“What the fuck did you just say to me?” his father bellowed. “What did you just say, you stupid bitch?”

His mother tried to answer, but her words were beaten down by the back of his hand. As she hit the floor, he was upon her, yanking her up by her beautiful hair as she howled in pain.

“You don’t ever talk back to me! I’m the best fucking thing you’ve got, and you know it! Without me you wouldn’t even have this shithole: you’d be out on the goddamn streets! Don’t you ever…”

His father’s shouting grew ever louder as he struck her over and over and over; her cries pleading for help, desperately trying to touch the ears of anyone who could listen. His callous fists desecrated her delicate body, reducing her to a quivering, sobbing pile of flesh and bone without value in this civilized world.

Outside his muscles seized, his joints ossified, and he was frozen on the fire escape. The wind cut his eyes as he was forced to watch while his father destroyed his mother. Her cries became weaker and more infrequent—eventually they ceased altogether, and he stared, eyes bulging and mouth agape as his father dropped her lifeless form in the doorway.

Suddenly, his father’s body tensed; through a predatory sixth sense, the beast felt the presence of prey. He straightened and turned slowly. Their eyes locked, and his visage twisted with a monstrous rage as he began a slow march towards the window.

“What the fuck are you doing out of your room, Charles?” his father roared. His face continued its unholy contortions as it pulled colors from the walls and sucked light from the lamps. “Who the fuck told you that you could leave your room? Huh? ANSWER ME WHEN I’M TALKING TO YOU!”

His father’s voice deepened and warped into a demonic squeal that grate on his very soul. The ants were shrieking beneath his skin, consuming him from the inside while the scarabs made their way up his body, tilling his flesh with their steely limbs. He shut his eyes and ears as he tried desperately to end it. His heart pounded and left a vacuum in his tightening chest as he fell to his knees. His blood roared deafeningly, and his father’s Luciferic snarls grew in intensity. They filled his head and battled within its confines, each growing louder and louder and louder and louder until he felt his skull split apart by their feudal volume—

The noises cut off with a jarring abruptness, and his eyes snapped open as he collapsed on all fours, his fingers woven through the metal grate in a white-knuckled grip as he frantically sucked in the oxygen his father had deprived him of moments prior. His condition was deteriorating; the memories were becoming too real – becoming far too real. He didn’t have much time. He forced himself to his feet and collected the gas cans with trembling hands. He had to keep moving, no more detours, no more windows.

By Samantha Sullivan

“Don’t let me forget to empty the dishwasher when we get home,” a woman said, holding a vial of liquid up to the sunlight.

“Yes, dear,” the man responded, exasperated. He preferred to wait in silence, but his wife wasn’t as practiced in patience.

“And Jimmy’s birthday is coming up,” she continued, tipping the vial onto a cloth, soaking it. “We need to get him a gift.”

“A gift? He’s three.”

“He’s five. Starting kindergarten in Fall.”

“Five?” The man shook his head, wondering how their only grandson could be so big already, a proper kid. “Where does the time go?” His wife lovingly patted his arm, a soft, warm smile tugging at her lips.

Their black SUV was parked down a dark alley. The street light was broken here, plunging their car into near total darkness. Here they could wait, unbothered, until the perfect moment.

“This alley reminds me of our first time,” his wife said seductively, spreading out in the back seats. He turned his head to look at her. She laid her petite body on its side, propping her head up with one elbow, her other hand draped lightly over her hip. In that moment, the husband saw his sixteen-year-old high-school sweetheart, with full lips and flushed cheeks.

“Remember how nervous you were?” He teased.

“I remember how you took charge,” she said, a purr to her voice. “Showed me exactly how you liked it done.”

The husband licked his lips, his tongue grazing his thick, dark mustache. He longed to climb back there with her, but at 55, that was easier said than done. Besides, his job tonight was to watch. It was his turn to pick.

The sound of rusted breaks caught his attention. A tan sedan with a dented bumper turned onto the street before them, its one working break light illuminating the curb. A pink-haired woman in a tight purple mini skirt stumbled out of the passenger side. The sedan sped off before she rightened herself.

She stumbled again, then grabbed hold of the chain link fence behind her, using it to keep herself up.

Perfect, he thought.

He turned the key over. The engine roared to life, but the pink-haired woman didn’t notice. The wife, eyes wide with excitement, slide from the back seats into the floor well. She pulled a floor mat over her head.

The husband slowly pulled his car to the curb. He rolled down the passenger side window as the pink-haired woman approached.

“H-Hi,” he said, faking apprehension. The wife suppressed a snicker.

“What can I do ya for, big guy,” the woman slurred.

“H-How…”

“Much? 50.”

“The husband nodded. The woman climbed in.

Like a cobra, the wife sprang from the footwell. She clamped a chloroform-soaked cloth over the prostitute’s mouth. She struggled, trying to fight off the wife. The husband chuckled and calmly rolled up the windows, pulling away from the curb. Eventually, the pink-haired prostitute went limp, her arms sliding to her sides.

The husband turned on the CD player in the car. Their wedding song floated from the speakers as he drove into the night. The wife, cheeks flushed crimson, sunk back into the seats, panting.

“I love date night.”

Detective Roy Sanchez hiked up his muck boots. The cool air bit at his face, tickling his mustache. Pink and gray clouds obscured the otherwise blue sky. Morning dew clung to the grass blades, shinning in the pale light of the sunrise.

Sanchez took in the musky smell of the air as his boots sank into the soft earth. He carefully made his way to the river bank, were two crime scene investigators stood talking, a gray corpse laid out on a tarp between them.

CSI Ian Harrison was now taking photos of the body, while CSI Courtney Pruse went to scrounge the river bank for personal effects. A beat cop was interviewing the dog walker who found the body. The dog, a black lab, sat patiently with its head on its owner's knee, as the walker sobbed.

"What've we got," Sanchez asked Harrison.

"Prostitute," Harrison responded, snapping another photo. "Been a while.”

Sanchez nodded. Linn County had a bloody history, ghost stories stretched as far back as memory. For the last forty years, a woman was murdered annually. Always the same clientele: a drug-addicted prostitute. Sanchez glanced at the blue-gray arms. Sure enough, needle tracks.

He crouched next to the body. Her gray-blue skin horribly complemented her bright pink hair. She had no shoes, but wore a tight purple mini skirt and a black cropped-bra-top-thing.

A boogeyman plagued Linn County. But, it had been five years since the last murder. The long pause had townsfolk hoping the boogieman was dead.

"Dog walker found her face down in the river," Harrison continued. "I count about twenty stab wounds. But I'll know for sure when I get her on the table."

"Ten on each side?" Sanchez asked, dismayed when Harrison nodded. Whether the boogieman was real or not was a heated debate amongst townsfolk. Some claimed a sophisticated killer, others a gang. But there was one thing no one could deny: the killings had a pattern.

Sanchez had a different theory. A pastor’s son, Sanchez remembered the panic of satanic cults from his childhood. His father forbid him from playing violent video games and Dungeon and Dragons, calling them “gateways.” His mother spent her evening glued to the news channel, decrying Godless families and latchkey kids.

Sanchez quickly scanned the banks.

“No blood,” he said. “So…She wasn't killed here?” Sanchez asked Harrison.

Harrison looked at Sanchez over the edge of his camera. “That’s usually want that means…”

It could just be a gang, Sanchez thought, straightening himself. That’s what most cops thought anyway. Probably one from the neighboring city, crossing into their territory, their home, to committee these atrocities. A sick initiation ritual.

But the consistently of the killings threw that theory out the door. What gang had the kind of structure and patience to stab someone twenty times, once a year? That’s why Sanchez thought something more sinister was brewing under the surface.

Once, at a barbecue at Chief John Louis house, Sanchez got drunk enough to voice his suspicion. He had just been promoted to detective back then, vice. The other detectives laughed at his theory, claiming the “satanic panic” was fake, that killing cults didn’t happen in Linn County. He laughed with his colleagues, feigning light-heartedness. Later that night, Chief Louis approached him.

“I think you might be on to something, son,” the chief had said. That Monday, the chief transferred Sanchez to homicide.

Ironically, that was five years ago, just before the killings stopped.

Sanchez looked back at the pink-haired prostitute, her unseeing eyes gazing at the blue sky, her mouth slightly agape. Now was his chance to prove his theory right.

The car wheels crunched dead leaves on the driveway. Sanchez had promised his wife he’d leaf-blow, but the game had been on Saturday. And Sunday…well…time had just gotten away from him.

He put his keys in the lock and turned, the clicking of the mechanism vibrating in his ears. He turned the knob and pushed the door open. Lights from the hallway spilled out into the night. It was quiet. Eerily quiet.

“Honey? I’m home!” He called, but Mrs. Sanchez didn’t respond. He dropped his briefcase in the entry. Fingering his Glock, he inched inside.

The Sanchez home was a modest, middle-class home: three bedrooms, large flat screen, stocked refrigerator. The entry led to a family room with navy couches and colorful throw pillows. The kitchen had an island and stainless steal appliances. A bright yellow mixing bowl sat on the counter, next to the fastest milk-frother for lattes — wait. Where was the frother? Sanchez did a double-take. The throw pillows were on the couch, but the throw blankets were gone. Some pictures had been removed from frames on the wall. A blown-glass vase, a gift from his mother-in-law to his wife, was missing from the TV stand.

His heart sank. He ran upstairs to their bedroom. The closet doors were open, his wife’s side empty. He didn’t need to check the guest room closet, where they kept their suitcases. The empty spaces would be too much to bear.

Sanchez slumped onto their bed. His limps felt like lead. The silence pressed in around him, squeezing him from all sides. Why, he thought. Why would she do this?

He fell backwards, his head hitting the solo remaining pillow. A crunching noise confused him. He flipped over and saw a note.

Dear Roy,

This is the hardest letter I’ve ever had to write. I don’t even know where to begin. So, I’ll just write from the heart.

I don’t love you anymore.

This probably comes as a shock, which is the problem. We’ve been having issues for a while now. You can’t deny it, though you’ve been trying to. And I can’t deny it any longer, either.

Let’s be honest — we never should have gotten married in the first place. We want different things, and we knew that going in. From small things like me wanting to go out while you want to stay home, to big things like you wanting kids as soon as possible and me wanting to advance in my career first. We both hoped the other would change their minds. Neither did.

We just can’t make this work anymore.

And the worst part is; You always have to be right. I’m tried of that. There is no room for anyone else’s opinion or way of life. You refuse to make room.

So I’m leaving you. If this seems cowardly…well…maybe it is. But we both know how you can get. If this seems extreme, it’s because you haven’t been paying attention. I’m staying at my sister’s. Please don’t contact me. We need space.

Good bye, Roy. Have a good life.

Jenny

Sanchez crumpled the paper and threw it across the room. She should have said something, he thought. Talked to him, yelled at him. She should have forced him to see how unhappy she was. She should have dragged him on dates, counseling, anything! She should have fought for them! Instead, she just packed her shit and left! Who does that?

