossed it in the back. “Get in.”
He came around the front of the car, opened the passenger door, and slid in next to me. He was quiet. I was too. I was nervous. Not just about having Derrick in my car, but about Lizzie. She had just been so off that morning.
“Can I ask you something?” I blurted, before I could stop myself.
Derrick looked bewildered. “Sure,” he stated, nodding his head.
“What do you do if somebody you care about is chasing after the wrong person?”
Derrick cracked a half smile. “You talking about Lizzie and Andrew?”
I was kind of surprised he knew junior drama. I only knew about it because of cross country. Well, I knew about it because Lizzie is my sister, but if she wasn’t my sister, I’d still know about it because of cross country. “How’d you know?”
Derrick rubbed his hand over his mouth, thinking. “Well, people talk about other people. I hear all sorts of stuff. Did you know she was crying in the lunchroom today?”
Lizzie and I don’t eat lunch together. She goes to first lunch, and I go to second. “She was?”
Derrick nodded. “I just thought she and Andrew had a fight. That’s kinda what they do, right?”
“Yeah, you’re right about that.” I paused. “Wait, I didn’t think Andrew had first lunch.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Derrick confirmed. “But Ashton told me that she’d seen them talking near her locker before third period started, and both of them looked so tense. There was a solid three foot circle around the two of them that nobody wanted to get inside.”
Ashton was another junior, and she also ran cross country. “I didn’t know you knew Ashton.”
“Yeah,” he sighed. “We’re in Spanish together.” He paused, a conspiratorial look coming over his features. “She likes me,” she said slowly.
I stared at him, trying not to show how much I was sinking. “You like her too?”
“God, no!” Derrick laughed.
Relieved, I laughed too, before I considered what he had told me about Lizzie. “So, if they had a fight, then, they probably wouldn’t have gone running together,” I reasoned.
“Good thing you’re still in the parking lot,” Derrick said.
I looked at the clock on the dash. It was 3:12. School had let out over 20 minutes ago. “Well, what’s she doing if she’s not running?” I asked. A cold prick of fear hit me, like ice in my belly.
Derrick must have noticed. His look grew concerned. “You wanna go back inside and look for her?”
I chewed my lip nervously. “Yeah, I do,” I said. I rolled up the windows, shut off the engine. Derrick exited the car, and I followed him. He must have sensed my unease, because he grew bold enough to put his arm around my shoulders as we walked.
“I’m sure she’s fine, Beth,” he said, as he gave me a little squeeze.
I saw the fight happening before I heard it. It was at the end of the day, and I could not wait to get out of the school. I had my laptop bag over one shoulder, my purse slung over the other. I carried my heels in my left hand, having switched them out for tennis shoes for the drive home. I was clutching my water bottle and my keys in my right hand. As I approached the side door of the school, the one that led to the staff parking lot, I saw them. Lizzie’s whole body seemed to be shaking. I couldn’t tell if it was with anger, anxiety or joy. I slowed my approach. Andrew threw his arms out wide, in a gesture of impatience. That’s when I realized that Lizzie was crying.
I opened the door and was greeted with the sounds of the arguing. It was the kind of low arguing that you do when you don’t want to draw too much attention to yourself. Andrew’s hands were on his hips and Lizzie had hers crossed against her chest. I heard the furious words slinking out of Andrew as I moved towards my car. They were standing right next to it.
Andrew took this as his opportunity to exit. “I’ll see you later,” he muttered. He strode away, across the parking lot towards the baseball field and the track. Lizzie didn’t watch him go. She stayed still as stone, silently leaking tears.
“Lizzie,” I said as tenderly as I could.
She looked up at the sound of her name. “Yeah?” she squeaked.
I debated on what to say to her now that I had her attention. I had a vague sense of the troubled romance between her and Andrew, but I had no details. Still, she reminded me of myself at a certain age, and I wanted her to know that it would get better. “You can get through this, Lizzie. I’ve been there.”
She wiped away more tears. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I had a boyfriend I was off and on with for most of my high school years,” I admitted. “I know it hurts, right now. But it won’t always hurt.”
“What happened to you and your boyfriend? Did you break up?” she asked.
I didn’t want to lie to her, but I didn’t think it would help her to tell the truth. We had dated through all of college too, but not consistently, and we had gotten married, but divorced after two years. I never spoke to him now. “We did. And it was hard, but I survived it. So can you.”
She nodded, casting her eyes downward. She didn’t say anything.
She was standing next to my car’s driver door, and she didn’t look like she had any intention of moving. “Do you need a ride somewhere?” I asked.
“Oh, no. Beth is probably waiting for me,” she said.
“Okay,” I said. “Go find your sister.” I paused. “And if you want to talk about anything, you know you can always come to me, okay?”
“Thanks Ms. Perkins,” she said. She offered me a weak smile. Lizzie’s expression was hollow. She looked like she had been run ragged. The fatigue in her features was unnerving. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” But it looked like a lie was in her eyes. That smile didn’t change the sadness in her expression.
I wish I would have stopped her, told her to get into my car. Told her I’d take her home. I might have saved her family some pain if I had offered to walk with her to Beth’s car. But I can’t take it back now. I can only learn from this, so I can do better in the future.
There’s a rumor going around that Lizzie’s pregnant, but it’s not true. She told Angie that she never had sex with Andrew, even though he was asking her to. And Angie told Jessica—because you tell your sister stuff like that, I guess—and then of course Jessica told me. You definitely tell your best friend stuff like that. But it’s not like I care what my brother and his girlfriend do! I don’t want to think about that. Gross!
