Chapter 12

  Echoes in the Dark

  Scott sits on the edge of the bed, the apartment dark except for the faint, dying glow of the star map across the room. A glow more imagined than real.

  He told himself it was adrenaline. Leftover nerves. Stress. Just a ghost of a thought. But then, on the notepad by the nightstand – something catches his eye. A note with handwriting that doesn’t look like his own. He knows that he didn’t write it.

  “It hurts less when you stop running.”

  He feels a tingle in the back of his neck. The side of his face goes numb. His body prickles, he feels a familiar presence in the room. He looks around the room once, half-expecting for someone to step out of a corner.

  No one does.

  But he can’t shake the feeling.

  He gets up and goes to the star map. The glow has dissipated, the map looks like it once did. He runs his finger on it again, he feels a slight buzzing, but no light appears. He feels something shift inside of him. Like something came loose, something that’s been sitting there stirring inside. He puts on a pair of shorts, his running shoes, and a hoodie and walks out into the cool night air.

  He begins to walk, a determined look in his eyes. After a while tears start running down his face, he begins to jog, slowly, but deliberate, eyes forward, breathing steady. He rounds the corner into the neighborhood, the streets are darker here, but he feels at home. His pace picks up, he starts pumping his arms faster. Legs start to burn and he sprints as fast as he can down the straightway. His breathing is labored now, he grits his teeth and pushes, the tears come faster but he keeps running. His legs feel like they’re numb and his heart and lungs are on fire, but he keeps pushing. He releases an animalistic soft grunt, angry, determined, with ever step, faster and faster. Until he finally can’t go on and stops, hands on his knees, large gulps of air. He lets out a controlled scream into the night air.

  He’s walking back home. Watching the shadows the lampposts cast dance in the night. He watching his every breath blow in the cold air. Trying to collect himself. Pick up the pieces.

  Then he hears it. Soft, but he’s sure he heard someone scream. He begins to jog to where the sound came from, an alleyway just off the street. He sees two people struggling

  “Hey!” He yells, feet already moving before the thought is fully formed. The man turns, startled, then charges. Scott swings—misses. The man lands a punch that knocks the stars sideways in Scott’s skull.

  What follows isn’t a fight. It’s a flail. A tangle of limbs. Knees. Curses. Teeth. Scott hits the ground hard. The man kicks him twice – maybe three times – and bolts into the darkness.

  Scott stays down. For the first time…he doesn’t need to get up right away. The sky above him is cracked wide open. Still there. Still watching.

  “Are you okay?” A voice asks – gentle, a little scared.

  He turns his head. The woman. Bruised. Breathing hard. Phone still in a shaky hand.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” she says. “But…thank you.”

  He coughs. Copper filling his mouth.”Yeah, well. Someone had to. I just–”

  He stops. No quip. No joke. No mask.

  “I think the world gets worse every time someone decides it’s not their responsibility. And I was tired of running.”

  She kneels down beside him. Gently pulls a napkin from her bag and dabs at his forehead and mouth.

  Scott winces. “I’m fine, really. You should call the police. Or go to the hospital.”

  “You came to help me when you didn’t have to,” she says softly. “I’m not leaving you here alone.”

  He blinks. And gulps down a feeling that sits heavy in his chest.

  Somewhere far above the noise of breath, and blood, and sirens. She stands at the edge of nothing. No sky. No clouds. Just existence, stretching into infinity.

  She tilts her head. Listening. Feeling.

  There.

  She felt it. A flicker.

  It isn’t loud. And she would have missed it if She wasn’t trying to find it. It feels wrong in her bones.

  Not a snap. Not a pull. Resistance.

  She let her gaze drift downward. Through rooftops and rain gutters, through ceilings and skin, through all the tiny stories clawing their way to find meaning.

  And She sees him.

  On the ground. Beaten. Bleeding.

  But still–unbroken.

  The woman beside him holds his hand. And he lets her.

  “I think the world gets worse every time someone decides it’s not their responsibility. And I was tired of running.” She hears it.

  It slides between Her ribs like a blade. Not because he aimed it. But because it was true.

  She swallows down a feeling in Her throat–One She hasn’t let herself feel since the fire.

  Failure.

  Warm liquid pools in Her palms.

  She looks down–there are crescent moons where he nails dug in. She unclenches Her fists and lets the blood drip.