Desperate women, the thought invaded his mind. Unhappy women.

He was getting a divorce. What would his parents say, rest their souls?

Sanchez dragged his feet downstairs. He slammed the front door shut, but hesitated before locking it. What if… He shook his head, then went to grab a drink.

The man’s dark sunglasses were not helping his headache. He and his wife were lounging by the hotel pool, soaking in the late May sun, regretting the bottles of wine they had consumed the night before. The sounds of kids screaming and splashing were hard to drown out, but the sun felt good on his skin.

“We should go out again tonight,” the wife said, peeking at her husband from behind her romance novel.

“Again?” The man asked. “My shoulder’s still sore.” It was a workout, stabbing someone so many times.

“Oh come on,” she pleaded. “It’ll be months before we’ll get to go out again. Let’s squeeze in another!”

The man looked at his wife’s pouty lips. His knee replacement had taken them out of the game for five years now. It was their longest dry spell, and his wife was parched.

“All right,” he conceded. The woman squealed with glee. “But just one more. Then we need to take a break.”

“Yes, yes. Of course.” She waved off his concern, her gray curls bouncing in the sunlight. “I’ll go get things ready!” She shut her book with a snap and raced to their room.

The man moved his shoulder in a circle, trying to loosen the tight muscles. He may have introduced his wife to the sport, but she had taken to it like catnip.

His father had taught him how to hunt for prey; low lives, always. His father had taught him how to kill; knives, more intimate, more fun than guns. His mother taught him how to clean blood out of clothes and carpets. His parents had been efficient in their game, effective, clinical, even. But his wife…he had never seen anyone derive so much pleasure from anything.

He saw it in her eyes some 40 years ago, in Biology class. The way she dissected frogs, cats, pig fetuses. How slowly she pulled the knife through the flesh, how her gaze lingered a little too long on the corpses. He knew then and there that she was the one.

They changed the prey to prostitutes to make the game more their own. She made every kill fun. The way she inspired fear in their victim’s eyes made him so proud. And the rough, animalistic sex they’d have after, well — date night was intoxicating.

The man laid back on the lounge chair, lost in the memory of his wife moaning beneath him. The scratches she left on his back stung.

One more night would be good for them.

Did they know, Sanchez wondered, walking into the precinct the next day. Could they tell?

He removed his sunglasses, eyes wincing in the bright, florescent lights. His head felt like it was going to split open. He drunk whiskey after whiskey last night, eventually abandoning the glass to drink straight from the bottle. He awoke on top of his sheets, still in his day-clothes.

He kept his eyes glued to the floor, avoiding eye-contact with his colleagues, and sneaked his way to his desk. He sunk into his chair and tipped the navy blue thermos of black coffee to his lips. The hot, bitter liquid seared his throat.

“Hey Roy,” Detective James Ryan, his partner, greeted him cheerfully. Sanchez winced again. “Heard I missed the River Body yesterday. Crazy! After all these years? And when I’m on my honeymoon, of all things.”

Sanchez chanced a look at his partner. The reserved Irishman had been nothing but smiles since he and his fiancé eloped a month ago. For the past week, he’d been in Aruba. Now, his usually pale partner sat across from him, sun-burnt, with an annoying grin spread from ear to ear.

Sanchez grunted, then threw the report onto Ryan’s desk, who starting flipping through it immediately. He looked up at Sanchez and frowned.

“You all right, man?” He asked.

Sanchez swallowed another gulp of coffee. “Yeah,” he said with bravado. “Jenny and I just…overindulged a little last night.”

“Yeah,” Ryan said, that stupid grin growing again. “Good time, I bet,” he winked.

Sanchez did his best to look smug, his head aching.

“Hey Ry!” Officer Lily Thomas called, her way of greeting. “How was Aruba?”

Sanchez made some excuse about needing more coffee as Ryan launched into the details.

Sanchez stood in the middle of the hallway. The break room was full of other officers and detectives. He didn’t need more coffee: his travel mug was full. He didn’t have a lunch to put in the refrigerator either; Jenny hadn’t been around to pack one for him, and the idea hadn’t occurred to him to do it himself.

He grabbed a paper cup from the water cooler by the wall and filled it to the brim. He knocked the cold water back in one gulp, soothing his seared throat. He took a few more gulps. It did nothing for his headache, but hopefully Ryan will have finished his story by now.

Unfortunately, Thomas and a few other officers were still gathered around Ryan’s desk.

“Any advice, Sanchez?” Thomas asked as he begrudgingly rejoined.

“About?” He asked, wincing at the volume of her voice.

“For Ryan! You’ve been married how long now?”

Sanchez nearly chocked on his coffee. “Four years,” he managed.

“So?” Thomas persisted. “Any advice for the newlywed?”

“Oh…Uh…” Sanchez stammered. Marry someone loyal, he thought, bitterly. “You know,” he said. “It’s different for everyone…”

“Oh come on,” Ryan said. “You and Jenny are perfect! Seriously, what’s the secret?”

Sanchez took a long gulp of coffee, trying to give himself a moment to pull something out of his ass. “Good sex,” he said, winking. Ryan laughed while Thomas rolled her eyes.

It was her turn. She practically vibrated with excitement; a Cheshire-Cat smile plastered on her face.

“Her,” she hissed, eyes alight.

A guy strutted out of a nearby alleyway, a girl in a neon green mini dress tripped and stumbled behind him. He hoped in his sports car and sped off. She leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette.

The man tsked at the guy in the sports car. At least have the decency to pay for a motel room, he thought.

The man watched the prostitute. Her bright dress looked like a searchlight in the dark. She had hitched her leg up, her green heel pressed against the wall, creating a triangle in the shadows of the streetlamp.

“Are you sure?” He asked his wife.

“Of course,” she said, her eyes trailing the woman’s body, lingering on her elongated torso. “Look at that canvas.”

The wife ducked down into the footwell. The husband turned the key in the ignition. He slowly pushed the car toward the hooker.

“Hey sweetheart,” the prostitute said with a wink. The husband made his usual stuttering murmurs. But something in her eyes made him stammer a few extra times. Moments later, the neon-clad woman climbed into the passenger seat.

The wife sprang like a panther, laughing manically. The chloroform-laced cloth smacked over prostitute’s mouth.

She didn’t scream or thrash about. Instead, her hand moved to her thigh.

A flash. The wife screamed, blood erupting from her hand.

Miss Neon pushed the passenger door open and rolled onto the pavement. “HELP!” She screeched. “HELP!” She pushed herself off the ground and took off running.

The husband whipped open his door. He chased the prostitute, his mechanical knee protesting. He only made it to the end of the block before she disappeared into the night.

His car pulled up next to him. “Get in!” His wife ordered. She floored the gas pedal before he’d shut the door.

“Damnit! Damnit! Damnit!” He yelled, slamming his fist on the dash.

“How did you not lock the door?” The wife yelled.

“How did you pick a live one?” The husband fired back.

She hadn’t tripped or stumbled out of the alley, the husband realized. She’d adjusted her weapon.

“What do we do now?” The wife begged. The husband shook his head. This had never happened to them before.

Tara Williams adjusted her neon-green mini dress as she sat on the couch of the police station lobby. Black mascara ran in thick streams down her cheeks. Ryan placed a steaming mug of tea on the table before. She wrapped her hands around the mug as if it were a lifeline.

Ryan sat next to her, sinking slowly into the break room couch cushions. He didn’t touch her, but his presence was soothing enough.

Sanchez sat directly across from them on a hard, straight-backed chair.

The police station break room was awfully dingy. Fingerprint stains dotted the handle of the white refrigerator, crumbs littered the countertops. The sink was piled with mugs and plates from the officers. The secretary used to clean up after the cops, but she’d had enough and recently went on “strike.” The officer claimed to be having a test of wills to see who would break first.

Everyone knew it would be Ryan.

“Miss Williams,” Sanchez began, trying to stop his foot from tapping against the linoleum. “We really need to know what happened —“

“When you’re ready,” Ryan interjected.

Tara took a calming breath, fidgeting with the mug. “I thought he was just another client, you know?” She chocked out. “He seemed so normal.”

He, Sanchez thought. Singular. His heart sank.

“Can you describe him?” He asked gently.

Tara nodded. She described how the man looked older, with jet-black hair and a thick, black mustache. She also described a black SUV, but she didn’t have a clue about the plate.

Sanchez scribbled in his notebook, the ink blotting where he pushed too hard. Just because it was one guy tonight doesn’t mean there aren’t more out there, he tried to reassure himself. They could take turns, teach other tricks of the trade.

“Then I got in the car,” Tara continued, no longer crying. “I even looked in the back seat and I still didn’t see her.”

Sanchez’s head snapped up. “Her?”

“Miss Williams,” Ryan said softly. “Are you saying there was more than one?”

She nodded again. “Two. He was driving, and she was behind the passenger seat somehow. She had this cloth-thing that she put over my mouth.”

Two, Sanchez thought triumphantly. He tried — and failed — to stop the smile spreading over his face.

“Did they say anything? Chant, Maybe?” He asked excitedly.

Tara looked confused. “Uh…No…”

“What kind of cloth?” Ryan pressed on. “Like a gag?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “As soon as she put it on me I went for the knife.” Ryan raised his eyebrows inquisitively. Tara blushed. “I keep a knife on me,” she explained. “For protection.

“When she attacked, I cut her. It surprised them, I think, ’cause I was able to open the car door and get out. The man tried to chase me, but he was too slow. I think he was limping.”

Ryan nodded supportively. “That was quick thinking,” he said.

“Where did you cut her,” Sanchez interrupted.

“The hand, I think.”

“Which hand?” He snapped, no longer able to contain the frustration in his voice.

Tara’s eye widened. “I..I don’t know. Her right, maybe?”

“This is important, Tara! Think!”

“Roy,” Ryan cautioned.

“It all happened so fast!” Tara said, the tears falling again.

“Try harder, Tara!” Roy said angrily, but she was crying too hard to respond again. “Jesus, do you want us to catch them or not?”

“Roy!” Ryan scolded. “That’s enough.” He shot his partner a disgusted look before turning back to Tara. “Did you see her?”

Tara wiped at her eyes, shaking her head. Ryan nodded slowly. There was a pause. Sanchez was desperate to fill it, to ask more questions, but a second look from Ryan told him he had crossed the line. It told him to shut up.

“Where did you meet him, Tara? Which alley are you girls using now?”

Tara didn’t answer. She averted her eye’s from Ryan, looking scared now.

“You’re not going to get in trouble,” Ryan continued. “Nor are any of your friends. They might go back there. If you tell us the alley, we might be able to catch them.”

Tara took a moment to think it through, then nodded.

“It moves,” she said. “The alley…it’ll be different tonight.”

Sanchez leaned back in his seat. He kept one hand gripped on the steering wheel, his white knuckles shinning in the moon light. The other hand was poised on his knee, prepared to spring to the start-button at the slightest notice. Ryan munched on a granola bar next to him.

“Hey man,” he said, crumbs stuck in his red beard. “You going to tell me what’s wrong?”