He was normal this morning, but after we got home from school, he was real mean. Like, real mean. I was sitting at the counter in the kitchen when he came in the back door. He just had this cloud hanging over him. So, I asked, “What are you mad about?”
“I’m not mad,” he said. Classic deflection. I swear, boys need to learn how to talk about their feelings. There is no way he was not mad. His whole body was carrying the anger.
“Really?” I crossed my arms and stared at him, waiting.
“It’s none of your business Amy! Shut up!” he yelled at me.
“Just trying to help,” I said, before I went back to looking at my math homework.
“I don’t need your help,” he muttered.
I was curious, so I admit, I poked the bear a bit. “Did something happen with Lizzie?”
Oh, that got his blood boiling. He looked like he was steaming from the ears. His face went all red and his lips got tight. “Don’t talk to me about Lizzie.”
“She finally dump you for good?”
He took three quick steps across the kitchen, got up right in my face and growled, “I said don’t talk to me about Lizzie! Get out of my face!”
“You’re the one who came in here with a crap attitude, dude! Get out of my face!”
He moved away from me, and he was muttering, but I just ignored him. He is hellbent on that girl, but they just aren’t right for each other. They’re gonna destroy one another before either one of them can be happy. It’s like watching a car crash. You know what I mean?
Anyway, he opened the pantry, and rummaged around in there for a minute, then poured himself some fruit loops and left the kitchen without saying another word to me. He slammed his bedroom door. I don’t know what was wrong with him, but he only ever gets that way if he doesn’t perform well in sports, or if something is going on between him and Lizzie. I think Lizzie might have another guy that’s after her, and Andrew doesn’t like that because he knows that this other guy will treat Lizzie better than he can. Andrew is just not a mature guy, you know? I mean, who blows up about not getting a PR during a cross country meet? He needs a therapist. I don’t know what Lizzie sees in him. If she lived with him, she’d know he’s not worth all the drama.
Lizzie wasn’t home by 7 that night, and I knew something was very wrong. They say a mother can sense these things. Beth was biting her nails as she mindlessly surfed through the channels. I was waiting for Jay to get home before I started to worry, but watching Beth’s anxious fidgeting was making that hard. I chewed a piece of gum to keep my mind from racing, scrolling through news from the New York Times as I waited.
A car pulled into the driveway. I froze. Beth met my eyes. She looked like she might bolt from the couch to see who was outside. I waited, chewing slowly, watching her calmly. The engine shut off, and a moment later, the car door shut. I heard keys clinking in the lock.
“It’s Dad,” Beth said. I didn’t know if she was relieved or disappointed.
I stood, half expecting Lizzie to follow Jay in the door. But he was alone. He smiled at me, but then his face fell. He sensed the mood in the room. “You okay, Mags?”
“Dad, we don’t know where Lizzie is,” Beth said before I could answer.
His eyes slid from her to me and back again. “What do you mean?”
“She was supposed to go running with Andrew after school today. I tried to text and call her and she hasn’t answered.”
Jay frowned, setting his bag down by the door, before moving fully into the living room. “Did you try Andrew?”
“Yeah, I texted him too, but he didn’t answer.”
Jay looked at me. He must have seen my helplessness. “This isn’t like her,” I said, my voice cracking.
“Do you have a way to get ahold of Andrew’s parents? Maybe they know where they are?”
I nodded my head. “I could call Coach Blevins. He’d know how to get ahold of one of them.”
“Okay,” Jay said. “Do that.” He turned his attention to Beth. “Do you know any of her friends? Maybe they know where she is?”
Beth slumped further into the couch. “I already tried that. Nobody saw her after school.” She paused. “Derrick and I went back inside to look for her, just in case. I just had a really bad feeling about everything. I couldn’t find her.”
“You don’t think Andrew would have…I mean…they didn’t…” Jay looked to me for help, and though I didn’t know the exact question he was trying to ask, I picked up on the spirit of it.
“I can’t imagine he’d hurt her,” I whispered. But I knew they had had a fight, and there was a nagging voice in my head telling me things I didn’t want to believe.
“Call Coach Blevins. See if you can get ahold of Andrew’s parents,” Jay instructed before I could voice my thoughts.
I took my phone outside, sat on the patio. The call rung three times before Coach picked up. “Hello?”
“Mark?” I asked.
“Hey, Maggie,” he said brightly.
“Mark, I really need to get in touch with Andrew Davison’s parents.”
There was a short pause and an inhale. “Okay. I have his mom’s number. Everything okay?”
“Well, I’m not sure. Lizzie isn’t home from school yet. Beth said she was going to go for a run with Andrew today.”
“We weren’t scheduled for practice today. Didn’t see them on the track as I was leaving school either.” Mark offered. “I’ll text you Kate’s number when we hang up.”
“Okay, thanks Mark,” I said. “I’m sure everything is fine, this is just a out of the ordinary.”
“Oh, I understand. Hey, let me know if you find them, okay?” He sounded sincere. I could hear his smile.
“Okay, sure,” I replied. “Bye.”
He hung up and a few minutes later I get a contact card from him for Kate Davison. I call the number, but it goes to voicemail. I text instead. Kate, this is Maggie, Lizzie’s mom. Lizzie isn’t home from school. Beth said she might be with Andrew. Can you let me know?