Sanchez shot a look at his partner.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been acting different. Angry.”

“I’m fine,” Sanchez grumbled. “I just…want to catch these guys. Okay?”

Ryan chewed his bottom lip. He didn’t look convinced.

“You look like a slob,” Sanchez said, shutting down the conversation. Ryan brushed the crumbs out of his beard, still looking quizzically at his partner.

“The likelihood they come back,” Ryan started, allowing the change in subject.

“Yeah…I know.”

The killers had never let someone get away before. Ryan was sure they would be laying low. Honestly, Sanchez figured Ryan was right, but he hoped they would strike again — needed them to strike again.

He had been so wrong. Wrong about everything. Wrong about this case, wrong about his wife… What else in his life was he wrong about?

He really needed a victory.

The alleyway was dark, darker than usual. A few street lights were out, allowing the men to blend into their cars. The women, standing just outside the light’s cast, glowed in their bright, short dresses and skirts. Some stood straight and tall, others appeared hunched, broken, high out of their minds. Sanchez could see now how the killers hunted, how they picked their targets. They weren’t the masterminds everyone thought they were; collecting victims here was easy. Hell, Sanchez could drive up to any of these girls and get them in his car. If Ryan hid in the back, they’d be easy to overpower. Sanchez could do whatever he wanted with them…

“Heads up,” Ryan said, dropping his granola wrapper to the car floor. Sanchez turned to the left. A black SUV had appeared in the alleyway — when and how, he didn’t know. They must have rolled in, creeped in neutral with the headlights off. Slowly, Sanchez straightened, trying to see into the driver seat.

With a screech, the SUV sped into reverse, peeling out of the alleyway back onto the street.

Sanchez slammed the start-button. He spun the wheel, pulling into the alley so fast, the girls on the sidewalk jumped. Ryan radioed dispatch, calling out the SUV’s description.

The SUV sped onto the highway, Sanchez rushing to catch up, siren blaring, lights flashing. Ryan relayed the direction.

The killers picked up speed. Other cars on the highway moved out of the way just in time. Sanchez slammed the gas pedal. He needed to overtake the SUV, force it onto the shoulder. Soon. Before it picked an offramp.

“We need a roadblock,” Sanchez called over the screeching siren, as Ryan called out the speed: 90 miles per hour.

“Shut down the on and off ramps,” Ryan demanded into the radio. “You know we don’t have the man-power,” he said to Sanchez.

Sanchez slammed the gas pedal down harder, but there was no where for the pedal to go — it was already floored. The SUV moved closer. It was only two car lengths away now.

Suddenly, it made a sharp turn. Sanchez barely followed it, cranking the wheel just in time to take the same offramp.

“Damnit!” Sanchez yelled. The SUV was heading straight into downtown.

“Nearing 100 miles per hour,” Ryan reported through the radio. “Sanchez, we’re going to have to let up.”

Sanchez ignored him. The SUV spit rocks from its tires, cracking Sanchez’s windshield. The lights from town grew closer.

“Sanchez,” Ryan said, louder. “Let up!”

Sanchez gripped the wheel tighter. He pushed the pedal down methodically. There was still time, he told himself. He just needed to get close enough. He needed to see at least one of their faces…

He could see the silhouettes of buildings now. Ryan called his name again, but the SUV wasn’t slowing down. It was going to blow through downtown at 100 miles an hour, through stoplights and signs. It was almost 2 a.m. Bars were closing, people would be out, waiting for Ubers and taxis, running through the streets looking for late night tacos and burgers…

“ROY!” Ryan screamed.

Sanchez let off the gas. The car slowed; the SUV didn’t. He watched it speed into town, take a sharp turn and disappear.

“We lost them,” he heard Ryan report.

The husband paced back and forth. The wife sat crying on the bed, her head in her hands.

“You were right,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry!”

The husband said nothing. He kept pacing, physically biting his tongue. He knew it had been too risky. The girl had gotten away; they needed to cut their loses. But his wife had insisted on trying to find her again. She said she hated the idea that someone was out there who had seen their faces. But the husband knew the truth; she hated that a filthy prostitute had gotten the best of her. They both hated that their prey had gotten away.

But a good spouse never said: “I told you so.”

“It’s okay,” he opted instead. “We got away.”

The wife raised her head just enough that her wet eyes peeked out above her fingertips.

“But we’re done,” he said firmly. “No more hunting.”

The wife’s eyes widened. The ache of desire gnawed at her insides. She dropped her hands. “I…I don’t know if I can.” She spoke in barely more than a whisper.

“We have to,” he commanded. He understood her reluctance; he felt the same ache, the gnawing that no one else in the world felt, the desire that bonded them together.

Outside the hotel, a grayish tint pierced the darkness. The morning sun peaked over the horizon, blending a bit of purple into the black sky.

The husband finally stopped pacing. He looked down at the woman he’d loved for over forty years, his soulmate.

Slowly, as much as his old knees would allow, he knelt in front of her. He placed his weathered hands gently on her skinny thighs.

“I know it’s hard. This…calling of ours. Ignoring the need hurts,” he said. The wife placed her hands on his, her head still hung. “But we have to. If we want to stay hidden, if we want to do it again, we need to stop. Today.”

The sky had turned from purple to grayish-blue, the sun now a half sphere.

The wife threw her arms around her husband’s neck and kissed him passionately. The husband lifted her to her feet. He wished they could stay in this room forever. Alas, it was time to submit to reality.

The wife grabbed the bleach. She would scrub the motel bathroom so throughly, not a drop of blood would be left behind. The husband ripped the black mustache from his upper lip, wincing at the pain. Gray hair-dye waited by the sink; his wife would apply it for him when he got back. But now, he needed to deal with the SUV. They kept it in a storage container. He would switch out the license plates and peel the black wrap away, returning the car to its original white color.

Deputy Chief Mitchel slammed his office door in Sanchez and Ryan’s face, causing them to wince. The Deputy Chief had just finished ripping Sanchez and Ryan a new one. Defeated and deflated, they dragged their feet back to their desks, the eyes of their fellow officers searing holes into their backs. Sanchez slumped into his desk chair and cursed behind his computer.

“We’re not the only ones who lost them,” Ryan grumbled under his breath.

“Let’s just,” Sanchez said, catching another officer staring, “finish the report.” To add insult to injury, they had to explain themselves in writing.

It had been seven hours since they lost the town’s most prolific serial killers. Word had traveled fast. Sanchez hadn’t slept. He and Ryan had waited at the station for Mitchel, who had to deal with the reporters before he could deal with them. They said nothing, just watched the cold, morning sun rise in the distance.

When a commotion sounded from the station lobby, Sanchez sunk further into his chair, scared family members of the victims had come for his head. But Mrs. Martinez, the secretary, was greeting someone warmly.

“So happy you’re back, Chief,” he heard her say. Sanchez’s heart dropped into his stomach. Somehow this was worse.

Other officers stood to greet Chief John Louis and his wife. Sanchez steeled his courage, then made his way to the lobby with them. “Mrs. Louis!” Ryan called, beaming at the petite old woman, who was setting a tray of brownies down on a spare desk.

Mrs. Betty Louis was the sweetest woman Sanchez had ever met. She was bird-like, with gray curls stacked neatly on her head. Once a week, she brought treats to the station: home-made brownies in the winter, hand-squeezed lemonade in the summer. She’d flutter around the station, asking after everyone’s spouses and children, never forgetting a name or grade level. She beamed at whoever she spoke to and hung on to her husband’s arm lovingly.

Sanchez watched the couple, surrounded by admiring colleagues, with an ache in his heart. He had truly thought he and Jenny would be that way someday. She’d glide into the station with gifts and a smile, a kid or three in tow. She’d make all the other officers jealous of Sanchez. But she was too busy with her career; BBQs and fundraisers were all she would attend.

“Chief,” Sanchez said. Chief Louis, a once fit man gone round, with gray hair, took his hand in greeting. “We’ll talk later,” the chief said under his breath. Sanchez gulped.

He turned to Mrs. Louis, greeting her with a kiss on her cheek. “Vacation good?”

She fumbled with the plastic forks Mrs. Martinez had brought from the break room. “Oh, just wonderful,” she cooed. “So refreshing. Exactly what we needed.”

She fanned out paper napkins in an elegant pattern. When she took the foil off the tray, Sanchez noticed a bandage wrapped around her hand.

“Oh no,” he said. “What happened?”

She snatched her hand away, making Sanchez jump back a bit. “Nothing, dear,” she said, wide smile returning quickly. “Shard of glass hiding in the sand.” She crumbled the foil in her fist.

Mrs. Martinez returned with paper plates. Mrs. Louis grabbed a large, sharp butcher’s knife from the table. She pressed it slowly into the warm brownies, dark chocolate oozing from the cut. She dragged the knife through the cake, then lifted it delicately… lovingly. She thrust the knife into the brownies again, this time Sanchez thought he saw a twinkle in her eye.

“Hey Boss,” Officer Thomas said, swinging an arm around Ryan’s shoulders. “Settle a bet for us. What makes a relationship work?”

“What do you mean,” he Chief asked.

“You know. How do you make it last? You and your wife. What’s your secret?”

Louis laughed. “Well, her baking is reason enough to stick around.”

Sanchez watched Chief Louis joke around with the officers. He thought he saw faint red line decorating the chief’s upper lip. But from what? The chief was a clean-shaven man, former foot-soldier. Years of chasing bad guys had done a number on the chief’s knees, but he refused to carry a cane — even after his replacement surgery five years ago.

Ryan twisted his brand new wedding band around his finger. “Seriously, sir,” he persisted. “Tell us youngins. What’s the secret to a happy marriage?”

Sanchez narrowed his eyes. He remembered that red line. His wife used to get one, after a waxing appointment. Or, Sanchez realized, after a Halloween party two years ago, when she dressed up as him, much to Chief Louis’s amusement — fake mustache and all.

His eyes snapped to the chief’s hair. Did the gray looked darker? Was that a tint of black hiding beneath it?

“A shared interest, I guess” Chief Louis said, finally. “Something the two of you can do together, whether times are good, or bad.”

The chief and his wife took a vacation once a year, Sanchez thought.

“A hobby,” the chief continued. “Keeps the spark alive.”

Sanchez looked back at Mrs. Louis, who was now using the knife to serve slices of brownies. He looked at the cut on her hand. Her right hand.

Rule #1-

Never doubt the Golden

Rule #2-

The Golden are always right

Rule # 3-

The Red are inferior

I read from the list on my mirror, just as I’ve done every morning since I learned to read. Everybody does, ever since the Oriane Empire was founded 50 years ago.

I can’t help but imagine my pale skin with golden ink gleaming across my neck, and a crown in my honey blond hair.

Those who are deemed Blue are high class, the superior. Everybody only dares to wish to be Blue, but I want something better.

The Golden rule over Oriane as a group of kings. There are currently twelve, and never before has there been a woman as a Golden.

I belong with them.

I will be the first.

“Cleo!” My brother calls from outside. Luke, the son my parents always wanted. Their favorite to say the least.

The golden child, if you will.

I unlock my bathroom door, heading into my small bedroom, ignoring my brother. The bed shoved into a corner with an overflowing desk next to it. There’s a small rack of hand-me-down clothes acting as the only decoration.

“Cleo!” he yells again.

“What?” I reply annoyed, walking over to the rack, pulling out an oversized red shirt advertising one of the only bands the Golden granted a permit.

I can hear their screaming through the thin wall between Luke and my’s rooms.

They’re not good.

“Did you fill out the entry form?” He asks through the door.

Did he seriously not do it?

You need it for the Prism.

“You need it for the Prism!” I call out.

I’d like to say I’m surprised, but he always does this with school work.

How am I twins with him?

The top student and the failing one being related is surprising, but being twins is downright embarrassing.

At least for one of us.

And yes, Luke being born seven minutes earlier than me qualifies for hand-me-down clothes.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” He tries, “You’d do anything for me.”

“Since when?” I mutter.

“Luke! Breakfast!” Mom calls from downstairs.

“Cleo. Breakfast.” I say to no one.

I sit at the couch, reading and eating a granola bar, while Luke eats french toast at the table.

“Are you ready for the Prism?” Mom asks, my head snapping up.

The Prism, the day our role in society is determined.

Every sixteen year old undergoes it on the nation’s anniversary.

“It’ll be easy.” Luke replies, his mouth full of cereal.

“This decides your future, I don’t want you throwing it away because you were cocky.” She says, the striking blue gleaming on her neck. “We can't have a Red as a son.”

Red, the ones who failed.

I will never be a Red.

I refuse.

“Honey, come here. I have a thought.” She says sweetly. Luke goes to her, still holding his plate. She whispers something in his ear, his eyes glint with shocked betrayal. A sad look settling in as he looks at me.

Worry blossoming in my gut.

“Are you really not nervous?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

How could he not be nervous?

He lets out a sigh that sounds like the weight of the world is on his shoulders.

Though, more accurately, it’s a jacket he’s holding.

A Golden issued jacket.

It’s seams are painted in blue, etched along stiff black fabric.

Were in a room, awaiting the prism.

It’s small and more bare than my bedroom. The walls a dull gray, the chairs cheap metal. There are two partitions propped in opposite corners.

The only thing of note being the prism shaped chandelier, decorating the wall with rainbows.

Okay, maybe my room is actually more bland.

“You never answered my question.” I say, looking at Luke. “Are you nervous?”

He looks away.

Fine, be like that.

See if I care.

I turn and walk into one of the changing spots. There’s a large mirror leaning against the wall, and an outfit hanging from the wood. The pants a perfect match to the jacket, and the tank top a shade match to the wall.

Putting all of my nerves into pulling the shirt up, over my head.

“This is the most nerve racking thing I’ve ever done in my life.” Luke says, just as my shirt gets caught, half over my head.

“What?” I ask, as I engage in battle against my shirt.

“If I mess this up,” He lets out an exhausted sigh just as the collar slips off my head. “I mess everything up.”

“Then why act like you don’t care?” I ask, genuinely confused.

I’ve never been one to hide my feelings, wearing my heart on my sleeve ever since I was a kid.

And no this is not some attention seeking method, patented by the forgotten twin.

Oh wait…

“You wouldn't understand.” I can picture his look, a mix of his ego and his fear.

“Try me,” I mutter, pulling the tank top on, it goes on without a fight.

“They expect so much from me,” He says, sounding woeful. “I can’t mess this up.”

This stirs something in me.

Has this been an unconscious motive for me?

No, that would be far too cliche.

“Why wouldn't I understand that?” I ask, emotion finding its way into my voice.

Don’t even.

“They adore you, you're their favorite.” He says.

I laugh.

I laugh at this ridiculous lie.

Me, their favorite?

That’s ridiculous.

“Anyway, I should go,” He says.

“They hate me.” I say, changing into pants. I hear the door behind him. “You hate me.”

“All participants are bound to the rules of the Prism, all cheating will result in an immediate ranking of Red,” the proctor says. I do my best to shove all thoughts of the previous conversation from my mind.

I have to focus.

“We will begin with the physical test.” She says again. Her hard green eyes landing on me.

We’re split into three groups before they take us into a dark room one by one.

We’re all required to wear the Golden issued uniform, consisting of a jacket with blue streaks across the seams.

I enter the room, one of the first to do so.

Three glowing streaks being the only source of light.

I had no clue what to expect, they change the test every year, and I admittedly still don’t know.

“The Golden are not responsible for injuries or death,” the woman says over the loudspeaker, ominously. “Good luck.”

My nerves spike at her words.

I wonder why, I think sarcastically.

My heart is in my throat when the lights flick on. Revealing a large room, a set of Monkey bars suspended over a large pit.

It’s terrifying and surely deadly.

It’s beautiful.

Beautiful and deadly.

“You have three minutes starting now.” The voice says again. “Your future depends on this, good luck Miss Magnus.”

My heart races with her words, my eyes fixed on the gleaming rungs.

I climb up the ladder to reach, grabbing the sides to steady myself.

A startled, embarrassing, sound escapes me when my skin meets the metal.

It’s boiling hot.

Okay, this complicates matters.

My fears keep rising.

My life is staked on this,

Everything is staked on this.

I need to think this through.

Okay so what do I have? I ask myself, making a list in my mind.

A Golden issued outfit

Three minutes

And a flaming set of Monkey bars

That would be the name of my band if I had any musical talent.

An image of me in a leather jacket and teased hair fills my mind.

Wait, the jacket.

Could I use the jacket to protect myself?

Yeah that’s my best option.

I slide the jacket off, the blue seams acting as a pattern to tear along. As I do, my eyes fall to the clock.

Two minutes left.

Where has the time gone?

I frantically wrap the destroyed sleeve around my palm. Pulling the jacket back on, it could still be useful.

I climb up the ladder again, having taken over half the time to end up at the same spot.

I have to hurry.

I grab onto the first rung, digging my teeth into my cheek to stifle a groan.

The pain will all be worth it when I’m in a crown.

I skip the second rung as the clock ticks down.

“60 seconds, 59,” The proctor says from the safety of another room.

Seriously!?

I skip another rung, only three left.

“46, 45,” The lights shine red.

This can’t be good.

I grab the next rung, not having enough time to ponder the meaning of the red lights.

It’s probably nothing.

I grab the next rung, just as I do it slides free. Swinging to the right as my hands slip off.

NO!! Definitely not nothing!

I’m so close.

I desperately flail my arms out, hooking onto the vertical support.

A shout of pain escapes me as my bare flesh sears.

“25, 24.”

Not helpful!

I’m at the end, I just need to escape this deathtrap.

First, I have to turn around so I’m facing the platform.

“20,19.”

I swear she’s skipping numbers.

My heart speeds up as the time ticks down.

“13,” I put my foot on the ladder. “12,”

I spin around grabbing for the other side, my forearm burning.

“The Golden are not responsible for injury or death.”

Yeah, that makes sense now.

“6, 5.”

No!

The lights dim to black.

No, No, No…

My heart picks up to a pace I didn’t think possible.

“3.”

I jump into the inky darkness, falling to my knees when I hit the ground.

“Physical challenge.” She pauses. “Pass.”

I stumble to answer questions about Oriane’s history in the written portion of the test, bandages wrapped around my arm and hands, the stinging fading in and out.

The rest of my group has finished with the physical challenge, all with varying degrees of injury. Luke has a large burn across his face, I don’t even know how he did it.

Nor do I know why he’s avoiding my eyes.

“Pencils down,” the woman says just after I mark my final answer.

It was easier than I’d expected.

She pulls out a device.

“We shall begin grading,” she says, walking over to me in the front row.

My heart picks up.

She holds the familiar machine by the handle. It’s small with a camera at the bottom and a sensor at the top.

It’s an automatic grader.

She lines up the lens with my paper, her expression giving nothing away.

She grabs my hand roughly, bringing it close to the machine before she pricks my thumb on the needle.

Sixteen years of this, and I still can’t look at it.

She flicks her hair back, revealing the metallic blue.

The goal.

She reads the screen carefully before speaking.

“Cleo Magnus, it’s been determined.” She pauses before running the device across my neck, marking me.

My heart beats wildly.

This is it.

“You are a Red.”

My heart drops.

Red-

In a group of 30 people, 4 people were Red, 25 were Blue, and 1 was Golden.

Guess who it was.

“My baby, a Golden,” Mom says, hugging Luke, sending bile into my heart. “We knew you could do it.”

I dig my fingernails into my skin.

They’ve been like this all day.

I can’t deal with it any longer.

“I’m getting some air,” I say while standing up.

“Have fun, Clementine.” My dad says not looking up.

Cleo, it’s always been Cleo.

I close the door behind me, their full attention on Luke again.

I sit on the small railing of our porch. A small tree and a few rose bushes being the only real things about this place.

This can’t be real.

I’m meant to be the Golden one, the Golden shouldn’t make mistakes.

“Tough luck,” a voice says from next to me.

I almost fall off the railing in fright.

Who would scare someone who is clearly wallowing while sitting on a thin railing?

I look and see Ronan, the neighbor I’ve known all my life. His hair is hidden in a black beanie, his collar high to disguise the color ranking, no doubt intentional.

My heart would be skipping beats in front of Ronan had I not been so miserable.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he says, slipping over the railing separating our houses, “you were screwed from the beginning.”

“What? No, the test is always right,” I say, no doubt in my voice. “Rule #1 - the Golden are always right.”

“They're frauds,” he says, leaning against the pillar. He sounds so casual like we’re talking about the weather.

“Rule #2 - Never doubt the Golden,” I say, frantic.

“You still believe them?” he sounds genuinely shocked.

“Don’t you?”

How could I not?

“I was trying to comfort you, but I guess you’d rather believe their lies.” He walks off through the gap in the fence, of which we’d both ignored until now.

I don’t want him to go (whether from curiosity or his strangely attractive bad-boy vibe, I’ll never say).

“Wait,” I say, standing up by habit. I fall to the ground when my feet only meet air.

An embarrassing sound escapes me as I fall into the bush.

“Cleo,” he sounds the closest to worried I’ve ever seen him as he pulls me from the bushes. My already burned arm scrapes across leaves, making it sting like heck. “That looks painful.”

“A bit.” I say, not wanting to admit the amount of pain I’m in.

“Why don’t we talk inside, unless you want to fall into the tree too,” he jokes, gently leading me inside.

My skin aflame where he touches.

I struggle to wrap my mind around his words.

It contradicts everything I’ve ever been told.

“So let me get this straight, to become a Golden, your DNA has to fit a certain criteria?” He nods, just as another thought crosses my mind. “Then how are Reds selected?”

He smiles like this is fascinating to him as my world falls apart.