I tap the arrow to send the message and silently pray that Lizzie is at Andrew’s house, or that Kate is presently driving her home. Maybe she lost her phone, or put it on silent. There are a lot of reasons why a teenager wouldn’t come home right away, or let her mom know where she was. I try to stay rational as I move back into the house.
The phone buzzes in my hand. Andrew has been home all afternoon. He says he didn’t see Lizzie after school.
My heart is now pounding. Jay is sitting on the couch, staring at his phone. “Jay,” I say weakly.
He looks up. “Did you find her?”
I shake my head. “Kate said she wasn’t with Andrew. He didn’t see her after school.”
Beth is on the verge of tears. “Mom, I’m really worried about her. She wasn’t right this morning.”
“And nobody has seen her?” Jay asked.
Beth shook her head aggressively. “Nobody! Nobody has seen her since school let out!”
“Call the police, Jay,” I said, cold fear sliding through me.
Jay nodded to me and without a second thought, started to dial.
When I got Beth’s text, that’s when I knew I was in trouble. I texted Wade right away. Did you know Lizzie is missing? Wade is Angie’s boyfriend. I thought he might know something.
Why would I know that?
I thought too long about a response before I sent: Did Angie say anything about it?
Wade didn’t write back right away. Maybe he was texting his girlfriend about it. Maybe she didn’t know. I don’t know where she went after our fight. I was nervous though. I had been the last person to see her, as far as anyone knew. I was thinking hard about that when I got his reply. Angie says she didn’t see her after fifth period.
So, I was the last person to see her. Maybe. I went Beth’s number, and texted her back. Your sister is missing?
Yeah. Do you know where she is?
I don’t know why, but that made me really mad. She is always assuming things about me. No. That’s why I’m asking you.
She told me that she was going to go on a run with you this afternoon. Did you go?
That’s how Beth is all the time. Straight to the point. No dancing. No. Now I was confused. Lizzie lied to Beth? She didn’t say anything about going for a run.
Did you fight?
Beth’s ability to know everything even before you say it is so annoying. Seriously gets on my nerves. It’s like she’s telepathic or something. How does she do it? She got mad at me.
Where did she go after that?
I don’t know! Ms. Perkins found us arguing and then I walked home after she started talking to us.
So you didn’t see Lizzie leave the school?
No.
Thanks.
I stared at the single word thanks. There were a lot of curse words wrapped up in it, I was positive.
I laid my phone next to me on the bed and picked up the xbox controller. I was just about to resume my game play when I heard Mom calling for me.
Trying not to roll my eyes, I put the controller down and opened the bedroom door. “What?” I called down the stairs.
“Come here!” she called.
I trudged down the stairs, feeling in my chest that she was going to ask me about Lizzie. Mom is always asking me things two or three times before she believes me.
“What?” I asked, as I neared the bottom of the staircase. I could feel my eyes rolling back into my head and she hadn’t even asked her question yet.
Mom came around the corner from the living room into the foyer. “Coach Blevins wants to talk to you.”
Not what I expected. “Okay,” I said slowly, not understanding. She handed me the phone. “Hello?”
“Andrew! I’m sure you know by now. We’re all looking for Lizzie.”
“Yeah, I heard.”
“I’m just calling to see if you could go out to the spots you know she likes to go, check for her? I’ve got a couple other kids from the team doing the same thing.”
“Oh, ummm… I mean, I’d have to borrow mom’s car. You know I don’t have one.”
“I already talked to your mom about it,” Coach said.
“Okay.” I really didn’t have an excuse. I mean, I couldn’t really tell Coach I didn’t want to go out and look for my missing girlfriend because she wasn’t my girlfriend anymore. And I did care that she was missing, I was also just really mad at her still. “Where did you want me to look?”
“Well, I don’t know. I thought maybe you’d know of some places.”
I did. If she had lied to Beth about going on a run with me, then there was something she was trying to be free of. I knew exactly where she would be, but I really didn’t want to go there. I was afraid of how I might find her—if I found her at all. “Yeah, I think I know, Coach.”
I knew something was wrong that morning. Her bedroom door was cracked open. I saw her stuffing an extra set of clothes into her backpack. “We have practice today?” I asked. We run cross country. I just assumed it was her running clothes.
Lizzie jumped, zipping the backpack quickly, keeping her eyes down. “No practice. But we might still do some training.”
“Who?” I asked. She didn’t answer me quickly, so I pushed the door further open. “I’ll pack some shorts and a tank too,” I offered. “If you don’t mind me tagging along.”
“No!” Lizzie exclaimed. I frowned at her, confused by her vehemence. “Sorry, it’s just…”
“You want him to yourself, huh?”
My sister smiled shyly, sadly. “Thanks for understanding, Beth.”
Yes, my sister’s name is Lizzie, and my name is Beth, and no, neither is short for Elizabeth. This is something we’ve had to answer for our whole lives. Our parents think it’s kind of funny. “I don’t know if that’s good for you, you know,” I said, leaning against her door frame. “He’s not very good to you, Lizzie.”
She closed her eyes for just a second, but it was long enough for me to see a wealth of pain hiding inside her, trying to spill out. “He just doesn’t know what he wants.”