“They get 100 percent on the exam. Their intelligence scares the Golden, they could see through the lies. Well I guess not,” His eyes fall on the mark, my cheeks aflame with embarrassment. “They’re hoping the population discredits their words, given that they’re “inferior”.”

I take in a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts.

So, I did it.

I got 100.

Little did I know, it sealed my fate.

“What about the Blues?” I ask, wrapping a shirt from the floors around my hands. The messy surroundings of Ronan’s room doing nothing to calm my nerves.

“I wore that last week,” he says, leaning back in his chair casually.

I stifle a gasp as I throw the shirt to the floor, trying to pretend like I had no interest in keeping it under my pillow for years to come.

“Anyway,” he leans back in the desk chair, “the Blue are the only people the Golden actually rule. That’s why they are the largest.”

“What could we even do?” I ask, a sinking hopelessness fueling me.

He smirks wickedly.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“God no,” I mutter to my reflection. The girl dressed in a pink dress with silver earrings cannot be Cleo Magnus.

And the girl referring to herself in the third person can’t be me.

I’d never worn a dress before, it was my mothers.

She thought it was worth me getting dressed up for Luke’s coronation.

It should be me on the throne.

I hate the lies they’ve told us. I hate the Red on my neck, the mark of my dream and naivete.

And I hate that because I’m a sixteen year old girl, this all sounds petty.

“Cleo!” Luke calls from downstairs, for some reason it angers me.

“I’m coming!” I call back.

It’ll all be over soon, for tonight we reveal the lies.

The event’s crowded with people, all shoved into a large gallery. Even with the large skylight and high ceiling, I feel trapped.

The Golden’s divided the room into four parts. The Golden sitting high and entitled on the stage. In a small area sits my parents, the family of the rising Golden on display.

It angers me that I couldn’t be there. Reds have to sit separately on the balcony, displaying us like examples.

Like a warning.

Leaving the rest of the large hall for the Blue.

The doting followers.

The sight angers me more.

They lied to us about everything.

“Today we are honored to have a new member rise to our pristine ranks,” one of the Golden says.

He has honey blonde hair, a perfect color match to mine. He carries himself with such confidence like he can do no wrong.

He looks like an older version of Luke.

“To be a Golden, your DNA must match a set of criteria,” I remember.

Oh my God, how did I not think of this before?

We’re twins, our DNA is almost identical. The main difference being chromosomes.

You really are naive.

The answers’ obvious as I stare at the rulers.

They’re all men.

I never had a chance to begin with.

“The divine, Luke Magnus.” The Golden says, his face shining with a false smile.

Luke walks toward him, dressed in a new suit, a nervous smile on his face.

“We are honored to welcome you into our ranks,” he continues.

He loves hearing himself talk.

“However,” he pauses, the Blues hanging on to every word. “We are short one thing, or rather one person.”

A ripple of gasps from the Blues.

I missed that.

“Ronan,” he calls out.

What?

It can’t be him, it must be someone else.

The lost Golden enters, holding a gold crown.

It’s him.

His hat is gone, revealing the same long blonde hair. His choker is gone, no longer hiding the gold mark.

Ronan, he’s a Golden.

Golden-

The traitor,

Was he lying this whole time?

Was any of this real?

God I’m so clueless.

I want to get out of this place desperately.

I want them to hurry up and crown Luke, ending my public humiliation.

“Before Luke’s welcomed into our ranks, we will take a brief break. It is a tradition.”

How convenient. I think bitterly.

I rush from my seat immediately, heading downstairs.

I want to go outside, get some fresh air, when somebody grabs my wrist.

“Cleo.” It’s Luke.

My anger builds inside me. All I want to do is escape him, escape this place. But when I see his expression, my anger melts away.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I need your help.”

Magnus-

I’ve dreamed of this day my whole life.

My destiny.

I kneel before the Kingdom of Oraine. Faces staring at me with enjoyment. A sea of Blues and Reds.

“Luke Magnus,” the Golden continues.

My heart swells.

“I declare you.” He pauses. Ronan places a sturdy gold crown on my head.

Even he can’t ruin this.

“King of Oraine.” It’s just as I imagined, only they would say my name,

Cleo Magnus.

A Few Minutes Earlier. . .

“You sure about this?” I ask him through the mirror.

He swallows, his eyes locked on the gold mark.

“Yeah,” he pauses, “I never wanted this life.”

His eyes lock on me.

“You don’t have to do this,” He says.

“I want to, this was my dream.” I smile for the first time in awhile. “Well, sort of.”

He laughs, relief flooding his features, before the stress comes back in waves.

“They told me the truth, you know.” He looks guilty like he was the one lying to a whole kingdom. “You don’t deserve to be a red.”

He buries his face in his hands, ashamed.

I smile. I’ve wanted to hear those words from my family since the Prism.

My brother was always there for me, even if my parents weren’t.

“Did you mean what you said?” I ask, my voice betraying me. “Before the prism.”

“I don’t know.” He admits. “I was angry, I thought they were lying about the prism being rigged. I was hoping that they made it up to mess with me. I know it sounds stupid.”

He looks down, defeated.

The confusion fades, leaving behind a strange confirmation and hurt in my heart.

“I can change it,” I promise, my hand going to his shoulder in a way I hope to be comforting.

This eases his worries as he uncovers his face.

“Would citizens kindly return to their seats,” an announcer says.

“It’s now or never.” I say.

He pauses before he picks up the scissors, cutting my long hair to match his.

The Golden have lied to us, but I will change the world.

The people deserve the truth.

That’s what they’ll get.

All hail the first queen of Oranine, Cleo Magnus.

RULE #1 -

The Golder have lied.

RULE #2 -

The Prism is rigged,

RULE #3 -

The Red are superior.

Some things are not worth money.

When I first entered my grandfather’s estate, I was almost shocked. He was, by all accounts and definitions, a hoarder. Naturally, nobody in the family wanted to take care of his estate for this very reason. So it fell upon me to do it, although he still had living children of his own. They said that I could have an equal share of the profits from the sale of the house and the land if I did, otherwise they were going to have to pay someone else to do it anyway. I guess they felt I would be cheaper, or perhaps they felt the need to do a good deed. I was in need of money to pay back my student loans, and the job market wasn’t exactly blowing up right now, so I took them up on it.

It was a small house out in the hot, dry middle of nowhere. It was miles from the nearest town, and even that was almost just a gas station and a Sheriff. When I arrived there was a dumpster already sitting outside waiting for me. I’d stopped at the gas station earlier to fill up and grab some food, so I trudged to the front door with my luggage in one hand and a couple of bags of staples in the other. By the time I got to the door I was dripping sweat, and the A/C unit in the house’s only front window didn’t bode well for the rest of my stay here. The inside had to be cooler than under the Summer’s noon Sun though, so I quickly unlocked the door and made my way inside. I was right - it was cooler, but not by enough. It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the darkness I walked into, but once they did I could see why no one wanted this job.

The house was full to the brim with papers and various objects. It seemed it was made up of hallways created by the debris, and as I navigated them to the kitchen I began to smell something foul. When I got there I opened the fridge and was met with an odor that made me wretch. There was food in there that had gone bad most likely months ago given the advanced progression of the mold on it. I had found my first job.

So I set my things out of the way and broke out the gloves I had bought to do this. I made several trips to the dumpster emptying the fridge, and once everything was out I set to scrubbing it down with some cleaners and a brush that I had found under the sink. Thank God for small miracles. After about thirty minutes my arms were screaming at me - I hadn’t done anything this physical in a long time - but eventually, I managed to get the refrigerator to an acceptable state. Once I did I put the food I had brought inside and sat down in a chair in the dining area to rest. I felt much better, having adjusted to the temperature a little, but I was still sweating like a pig - my clothes were soaked. After a brief respite, I decided to go assess the bedroom. It was Hell getting to it as the hallways of garbage were meant to accommodate my grandfather’s much smaller frame, but get to it I did, and was pleasantly surprised at the state it was in. Somehow, he’d kept it relatively tidy, with only a stack of books near the foot of the bed. And the bathroom was fairly clean as well - it was somewhere I could actually see myself taking a shower in, thank God. Coming out of the bathroom I saw a nightstand that I hadn’t noticed before. Inside it, I thought I might find some of his more intimate and personal belongings, but instead, I was met with two things: a singular handle and its screws, and a screwdriver. Perplexed, I shut the drawer and continued my tour.

After determining that I wouldn’t need to go back into town to stay the night, not that I could really afford to, I began cleaning the house. I started in the front where the majority of the mess was large pieces of metal, various wooden boards, and what appeared to be an antique toilet. The toilet was faced at and in front of the sole window - I had no idea why he would’ve had it so, and I doubted that I wanted to know. So out everything went, into the dumpster. I didn’t take any special care with the floors, instead dragging things through the house because I figured that anyone that bought this property would tear the house down anyway, or at the very least renovate it.

After a few hours, I managed to get the living room mostly cleared out, mainly by removing the towering columns of papers and books. Quite a few of them were newspapers, sometimes with multiple copies of the same one. Many of them had random words circled in them throughout, some with articles and pictures and pages missing. It looked like my grandfather had gotten them from every corner of the country. As for the books, they were almost entirely self-help books. I found it rather odd, as I’d only met my grandfather a few times, but I didn’t remember him being plagued by any demons or inner turmoil. In fact, I remembered him being quite happy. Apparently, something had changed.

It was getting dark and I was exhausted, so I decided to retire for the evening. I made myself a simple dinner, eating it in the small dining area off the kitchen. I had no service out here, so I was limited to reading my grandfather’s books for entertainment. He had some other than the hoard of DIY fix-yourself-type books; some of them were even classics. I settled on Herman Melville’s Moby Dick and went to the bedroom to read it. As I lay in bed, I grew very tired very quickly, and soon set down the book. As I began to drift off to sleep, all I could hear was the humming of the window unit and the insects outside. The darkness began to take me.

Then it all stopped.

The sounds of the night ceased, and at first, I thought I had fallen asleep. But then I heard them. The whispers.

They were soft, traveling upon currents of air as audible feathers. I couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but I could feel a sinisterness in them. I opened my eyes and looked around, frightened by the possibilities. Turning on the lamp on the nightstand I called out into the night, inquiring as to who might be disturbing my slumber. But there was no response. The whispers continued, filling the room with their hollow energy. I was terrified, so much so that I reverted to a childhood defense against monsters and pulled the covers tighter to my body.

“Help.”

I heard it. One of the whispers had gained form, giving me a glimpse of its origins. It sounded like a little boy, and he sounded as frightened as I was. Immediately I called out again, asking as to his whereabouts.

“Help me.”

Now I was growing concerned. The clarity of his pleas was muddied at best, sounding as if in a different room, locked behind a door. I got up from the bed and began calling out to him, asking him where he was, what his name was. Every inquiry was met with the same desperate cry for help. He sounded far away, but clear as day. I couldn’t put my finger on where he might be; I’d gone through the entirety of the small house today and hadn’t seen any place that might be hiding him. I started to wander from the bedroom when I heard a faint thump behind me. I turned around and saw the only stack of books in the room jostling in time with the panicked thumping.

“Help me, I’m scared.”

The voice was louder now, and with haste, I began clearing away the pile of books. As I did the thumping stopped, but the cries just became louder.

“Help me.”

“Help me.”

“HELP ME!”

Finally, I managed to sweep away the last of the books, and underneath them lay a trap door. It had no lock and no handle, but it had the holes and outline from where a handle had been. I scrambled to the nightstand and removed its contents, careful not to lose the screws in the relative darkness.

“HELP ME!”

“HELP ME!”

“HELP ME PLEASE!”

The boy's now shouts assaulted my mind, invading every corner of my skull as I fumbled desperately with the handle. I tried so hard to be quick about it, but the screws themselves were long, and they did not go in easily. Finally, I managed to get them both in and gave a great heave upon the door. As soon as I did the shouting stopped, and I was met with a square of complete darkness. I grabbed my phone and turned on the flashlight, but for some reason, it would only pierce the black veil by a few feet. I could see only that there were stairs leading into the abyss, but what lay at the bottom was a mystery. Hesitantly, I placed my foot on the first step, unknowing of the journey I was embarking upon.

It took me far too long to reach the bottom. I turned around and couldn’t see even a glimmer of light from whence I’d come. Before I could think too much about it I heard a skittering coming from the dark, from somewhere out there. I whipped around and shone my phone into the void, but I couldn’t see anything. I reached out and put my shaking hand on the wall as I stepped off the final step into the darkness.

“Help me.”

There he was, whispering for my help once again. I called out to him but received no answer. I kept my hand on the wall as I began to venture out, alternating the light between the floor and the center of the room. Not that it did much good; I could barely see the floor and it might as well have been turned off when I shone it anywhere else.

The wall was cold, but the air was colder. The stones that made up the wall were large and smooth as if boulders polished down by some ancient stream. I’d been fumbling around for scarcely a minute when I felt something warm and wet under my hand. I brought it into the light, and it was covered in blood. I shone my light on the wall and saw something horrifying. I saw my grandfather crucified on the wall, naked and bleeding from his chest where the word ‘freedom’ was carved. One of the worst parts about it was his smile; from ear to ear and missing teeth. He looked so happy. I screamed and fell backward onto the ground, dropping my phone in the process. Thankfully it was easy to find it with the light on, but once I picked it back up I couldn’t see anything. I swung it around, but all I could see was the darkness.

“You came for me.”

I heard the child once more and turned my light to where I had heard them from. I saw them sitting naked in the darkness, a little boy with his head buried into his knees. He was shivering from the cold and his hair was long and unkempt, as though he’d been down here for months. We were about a yard apart, and I could tell that I didn’t want to get any closer. There was no innocence, no tenderness, no life left in his countenance. I was regretful of my decision.

Then he looked up, and locked eyes with me. It was me. He was a bastardized, malicious, monstrous version of my childhood. I was scared. I was afraid and horrified. I was frozen.

“I knew you’d come,” he said. “Your grandfather couldn’t resist me either. Call it a familial weakness.”

With a shriek he lunged at me, eyes blackened with hate and teeth flashing bright in the light of my phone as I dropped it. I screamed and bolted upright in the bed. I was covered in sweat, cold and wet. I rolled over and checked the side table drawer, and the handle was missing. Looking over at the place where the door to that strange Hell had once lain, I saw nothing but piles of books. Slowly, I got out of bed, and crept over to the piles, trying not to let the floor creak beneath my feet. I moved the books and found… nothing. No door, no portal to a horrific fever dream, no nothing.

It must have been a nightmare, I surmised. There was no way that any of it could be real anyway, no matter how real it had felt. That would be simply preposterous. So with that knowledge, I climbed back into bed and drifted off into what I hoped would be a more peaceful sleep - it wasn’t. During the night I tossed and turned, visions of monsters dancing in my head. When I awoke in the morning I was still tired, drained by my unrest. But I got up and went about my day.

I cleaned up a good portion of the house, most of what I found simply went into the dumpster outside, but there were a few things of potential value that I thought were interesting, so I kept them. The family said I could take anything I wanted out of there, as long as it wasn’t cash. My grandfather wasn’t a particularly wealthy man, but his finances had always mystified everyone. No one knew where his money came from or where it went, only that he’d never really wanted for anything or ever asked to borrow. Even his children were dumbfounded, and my grandmother had died shortly after my father was born, so she wasn't around to explain. I was never told exactly what happened, but growing up I heard whispers. From what I could piece together she had cut her wrists open in the bathroom sink when my father was only six months old - on the day of in fact. It was a horrible end that no one could explain.

Among the few baubles and trinkets I found was a dagger. It was very obviously old, being made not of metal, but of bone. The handle was wrapped in leather, and it had a strange symbol carved into the blade. I assumed it was Native American in origin, but I was no expert. Just a bad guesser.

The next few days passed without incident, though my sleep was still plagued with horrors I’d never encountered before. I chalked it up to sleeping in a bed that wasn’t my own, as I was generally a creature of habit. I did my duty, and when it was done I left. The dumpster out front was almost overflowing as I got in my car and drove away. The house was a quarter-mile from the main road, and as I kicked up dirt on the drive to it I looked in my rearview. I did a double-take because at first, it looked like someone was standing in the window. But when I looked again, there was no one. I kept driving.

I stopped in “town” to get gas and some things for the road. I wasn’t much of a talker, but the girl at the register was cute, and pleasant enough, so I struck up a bit of conversation.

‘Rape her.’

The thought came from nowhere and startled me so much that I tripped over my words. I’d never had a thought like that before.

‘There’s nobody here but the two of you. It would be easy. Rape her.’

I couldn’t comprehend my thoughts and stopped mid-sentence. Where was this coming from? The cashier asked if I was okay, and I told her I was fine, just tired. I paid for my things, thanked her, and left. As I walked back out to my car images flashed through my mind of her, crying and screaming as she fought against me. I shook my head, trying to physically banish the images from my mind. I couldn’t believe I would even think something like that - I never had before. I didn’t know what was wrong with me.

As I drove away from the station the thoughts subsided, and I was left with a horrible feeling of guilt, though I’d done nothing. I turned on some music to distract myself, and after a few minutes, I felt like myself again. Soon I was jamming and singing along to the music, the strange thoughts completely gone from my mind. Before long I was back on the main highway, well on my way to civilization.

I was still a good ways away from the closest major city, and hours from home, but I was making good time. The road was a wide two-way with ample shoulders but no middle divider, and only one lane on each side. I couldn’t see any cars ahead of me or behind me, and only the occasional semi passing opposite me. The fields on either side of me rolled like golden waves in the wind, and I felt peaceful as I drove through this ocean. Another eighteen-wheeler approached me.

‘Drive into it.’

My eyes widened.

‘You’re going seventy. It’d be over in an instant. No pain.’

My knuckles were white on the wheel.

‘It’d be like an insect being squashed in its grill. All you have to do is pull to the left.’

I couldn’t believe what I was thinking. Like in the gas station before these thoughts were completely unprecedented. Never in my life had I had these urges.

I was ripped from my self-reflection by the sound of the truck’s horn. It blared at me because I had drifted slightly into its lane, and I swerved back into mine to avoid it. It shot by me and I imagined what would’ve happened had I not made the correction in time. Images of the front of the car caving in and the engine being shoved into the passenger seat, all while my airbag tried desperately to do its job with the front of the semi coming through the cabin immediately after it, my face meeting its headlight. I hated the thoughts but I couldn’t stop them. They came forcibly into my mind and left without a trace.

Some hours passed without incident, and I had to stop for gas. I pulled into a station off the highway, which had grown by two lanes on each side and a concrete divider, and chose a pump, going inside to pay. I grabbed myself an energy drink and something to eat; an infamous gas station tuna sandwich. As I stood in line a police officer got behind me, and I offered up my place to him to allow him to check out first. He thanked me, and as the cashier rang up his items they made some small talk about the night’s high school football game.

‘Take his gun.’

Once again my thoughts turned uncharacteristically violent.

‘You could shoot him and everyone else in here. You’d be famous in this town. The biggest thing they have to talk about is high school football, you’d be doing them a favor. It’s right there. Take his gun.’

The image of me pulling the trigger and blowing the cops’ gray matter all over the poor cashier flitted through my mind. The officers’ blood blinded the poor boy as I took aim at him next, landing two to the chest before he could sink below the counter. Then I could see myself taking the next logical step; I put the now warm muzzle to my own temple. I was just eight pounds or so away from Hell.

I was shaken from my murderous thoughts by the officer, who was asking if I was okay. He said I looked tired and scared. I told him that I was fine, that I’d just finished cleaning out the house of a dead relative and I was still emotional about it. He simply nodded and wished me the best of luck moving forward. I thanked him, even though I could still practically feel the recoil of his gun in my wrist. I could barely look the cashier in the eye as I paid for my items and left. At the pump, I was as quick as I could be, but much like the inescapable march of time, the gasoline would not be rushed. It moved as fast as it was going to move, and no faster. When it was done I put the nozzle back and got in my car and drove away. I ran my hand through my hair, and it felt singed on my temple. I nearly hit another car as I panickedly checked the mirror; it was all normal. I waved apologetically to the other driver as they honked at me, and finally pulled out of the station. I had no idea what was happening to me.

The rest of my drive home was somber. I couldn’t stop thinking about my previous thoughts, which mercifully prevented any new ones. I arrived at my apartment after dark, and as I trudged up the stairs out front one of my bags suddenly ripped and deposited its contents on the ground. I swore, and as I stooped to pick up its contents an object caught my eye - the dagger. A realization washed over me, and I hurried to pick everything up and get inside the door. I struggled and fumbled with the keys, mostly because my hands were shaking at the connection I thought I might have made.

I had actually been in school for archeology, specifically wanting to explore the indigenous peoples of the Americas. It was the main reason I had taken the dagger. The symbol on it looked like something from the Mayan civilizations, specifically of the Preclassic or even the Archaic era based on the materials the dagger was made of. The Mayans had been great believers in the supernatural and often practiced ceremonial human sacrifice. Their writing system was known to be the most advanced of the pre-colonial Americas and consisted of hieroglyphics similar to the one carved into the dagger. But in all my studying I’d never come across this particular one. It was similar to those symbols representing Ah Puch, or the nameless God L, which in and of itself was fascinating. The fact that I may have discovered a new god of the underworld was thrilling, but one of the reasons I found the early civilizations so fascinating was because I was somewhat spiritual myself. Many would call me agnostic - I felt that there had to be more than just life, that there had to be a before and after. And I believed that there was something in the cosmos that lent itself to creation, and destruction. But I didn’t believe in the traditional theistic constructs. I felt that whatever was out there was not so defined as God. At least, not one God.