“If you say so,” I said. I watched her as she slung the backpack over her shoulder. Something was seriously wrong. She was carrying a weight today that hadn’t been there before. I had heard her crying last night. Her eyes were still a bit puffy. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
She straightened, shaking her hair away from her face. It’s long and dark and she only pulls it back into a ponytail when she runs. “I’m fine. I promise.” She did not convince me.
“Well, if you and Andrew do end up training today, just make sure you don’t go down 34. I heard the creek flooded over the road and it’s a mess.”
“Oh,” she says, with a concerned look on her face. “Okay, thanks for the tip.” She stood at the center of her room awkwardly, staring at me like I was supposed to go away before she could move. Her knees were locked tight. She was chewing on her bottom lip.
“I gotta brush my teeth,” I said. “Meet you at the car.”
Lizzie nodded, but she still didn’t move.
As I moved away, I heard her opening a drawer of her dresser, digging through the clothes. I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth, wondering the whole time why she was acting so weird. I stare at my face in the mirror, wondering what she sees in Andrew. He’s a cocky little punk. He wouldn’t know manners if they smacked him in the face. He’s been on and off with Lizzie for most of high school. I think I dislike him more the longer they try to make it work.
Andrew also runs cross country. That’s how we all met, two years ago, during my sophomore year. Andrew and Lizzie were both freshman back then, new to the school, new to the team. She decided to try out on my recommendation. We’ve been running together since we were little kids. Mom used to take us down to the shoe store and we would pick the craziest shoes we could find. Running shoes are always crazy looking. I was partial to neon yellow, but Lizzie always liked the pink ones. Bright pink. So pink you could see it in the dark. I think Lizzie fell in love with Andrew the first time she saw him at tryouts. He noticed her shoes and she couldn’t take her eyes off him after that. Andrew needed some convincing though.
It bothered me that she was going to try to run with Andrew this afternoon, but I couldn’t put my finger on why. I finished brushing and wrapped my hair up into a bun on top of my head. I grabbed my backpack and my purse from my room and headed down the stairs to the front door. “Bye!” I called out, to my parents who were probably in the kitchen, making their coffee and toast. I heard a muffled reply from one of them as I headed out the door.
Lizzie was already inside the car—a real clunker. Dad got me the cheapest car he could find. It’s a 1997 Oldsmobile Intrigue. He bought it from a neighbor for $500. The neighbor, Ms. Perkins, lives four houses away. She’s 84 and had no need for a car anymore. Her daughter drives her wherever she needs to go now.
I tossed my bags in the backseat and turned the key in the engine. I glanced over at Lizzie. She was chewing on her thumb nail. “Nervous?” I asked.
She flashed me a smile. “Just a bit.”
I tried not to snicker, I really did, but it came out anyway. Andrew hasn’t been talking to her, and last time they talked, they’d had a fight. I don’t know what the fight was about, but she came out of the school with tears streaming down her face. That was Friday afternoon. I couldn’t get the story out of her. I let her keep her secrets.
“Well, if he says no, you should…”
She interrupted. “He won’t say no,” she says, confidence like steel. “He can’t.”
“He can’t?” I asked, skeptical. I looked over my shoulder as I backed down the driveway. “What if he didn’t bring any running clothes?” I joked.
“Beth, please,” she begged. “Just let me try to figure it out on my own.”
“Okay, sis. You can let this boy drown you if you want.” I smiled at her as I rolled the car to a stop at the sign outside our subdivision. “But you’re better than that.”
She sunk lower into the passenger seat. “Maybe not,” she muttered.
We drove to school in near silence. I worried about her the whole way.
She came into first period—English, our favorite—already looking like she had died of embarrassment. She had plenty of reasons to be embarrassed, I guess, after what happened on Friday. She passed a note to Andrew, but Joey snatched it from him before he could get a chance to read it. And then the boys spent the rest of the day snickering about what it said. I don’t know what she wrote in the note. She didn’t tell me. But she looked like death by the end of the day, and Andrew looked like he could kill somebody. I’m surprised she didn’t call her mom to get her from school. I would have faked sick.
Anyway, Lizzie came into first period, and when she plopped down in her chair at our usual table there was something about her that felt so wrong. You know how sometimes you get that weird tingling in your guts and some people say it’s a premonition, but other people say it’s the Holy Spirit? I don’t know what it is, but I definitely felt it. That girl was radiating some weird energy.
“Hey, what’s up?” I whispered. Lizzie gave me this hollow stare. It was kinda creepy actually. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened, Angie,” she replied. Her voice was as thick as one of those milkshakes you can get from that premium ice cream shop—what’s it called? The Spotted Calf? She looked like she was going cry.
“Andrew?” I guessed. It was a good guess. It’s always Andrew. She did a little head roll and it was hard to tell if it was a nod or not. “Why you still chasing him, girl? I thought you gave up.”
“Yeah, but that was before he sent me this,” she said. She pulled out her phone. “Last night.” She showed me the screen. The blue and gray bubbles that held the words I didn’t want to see.
I still like you.
I still like you too.
I want to see you.
When?
Tomorrow.
That was it. There was nothing more. I thought it was weird they didn’t hatch out a plan, or say goodnight or anything else. “You didn’t reply?” I asked.
Lizzie had tears in her eyes now. “He’s the worst,” she said, and it was another one of those moments when you get the tingles. Maybe it is the Holy Spirit and it was telling me to say something to her. But I just nodded instead. The bell rang before I could think of anything to say, and Lizzie tucked her phone away.