I spent the rest of the night accessing what databases I could, but I couldn’t find anything that matched the symbol. It was of a nearly skeletal disembodied head, with what appeared to be long hair and sharp, gnashing teeth. It wasn’t quite like anything I’d seen before. I fell asleep at my computer in the early hours of the morning and was awoken by a phone call after the Sun had risen. It was my father, calling to see if I was okay. He said he’d called a few times while I was out at the estate, but I’d never answered. I told him it must’ve been the cell service out there because I hadn’t received a single call. He told me he’d left a message, so I checked my voicemail after we hung up, and sure enough there it was. But I’d never received a notification for it. Interesting, but not as interesting as the dagger - it could be the start of my career if it was authentic. I needed to get in touch with one of my old professors. He was well respected in the field and knew more than anyone I’d ever met about the pre-colonial cultures of South America. If anyone could help me it was him, so I drew the symbol on a piece of paper and scanned it, took a picture of the dagger itself, and drafted up an email to him. Afterward, I took a shower and changed my clothes.

When I was ready for the day the sun was high in the sky, and my professor still hadn’t emailed me back, but I wasn’t worried. He usually didn’t check his personal email until the evening. I set out to visit a friend that worked at a lab that could help me date the dagger. They had an AMS machine that I was hoping they would let me use to carbon date it.

When I arrived at the lab I told them who I was there to see, and they called him. I would’ve done it myself, but they had procedures they liked to follow. He arrived shortly after I had finished checking in and greeted me with a hug - he was a very good friend. We’d known each other since high school; when he was a junior I was a freshman, but we were the same age. He was brilliant. He probably could’ve already been in college at that point, but his parents wanted him to be able to socialize with people his own age more. It didn’t work very well - I was one of his only friends. But that’s because high schoolers are vicious, being one step above middle schoolers in civility. It didn’t help that he was smarter than them all, and he knew it. He was never condescending, he just was never quite able to dumb himself down. He understood everything so easily that it was hard for him to understand how some people couldn’t get it.

We walked through the halls making small talk until we reached his office, whereupon I produced the dagger. He hadn’t asked me why I was here, probably because he didn’t like asking questions, knowing that I would tell him eventually. As I unwrapped the dagger he became visibly intrigued. He pulled out a drawer on his desk and took out a pair of those nitrile powder-free gloves. After putting them on he took the dagger from me delicately, turning it over in his hands as he asked me questions about it. Where did I get it? Where was it from? Did I think it was authentic? I told him everything except for the strange nightmares I’d been having and the connection I thought they might have. Unlike me, he was fully atheistic. When I told him how old I thought it could be his eyes widened. To find something like this just in my grandfather’s house was incredible, he said. I agreed with him and told him that I needed it carbon-dated. Without so much as blinking, he said he’d do it - it was a bit of an abuse of power, but he didn’t really care. He was fascinated.

We talked some more after that, catching up a little bit as it had been a while. Once we’d exhausted our conversation he said that he’d best get back to work, and I thanked him for helping me. He walked me back to the front of the building and as we said our goodbyes -

‘He probably doesn’t like you.’

The thought was tamer than the ones before it, but it was still unwarranted and unusual.

‘You know he doesn’t care about you, or you two would keep in touch more. He’s not even that far away.’

I told myself that we’d both simply been too busy to hang out; him with his work and me with my school. There just wasn’t time.

‘If he cared he’d make time; he just doesn’t care.’

I began to think about why we hadn’t made any time to see each other, and couldn’t really come up with any good reasons. I drove home in sadness.

When I got home I went to my computer and checked my email. My professor had emailed me back. He first told me how good it was to hear from me, but the email quickly turned business. He wrote that the symbol was something he had only seen once before, on a tablet that had been somehow lost before it could be fully translated. It was indeed from the Preclassical era, and perhaps even earlier. It was of a nameless god, known to prey on the souls of the living. He was a feaster of the mind, but nothing else was known about him except that he had been defeated at the hands of a great hero after he foolishly gave himself mortal form. That was all they had been able to get before the tablet and its accompanying pieces were lost - though my professor had suspected they’d actually been stolen.

After absorbing this information, I wrote him back, thanking him for his insight. After I’d sent the message I put my head in my hands. It was terrifying, the parallels between what was happening to me and the very limited history of this god. I was now certain that there was a connection between my thoughts and the dagger, and I was growing less certain that my experience at my grandfather’s estate was simply a nightmare.

The next few days passed quickly and with great emotion. The thoughts were getting worse, to the point that I would get angry at people for things that never happened anywhere but in my head. I’d be sad in ways I’d never experienced before, and I started to argue with myself in my head. It felt more hollow up there than usual, and my thoughts would often echo, though sometimes the thoughts that echoed back were not the same as the originals. The nightmares were getting worse as well, and I’d barely gotten any sleep because of it. All-in-all, I felt like I was going crazy.

My phone went off. It was my friend. He apologized for getting back to me so late in the week, but he had strange news. The dagger was large enough to provide two samples, but neither of them returned any results - that is to say, the bone was older than carbon dating would allow. This would put it as existing long before any pre-colonial civilization; as existing before any real civilization at all. That seemed impossible, but he said that both samples had returned the same very implausible results. He had no explanation.

But I did. It was the bone of a god-made mortal.

‘Good job Sherlock. You figured it out.’

That wasn’t me.

‘No shit. Go into the bathroom.’

I was afraid.

‘Do it.’

I didn’t want to, but I walked into my bathroom. There on the counter sat the dagger. It couldn’t be.

‘Start the water in the tub. Draw a bath for me.’

I did as he commanded, the water being warm and soothing. But I knew what was happening. It would offer me no relief. Not the water anyway.

‘You’re smarter than your grandmother.’

I stripped down and grabbed the dagger before shutting off the water and getting in the bath. My hands trembled as I held the dagger to my wrist.

‘No. Long ways. We’re only going to do this once.’

I cried as I did as instructed. The dagger was surprisingly sharp and sliced my arm open with ease. As my lifeblood spilled into and stained the water I heard laughter echoing in my head.

‘You might be smart, but you’re weak. At least your grandfather fought back. He was a worthy feast; he put up the best fight I’ve had in a long time.’

The tears almost completely obscured my vision, and the pain in my arm was agonizing, but I took the dagger in my now bloody left hand and mirrored my cut on the other arm. As the water turned crimson the laughter continued to echo in my head and was the very last thing I heard before the darkness completely overtook me.

The month of October is a special month not just for the human realm. Creatures from all over the world wait for that special night when they get to venture into our world, when the portal opens for them.

Yes, you guessed it, they're waiting for Halloween. What a time to trick, scare, petrify, and still get a treat out of it!

They don't kill (well, some of them do, but they aren't important right now); they just play around a little. Harmless fun, nothing more.

Everyone is excited and preparing for their own Halloween fiesta! It'll be crazy!

One creature, however, isn't exactly teeming with joy.

A kitsune (fox demon) by the name of Kiyoshi is NOT looking forward to Halloween.

Too many insufferable, brainless creatures will only bring him a major headache. Kiyoshi isn't a big fan of crowds and noise and can't be bothered to deal with them.

Sadly, he'll need to. He has to work. On Halloween. While others get to go out and party, or do whatever, Kiyoshi is forced to work.

The fox puts up with a lot of insolence.

Kiyoshi isn't getting paid enough for this. Not that he gets paid at all, but it's the principle of the matter!

His job? To find a suitable head, a pumpkin to be precise.

Yes, you read that right. He needs to find a suitable head for that damned Headless Horseman. Who in their right mind manages to lose their head in the first place?

Oh, right, sorry. No head, so technically, no brain there either.

Kiyoshi sighs.

Now do you understand why he doesn't deal with the forementioned insufferable, brainless creatures? It's because he always gets dragged into these kinds of situations.

To make things worse (because they usually do get worse),

Kiyoshi won't be working alone.

He'll have a "partner." It's to get the job done as quickly as possible.

The kitsune snorts at the sheer stupidity of it.

And it's not someone he can at least (attempt to) tolerate, of course not.

His "partner" is a wolf. And it's a common fact that wolves and foxes don't exactly see eye to eye.

In fact, they avoid each other as much as they can. It's been that way for centuries.

And now they need to work together. Lovely.

The wolf doesn't look ecstatic about it either. In fact, he looks like he might wolf someone down.

No pun intended. Maybe.

"Let me get this straight. You want me and the bloody fox to find the perfect pumpkin for the Headless Idiot™? Because one isn't enough to do something so simple. " The wolf said flatly.

Kiyoshi would have to agree with that begrudgingly.

"Also," the wolf added, "Doesn't he know that wolves and foxes don't mix? We'd probably kill each other before he got his new head. "

"Yes, the boss wrote it down exactly like that. He wants the both of you to go search for his, uh, head. And he is aware of the circumstances between your races. But the more, the merrier, don't you agree? "

The ghost that "worked" for The Headless Horseman asked cheerfully, not seeing anything wrong with the arrangement.

The kitsune and the wolf give him a blank look, making it more than clear exactly what they thought about it.

The ghost wasn't finished, though.

"He also stated that, should you succeed, he'd pay you generously, plus, you won't need to attend the upcoming Halloween party, Kiyoshi." Kiyoshi's ears perked up at that.

The ghost looked then at the wolf, "And as for you, Lupin, the horseman said that he'd overlook last year's little incident." The wolf, Lupin, rolled his eyes and sighed in resignation.

"That "incident" wasn't such a big deal, but whatever. When do we start?" Lupin asked. Kiyoshi was surprised at the wolf's easy acceptance.

"You start tomorrow evening. You have ten days to find him a head or else he'd send the hunters after you."

The ghost warned them, looking serious.

For the first time, Kiyoshi spoke up.

"Send the hunters after us, because he was incompetent to keep his own head attached to his shoulders. I'm amazed, as if we're something to sneeze at when it comes to strength. We'd crush them. " The kitsune growled, his eyes turning into slits.

The ghost squeaked nervously.

"Do-don't shoot the messenger, Kiyoshi! I'm just saying! "

"Seriously, fox, calm down. We'd do our job and be done with the headless dunce. " Lupin tried to reason with Kiyoshi, who turned his head to glare at the wolf instead.

"Don't tell me what to do, dog." Kiyoshi sneered at Lupin.

"How creative of you, but you seem to forget we're both canines."

Kiyoshi shrugged.

"Technicalities. Wolves are far less sophisticated than foxes."

"Says who?"

"Does it matter? The point still stands; there's no use in arguing. "

"Why you..."

The ghost decided it was best to leave because his job was already done. He left the two of them to their bickering.

This is why the ghost was grateful to be already dead. He can't exactly die twice.

***

Kiyoshi and Lupin managed to agree to meet up in the same spot where they'd met with the ghost, which was a miracle on its own. From there, they'd decide where to begin this pumpkin chase.

Kiyoshi could tell this was going to be exhausting. He didn't need to be a seer to be able to deduce that.

At least they could agree on how ridiculous this whole situation is.

"See you tomorrow evening, partner. Don't be late! " Lupin waved at the kitsune before turning to walk away.

"Baka inu..." Kiyoshi mumbled under his breath.

"Did you say something?"

"I said that the same goes for you. Don't squander any more of my time than it already was. " Kiyoshi said before walking away.