I studied her while we were supposed to be doing our independent reading. God, she looked awful. I’m telling you, she was in real bad shape that morning. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days. She was really pale, too, the kind of pale that people are when they’re sick. I tapped her on the shoulder. She snapped her head in my direction. I mouthed the words Are you okay? She just shook her head. That was it! She just shook her head as if that was supposed to be a complete answer.
I wrote her a note in my notebook while Ms. Langine was recapping the plot of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night. Do you have a plan? Then I bumped her on the shoulder.
Lizzie peered at the page, then shook her head. She glanced at Ms. Langine, then scribbled out a reply. Go for a run.
Where? My pen scratched across the page.
I don’t know. Beth said the creek flooded.
Maybe go through downtown. Stay where people can see you.
Her whole mood suddenly shifted. She was suddenly really angry about something. He’s not dangerous.
I know! I just meant…stay where you can be safe. You know, where people can find you. If you need a ride.
You sound like Beth.
Why are you mad?
Lizzie hesitated. I’m not mad at you. That’s what she wrote. Not that she wasn’t mad. She said she wasn’t mad at me. So, she was mad at someone, right? Well, she needed to be a lot more mad at Andrew than she was, in my opinion. He’s been just awful to her. And it wasn’t getting any better. How you can profess to love somebody and then decide to keep breaking their heart is something I’ll never understand. Love isn’t supposed to hurt. That’s what my mom always says.
Lizzie is in my third period, Biology II. It’s mostly juniors and seniors, although I do have one sophomore this year. Lizzie is a top student, usually, but she’s been slipping recently. Normally she would be acing the tests and turning in every assignment without fail. But this month, she’s not been handing in homework, and her last few quiz scores have been in the C range.
A few weeks ago, I held her back after class. She seemed timid, like she knew she was in trouble. I’ve never seen a girl look more like a dog caught chewing on a shoe.
“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay, Lizzie,” I started.
She shifted from foot to foot, not meeting my eyes. “I’m okay, Ms. Marston.”
“You haven’t been performing the way I have come to expect,” I say tenderly. “Is everything okay at home?”
She still didn’t meet my eyes. “Home is fine,” she muttered.
I tried to take a different approach. “I’m here to help, Lizzie. You seem…” I searched for a word. I didn’t want to offend her, or pry, but I knew there was something on her mind. She is very bright. There was no reason why she should be getting Cs on the work we were doing. “You seem sad lately. Very sad. And unengaged.”
She looked up at me, and I could see the biggest cry for help in her eyes. She wanted me to save her from something. I was ready to help her in whatever way I could. “I’m…um…” She faltered. “I’m okay, Ms. Marston. Really. Just a little distracted with…um…cross country.”
I didn’t believe her. I had seen the desperation bubble to the surface before she stuffed it back down. “You’re sure?” I asked.
She nodded. “Thanks for checking on me,” she said politely.
I made a mental note to call her parents. “Okay, Lizzie. But please know, if there is anything I can do to help you,” I paused, searching her face. Her eyes were hiding that hollowness I had seen previously. “Don’t hesitate, okay? I’m here to help. Really.”
“Thanks,” she said. Her whisper was like the soft brush of paint on a canvas. It sounded like a prayer.
That was a few weeks ago, of course. That morning…how can I say this without sounding dramatic? I almost sent her to the nurse as soon as I saw her. I’ve had four children. I know morning sickness when I see it. She said she was fine, that she wasn’t ill, but as I watched her trying to swallow her bile, I knew she was lying. She made it through my whole class though. I was surprised she didn’t ask for the hallpass to use the restroom. I wish I had had some crackers to give her. Poor kid.
Out the window the sun was rising fast. Edward had not sat at the piano all night. He had not been home all night. How long until the monsters chased him down and found him here in bed with Elisabeth, fresh and lively and unwilling to do their bidding? How long until they exterminated him? He knew they were coming. He anticipated it with every breath. They might come as soon as the next second, as late as next year. One way or another though, the inevitability was that they would come. And he would not live past that day.
“Edward?” he heard, as he came out of his thoughts. Elisabeth had awakened beside him and was stirring in her half-sleep
“I’m here,” he answered softly.
She opened her eyes as she sat halfway up in the bed, leaning herself on his body. “Are they coming?”
He shook his head in response. “I don’t know, but as long as we have our own minds there’s nothing they can do to us.” She leaned forward and they shared a kiss. It was the kiss of death. He knew it and he did not care. The rain beat on the roof peacefully, lulling them back into a reverie of long ago before the hardships, before the war, before the monsters had conquered the earth, before the city was in ruins, before the beach had been swallowed. They rested, not caring to worry. They talk softly in the small bed and laughed as they remembered out of their childhood some fond memories—an ice cream cone, roller skates, a bicycle. Such things were not common anymore.
But Edward was troubled, and Elisabeth sense it as the day fully dawned. The rain continued through the sunrise and through the lunch hour and into the dusk when the pounding in his head returned, more severe and malicious than ever before. He remembered the beach, remembered the tin can, remembered the lights and the greasy eyes of the monster who had scooped him up. He remembered the piano. The words echoed it in his brain. We will let you keep your name.
“What’s the matter, Edward?” Elisabeth asked, while he rubbed his temples in a frantic effort to assuage the pain. The pounding racked his brain, made his teeth ache, and strained his eyes. Nothing he did could ameliorate the intensity of the throbbing. He heard the whirring voices in his mind. He saw the oily-eyed creatures speaking to him, telling him he must play.
“The monsters,” he groaned. “Elisabeth, I think the monsters are coming.”
She looked at him, concerned. She touched his forehead. It was soaked with sweat. Gazing into his eyes, she breathed harder and faster, clutching his hand as his eyes rolled back into his head. He was pale as death, as if his soul had left him. She shook him, attempting to pull him from his trance. “Edward!” she called, and then screamed when he did not respond. “Edward, wake up! Snap out of it!”
There was a knock at the wall of the apartment, and then the window went crashing around the room, smashed by the metal hand of a monster. Its whirring voice screeched through the tiny room. Naked, sweaty, and smeared with ash, Elisabeth jumped from the bed pulling Edward behind her as she made her way to the closet. She threw herself inside, dragged Edward in behind her and shut the door. She heard the monster smashing her bedroom apart. Edward groped in the darkness, grabbed hold of her hand.
“My head,” he moaned. “The monster is talking to me.”
“What is it saying?” Elisabeth asked frantically.
“Can’t run. You can’t escape.”
“Don’t listen to him, Edward,” she whispered in his ear, although it was difficult to keep her fear from contaminating her sentiment. It lumped in her throat and in her stomach it congealed like fat off bacon. “I know a way to the beach.”
Her words sparked interest in him. The beach had been his escape before and it had not worked. The beach was swallowed this year as it had been the year of the accident. If he went to the beach with Elisabeth, they would not have to suffer the consequences of their crimes. He reached out to her in the dark of the closet, felt her body next to him and knew there was no other way. They would go this day to the beach. They would escape the clutches of the monsters this day.
Elisabeth removed the panel of the wall in the closet and crawled into a small space between the walls of the complex buildings. Edward could not see where they were going but he followed Elisabeth by feeling for her feet in front of him. On and on they crawled in the dark of the crawl space until they came to a metal grate. The whir of the monster was far behind, yet they still heard the clinking of the mines, the tunnels were the monsters put their human slaves to work. Edward felt the pounding in his brain as he sat in silence, waiting for Elizabeth to pry the gate from the face of the building. She worked fervently, pulling and prying until at last the way was opened. Into the gray evening they went. The ash was falling as it did every evening, mixing with the soft rain before the two lay down on the ground to die.
Elisabeth grabbed his hand and led him out into the open. Edward feared for his life, glancing over his shoulder in nervousness as Elisabeth pulled him along. They ran down to the swallowed beach, the swollen sea, puffed up like a bee sting. The faster they ran the harder the pounding in Edward’s head became, until he could stand it no longer.
He fell on his knees in the sand, still clutching Elisabeth’s hand as if his life depended on it. He craved a cigarette. His mouth was dry and his throat ached and his brain beat with exhaustion.
“Edward they’re coming for us. We have to go.”
As if it had heard her speak, a monster burst from the apartments, running, clanking, all its metal joints creaking as it approached. Its voice was in Edwards head, pinging like a pinball. “Make the box sing for us! Make it sing!”
A new strength flared in him and he rose to his feet forced, his legs to pump, to carry him to the sea, the swallowed beach. All the way to the water’s edge he ran with Elisabeth, the monster chasing, calling, pinging in his head. But Edward was lost in a mad fury. I will not give in to them anymore. I will not play for them. I am through with pleasing them. They took Irene. They will not take me.
The ocean engulfed him as he fell into the waiting tide. To feel the soft caress of the waves once more was a joy, yet the shocking cold possessed him with a rush of adrenaline. He pushed himself to his physical limits to escape the greasy eyes of the monster. He stroked his arms, propelling himself through the murky waters. His heart beat rapidly and his chest and his breath came in short gasps and yet he pushed on into the open sea. Stopping short for only a moment, he turned to see Elisabeth in the water behind him, struggling to keep herself afloat.
“ Don’t slow down,” she choked out, as water and saliva flowed out of her mouth. Her lips were blue, her skin pale in the chill of the water. Standing on the beach was the monster who had chased them down, calling out and its eerie metal voice. It was calling the trash collecting machine.
His final moments around the corner, near his face, and he clutched Elizabeth close to him in the cold water. She found his eyes, and kissed him tenderly as the monster’s trash machine scooped them up and deposited them into the giant metal can. The water still rushed underneath them, the monster still stood on the swallowed beach, the ash still fell from the sky, but the lid came down over them, sealing them inside. They were left in the dark to suffocate together, defiant and naked.
In the din of the chaos, Edward heard the soft tinkering of the piano in his head. He saw his mother smile as she kissed his head once more. The music soothed him into sleep as he curled beside Elisabeth in the metallic prison. Her head was on his chest her hands were on his back and her heart was in his hands. He had never felt so alive with wonder and magic as he felt in those last moments. He smiled. The monsters could no longer touch him, abuse him, or manipulate him. He belonged to himself once more.
And no one would wonder of him when he was gone. The humans left could no longer wonder, for they had forgotten how. Edward smiled again in the hot dark of the can, as Elisabeth’s lips found his one last time—the kiss of death. Death herself pressed her lips to his, the frozen taste of her dying flesh lingering for only a moment as he closed his eyes.
Elisabeth was drenched in fear. She had not been out of the house that day, not since she had returned home from Edward’s apartment that morning. She had not accomplished anything that day—had not cleaned the house or made herself lunch or lit the candles when the sky began to grow dark. The ash falling out of the sky had seeped into her small room, had soaked into her skin as she had sat unmoving, barely conscious of her surroundings. Was Edward awake? She wondered. Would he be playing tonight?
She bit down on her nail in nervousness. All day she had waited for the monsters to drag her away, to whip her and force her to work in the mines. Were they looking for her? Had they even noticed she was gone? Elisabeth remembered the exterminations, the way the monsters had taken Adam from her as he screamed. What have happened to him after that? She thought of it often, Adam transformed into a giant piece of machinery, working day after day with rest, for the rest of his life, the subject to torture and mutilations. The guinea pig for all kinds of horrendous experimentation. Or had they simply killed him quickly and used his life energy to power their machines? Elisabeth was startled from the grim thoughts by a soft knock at her door.
The ash was still falling down around him as he stood on her front step waiting patiently for her to answer, if she was even there at all. The ash was soft but the thoughts that it brought to his mind were not. The ash was from the mines, the underground tunnels where all whom the monsters had enslaved to their drums beat the earth with their shovels and picks. He knew of the fires that burned in the earth to turn the steel into molten liquid, used to shape beams and poles, columns, and sheets of buildings. He also knew the monsters burned humans who had become less than exemplary in those fires. The apathy he had lived in for so long had made him forget all the stories of the tunnels Irene had shared with him. The piano had consumed him. No, he thought. The monsters had made the sweet voice of his piano consume him.
He felt the dull pounding in his head typical of this time of night. He knew now that it was the machines urging him to sit and play, to make the piano sing them to sleep, lull away the cares of the day. But this night, Edward was determined not to. He had no love for the monsters, the ones who had stolen away his family, his home ,his country. They had stolen Irene. They had taken away someone from Elizabeth as well. He had sensed it in her that morning when she stood before him, the soft gray of the morning shining through his windows. The soft gray of the evening was burning his soul with panick. He knocked again at her door fervently, desperately, harder than before. Maybe they had taken her away too. Maybe they knew he was standing outside her door.
Edward’s panic intensified. In his fear he heard himself yell for Elizabeth. He beat on the door with his fist, calling her, his patience gone, his mind reeling with the thoughts of what they would do to him if he did not hide from their greasy eyes.
“Elisabeth!” he called again
And by some miracle she opened the door and, without a word, pulled him inside
“Don’t speak,” Elisabeth whispered in the dark. The apartment was dark. The waning sun gave no light to the small room by the door. “I’ve waited for them,” she continued. “All day, I sat in the heat and the silence waiting for them to take me away. They didn’t come.” She drew in her breath unsteadily and gasped as she exhaled. Her hands found their way to his chest and she spread her palms over his bare skin. He was still in his underwear. He smelled like cigarettes, the tar and poison hung heavy on his lips as she pressed her face closer to him, whispering lower out of fear. “I don’t think they know.”
“If they haven’t realized your betrayal, they will surely realize mine,” he said anxiously.
“What?” she asked in a hush, pressing herself closer to his body. Ash was smeared on his arms and back his eyes were glossed with terror.
But he had not the heart to tell her his weary story. Instead, he put an arm around her waist drawing her closer allowing her femininity to soothe away his fears. The pounding in his brain subsided. Elisabeth lay her head lightly against him as Edward wrapped her in his other arm. They waited, swaying in the front room, dark and hot, sweat running down both of their faces. Would the monsters come? What would they do to them when they found them entangled such as this? It was a crime in their eyes, for an embrace could lead to organic sex, and that led to unregistered human young, who were not bred for top quality work in the tunnels.
Did Edward care anymore? Did Elisabeth? He touched the woman’s face and moved to kiss her as he had once kissed Irene. If the monsters found them together they would surely be killed and that was better than living in fear, wasn’t it? Surely it was. A fire of defiance burned suddenly in Edward and he kissed Elisabeth as if he had never kissed anyone else in his life. He moved with her down the hallway, took her into the dark bedroom. She stretched out on the bed, letting him lay down beside her, touch her, move with her. He felt her in his soul, in his brain, as he pushed hard against her in the dark. They were one, two lost pieces fit together. It did not matter what the monsters did to them once they realized what had happened this night.
He lay in a trance, Elisabeth curled beside him, her head resting gently in the crook of his armpit. His desire was sated, and the weariness was overcoming him. He glanced longingly at the woman next to him, and rubbed her head, feeling the smooth length of her hair. She had met his every move, as if she were an extension of him. Elisabeth pressed against him in her sleep. She trailed her hand over him, lightly rubbing over his chest and down his stomach. He wondered if the monsters knew they were together. He wondered if they cared. He closed his eyes.
Edward was troubled. In his mind, he saw the great waters of the ocean, stretched out before him, an expanse of salt and death. He saw the swallowed beach, the gray morning mist mixing with the ash as the two fell out of the sky, dancing in dreary patterns before they lay down to die on the earth. It was that day again. He dreamed of it often, always the same, ending the same miserable way every time he slept with it in his mind.
That morning as the ash fell down and the rain came from the sky, Irene had left him alone in the apartment. There was no argument between them and he had not tired to stop her from going. There were times when he wished he had said something to her. Maybe then she would have stayed. But the monsters had called her, and who in all the world could resist their call?
She had said to him as she awoke that day, “I must leave you. I am never coming back.”
He swallowed hard, allowing her words to soak into his soul. “But I need you here with me, Irene.”
“My name is not Irene,” she replied stubbornly. There had been real tear in her eyes that day. Real human tears. Edward had not seen them since his mother had been exterminated, and then they had been his own.
He touched her face lovingly, in a vain hope to dissuade her from her decision. She stiffened under his fingertips, shuddered as he pressed his whole hand to her cheek. He knew she was too far from his reach. The monsters had called her. She was never coming back. So, he kissed her, softly and slowly, passionately, with all the love he had for her. Her lips were smoother under his, yet they quivered with hesitancy. She loved him not as she once had, for now she loved the monsters and their drums more.
He let her go out the door that morning, allowing her to walk right out of his life, down into the tunnels where the hum and the clank and the drone ever ceased. Edward was empty, consumed with an ache so great that he was not sure he could live under its weight. His only reason to live had walked out on him that morning, off into the mix of dust and mist falling from the sky, dancing drearily before it died on the earth. Irene had left him alone. Taking his hat, he made his way down to the beach.
It was in his dreams that he saw this beach now, the sea swelling up like a bee sting. The beach had been swallowed by the raging ocean that year, for the rain had come and poured out its sorrow for the world onto the coast. It was there, on that morning after Irene had walked away, that Edward walked out to sea.
The wind was high, moaning in the gray of the early morning as if the ghosts were abroad. Edward sat in the tide, inviting the ocean to wash him away, carry him far from the city and all the grief that had stricken him there. His mother was gone, Irene was gone, his county, his race all but gone and he wished with every atom of his structure that the roaring sea would swallow him the way it had swallowed the beach that year. It nearly did.
Edward was caught in the undertow, and at the moment, terror streaked through him. But he was drug under and held down by the water, its strong arms grasping his limbs with fists of iron. He flailed his arms and legs forcefully, desperately, attempting to break free of the confining prison that held him under the waves. His lungs burned for air. Edward thought of Irene, scrambling to live in case she changed her mind. If he died, she would have nothing to come back to if she escaped, if the monsters left, if the last humans won and drove them back into the far reaches of the universe from whence they had come. He needed to live for hope of victory to be thrive.
Miraculously, (and indeed it was a miracle), a hand pulled Edward from the water back into the life-giving air. He was lifted out of the sea and dropped into an open over-large metal can. He knew instantly a monster had captured him; one of the cleaning machines had found him flailing about in the water and deposited him into a can of trash like all the garbage found in the sea. He was alive! But now he had the problem of how to escape. A few minutes more and he would suffocate, for the great lid had already been snapped in place, sealing him into a metallic, lightless prison.
Edward lay in a daze, hours later, on his back in the center of a clean white table. He looked up into a shining light, so bright it stung his eyes with tears. Above his head, encircling, floating just inches from his face were the metal hands of the monsters, their claws waving dangerously, threatening to slice his flesh. The scene was lurid. The monsters seemed to notice every flinch he made, every fear burning in his brain. They knew his terror, were thriving off it. Edward heard one of them speaking, its metal voice pinging like a pinball inside his head.
“Don’t be afraid. We will not harm you friend,” it breathed, close to his face, its eyes wet with grease and oil. The face of the monster was smooth, shining like the sun underneath the lights. Its teeth clanged together, and Edward heard the whirring of its heartbeats inside its aluminum skin. The other monsters crowded around, drawing breaths of awe and wonder. He heard the ping of their voices but could not discern any words they spoke.
“You have something we need, Edward,” the monster hovering over his face said. This was the same monster who had spoken to Edward first. It was apparent that was the appointed leader of whatever operation they were carrying out. “Edward, tell us of the black wooden box with white teeth that sits silent in your living room.”
He was confused. The monster had used his human name. He didn’t know what to make of any of this. The question rolled threw him. “That is my great grandmother’s piano. I haven’t played it since I was small. Mother made me play it.”
“We want you to play it,” the greasy eyed animated hunk of metal creaked in its high pinging voice.
“What do you mean?” Edward asked, bewildered.
“The song that the box sings when you rest your hands in its mouth lulls our weary bodies. Please, will you make it sing for us?”
“I’m not sure I remember how…” Edward started to say, but he was rudely interrupted by a shrill whine from the monsters above him.
“You will make the box sing, or else we will send you to the mines, Edward,” the lead monster’s voice clanged in his ears. “You do not have a choice. We must hear the song of the box tonight, every night. Forever.”
The clanging, the pinging in his brain continued until he was scooped up into the hands of the greasy, oily-eyed conqueror. “Go Edward, and you may keep your name.”
And Edward found himself wandering alone beside the swollen ocean, the beach swallowed by the water, the mist and dust were still falling from the sky, and the sun was setting on the horizon. Where had he been? Why did he have this urge to play this great grandmother’s piano after all the years it had sat neglected in his living room? Edward did not know how the day had passed so quickly, but he knew he had to return home before the sun set, to make music.
When Edward awoke from the imagines of his past, the images of his accidental encounter with the machines who had enslaved him, the sun hung low. He rolled out of the bed, his head pounding with the whir of machines, mechanical voices spitting phrases at him in their pinging language. He was troubled. The accident was still fresh in his thoughts. He lit a cigarette, sucked on the end of it as if his life depended on it and wiped the sweat off his brow. He was not sure if he should sit at the piano this night. He realized now that he was just as brainwashed as the rest of humanity.
The Quick and the Dead 