"I don't howl all the time! It shows how much you know about us, you fiend! " Lupin yelled after the kitsune, his temper flaring. Kiyoshi didn't react to it, continuing on his way.

This is certainly going to be interesting.

***

The next evening arrived way too soon for Kiyoshi and Lupin. Both of them dreaded the journey that awaited them.

They met at the place they agreed on last night, arriving on time, so Kiyoshi couldn't complain that his time was "wasted." The kitsune sulked, and the wolf rejoiced.

It's not even ten minutes since they met up and went on their merry way when our two protagonists start antagonizing each other.

First, it started with Lupin's proposal.

"We should post our progress on Monstagram!"

"Are you out of your mind? What would your pack say if they knew we were on a job together? "

Lupin scratched his head, laughing nervously, and said,

"Actually, they do know. It appears that the horseman notified them beforehand. "

Kiyoshi grinned like the fox he was.

"Oh, and? Were you kicked out of the pack?"

Lupin sighed. This fox menace is so condescending that he regrets even trying to be civil.

"I'm sorry to burst your bubble, but no, I wasn't kicked out. They told me to grin and bear it and stay out of trouble. "

"Some pack you've got there." Kiyoshi commented off-handedly.

Lupin grinned, his fangs gleaming in the moonlight following them.

"They really are! I was sceptical about how they'd react, but they surprised me in a good way! We stick together no matter what! What about your pack, huh, Kiyoshi? "

"Don't use my name so casually, baka inu, and I don't live in a pack. We tend to be solitary creatures, relying only on ourselves. " Kiyoshi answered, his ten tails swaying as he walked.

Lupin noticed the white tails and was impressed by their number. He was aware that the number of tails represented the kitune's level of power.

Or something like that, he wasn't sure. He doubted Kiyoshi would answer him even if he asked nicely.

"Doesn't it get lonely?" Lupin wondered, not aware he was saying it aloud.

"Not really, it's how things are done in our kind. As you probably noticed, I'm not exactly a fan of crowds or other creatures. " Kiyoshi said, enjoying the night breeze on his face.

The kitsune loved the night the most. Pity he can't spend it in his territory in peace and quiet.

"I've noticed you're not exactly friendly, but I've assumed you're like that because I'm a wolf." Lupin said bluntly.

Kiyoshi smiled wryly. He had to give it to the wolf because he was either brave or stupid to talk to him like that, though what he said wasn't a lie.

And Kiyoshi gave him an opening himself, so if anyone's to blame, it's him.

"Well, now you know that I'm like that with everyone. There are very few beings in our world that I can tolerate." Kiyoshi admitted it without difficulty, seeing no problem with it.

It was the truth, after all. If you asked anyone, they'd tell you something similar.

It wasn't from a lack of trying, because the kitsune did try, in his own way, to fit in with the rest. He later realized that he didn't have much in common with the other creatures.

Lupin was silent, mulling that information over. The kitsune was unusual, but he didn't seem like he was a ruthless and unkind bastard 24/7.

Lupin might be a dog, a hound, whatever name there is for his kind, but he's perceptive. His senses need to be keen, and so does his mind.

Wolves might not get on with foxes, but it wasn't like there was an outright war between them, unless they trespassed on each other's territory or killed one of their own.

Otherwise, they tend to stay out of each other's way.

It's a silent agreement of sorts. But now, they can't exactly do that, can't they?

A wolf and a fox need to cooperate. Their ancestors must be rolling in laughter or despair.

"You've gone unusually quiet, wolf. Have I shocked you into silence? Not that I mind, but it seems you're one of those who loves the sound of their own voice. "

Speaking of the devil...

Lupin's thoughts were broken by Kiyoshi's voice, bringing him back to earth.

"I'm fine. I was just thinking. " Lupin waved the kitsune off.

"I didn't ask if you were fine or not. I've just noticed the lack of your barking. And please, don't overuse that mass you call a brain; you might need it later on. "

Lupin glared at Kiyoshi, who smirked at him.

"Do you always have to be an overbearing bastard?" Lupin was done with Kiyoshi's nonsense.

"It's my default personality. Haven't we established that a few minutes ago? Seriously, leave the thinking to those who actually know how. "

"Teme." Lupin grumbled under his breath.

"What did you just say?"

"Why, the great Kitsune is hard of hearing? That's not good. Weren't you supposed to be a more "sophisticated" species than me? " Lupin replied smugly, catching the fox off guard.

If looks could kill, Lupin would've turned to ash right there and then. He was afraid of the stupid fox. He could hold his own in a fight. He just didn't see the point in fighting.

"And I've called you "teme." You call me "baka inu," so it's only fair I return the favor. "

Lupin replied cooly, putting his hands behind his head and walking ahead of the stunned fox.

Kiyoshi stared after the wolf, shocked that he had gotten one-upped by him.

***

They walked through the forest in silence, looking for the best place to spend the night and get away from the other creatures that lived there.

They finally found such a place, venturing further into the forest.

They will rest here for the night and continue on their way tomorrow.

The nights were colder, given that it's autumn, but both Lupin and Kiyoshi had fur to keep them warm.

They'd probably argue which one's thicker and warmer, but we don't want to jinx it. Let there be more peace.

Lupin wasn't tired, so he decided to lie down and just stare at the starry sky above.

Putting his arms (or paws) behind his head, he directed his gaze at the beautiful, glittering night sky, his mind blank and somewhere far away.

Lupin liked relaxing like this at night, after a hard day (yes, even wolves have those), though usually he'd go find a higher place for his regular stargazing ritual. The view was much better.

But Lupin wasn't by himself now, and he doubted his companion would appreciate him wandering off in the middle of the night.

The quiet fell upon the dark forest, only crickets filling the silence with their night melody.

Lupin was just about to completely empty his mind and focus on the stars when Kiyoshi broke his concentration again.

"You know Japanese."

It wasn't posed as a question. This foxy guy rarely asked them.

"My parents came from the Japanese wolf packs." Lupin gave a concise and short explanation.

"Hm, I see." Kiyoshi said, before they both grew silent. That was how they spent the rest of the night, before finally falling asleep.

***

They were on the move at dawn, not risking a potential ambush or anything that might endanger them. They tried to avoid fights with other creatures as much as they could.

That doesn't mean they would miss an opportunity to bicker with one another.

Lupin: "We should start with Midvar. They always have the most pumpkins! "

Kiyoshi: "Midvar is a small town, and the carvings on those pumpkins are atrocious. I don't think His Headless Higness would appreciate his mouth looking like an explosion. "

Lupin: "I didn't know you were such an expert on pumpkin carving fashion!"

Kiyoshi: "I'm not, but I have eyes and some taste, unlike you."

Lupin: "Great, here we go. What do you suggest then, Pumpkin and Carvingana? "

Kiyoshi: "What a stupid name. You should really work on that. I suggest we go straight to Ashgin. It's a bigger village, and they do know their way around a pumpkin. They look ferocious, just like the headless idiot wants to appear to those that are dumb enough to believe in it. "

Lupin: "While that might be true, I think those pumpkins look way too heavy to serve as a head. Speaking of which, that ghost never told us exactly how we'd know that we'd found a perfect pumpkin. "

Kiyoshi stopped what he was about to say, realizing that Lupin was right. How were they supposed to know that the pumpkin they found was the perfect one?

"Did that ghost give us some form of contact?" Kiyoshi wondered, trying to recall anything else that the ghost might've told them.

"No, he hasn't. I follow him on Monstagram, but there's no signal here. " Lupin waved his phone for emphasis.

"So basically, we're left to our own devices when it comes to choosing a damn pumpkin."

Kiyoshi's dry tone made Lupin want to laugh, but he held himself back.

The wolf didn't think the kitsune would take it too kindly.

Instead, Lupin settled with just, "It seems that way."

Kiyoshi let out a deep sigh.

Thank the gods for his immortality, otherwise he might've been worried about his blood pressure.

Lupin saw the kitsune's expression and added, "Uh, how about this? When we get to the first village, I'll try to contact the ghost. I follow him on Monster, so it won't be a problem. "

Kiyoshi massaged his temples before nodding in agreement.

That was the best option they had.

***

Walking through the forest, our protagonists come across a big snake.

It was Serpentia, the unofficial queen of the forest. She was napping and just chilling on a branch, like any snake.

When she sensed someone approaching, she opened her eyes, hissing when she saw Kiyoshi and Lupin.

"Greetingsss, fellow demonsss. What bringsss you to my territory?" Serpentia observed them calmly.

"We're just passing through. We're on our way to Ashgin. " Kiyoshi replied.

"I thought we were going to Midvar." Lupin said, glaring holes into the fox.

"That's what YOU thought. I don't recall having such stupid thoughts. " Kiyoshi said. Lupin gritted his teeth in agitation.

"Well, I'd definitely remember where we were going, and Ashgin wasn't it!"

"It wasn't Midvar either, and now it is Ashgin, because I said so. End of discussion. "

Lupin gaped at Kiyoshi in disbelief.

He must've done something pretty awful in his past life if he was forced to interact with an irritating and bossy demon like Kiyoshi.

"Who made you the boss?" Lupin asked Kiyoshi, who was leaning against the tree where Serpentia watched the spectacle.

"No one, I'm just better at...guiding, if you will. If you don't like it, you can always leave. I won't stop you. "

Kiyoshi picked at his claws in boredom.

"Like hell I'll leave! I'm entrusted with this job too, so I have every right to be here, you damn coyote with too many tails! " Lupin exploded, done with Kiyoshi's belittlement.

Serpentia watched in amusement as two demons went back and forth, hissing with laughter, which earned her a glare from the kitsune.

It was like watching children fight.

"You DARE compare me to those lower beings, you dog?! This is an insult! " Kiyoshi growled at the wolf and got a growl in return.

Serpentia decided it was best to meddle, lest they destroy her beautiful forest. There would be hell to pay if they did.

"Gentlemen, pleassse," the snake said, "How about a friendly competition to help you decide?"

Both demons turned to the snake before nodding at her to continue.

"It'sss sssimple, really. The winner will be the one who bringsss me the largessst meal they can catch. It wouldn't be hard for either of you. You both do hunt for food, after all. You have, let'sss sssay, two hoursss. " Serpentia explained the rules to Kiyoshi and Lupin.

"Are you mocking me, you slimy reptile? You want me to bring you food? How about I turn you into snake powder instead? Then you wouldn't have to worry about food! " Kiyoshi threatened the snake as he conjured a blue fireball in his palm.

Lupin slapped his palm across his face in frustration and decided to step in before things escalated.

Sneaking behind Kiyoshi, Lupin karate-chopped him, catching the kitsune before he fell to the ground.

Throwing Kiyoshi over his shoulder, Lupin turned to the angry snake.

"I'm sorry about this, Serpentia. He can be hot-headed sometimes. I'll do my best to keep him under control while we're here. " The wolf apologized, bowing his head in respect.

Serpentia calmed down a little, slithering down from the tree. She slithered closer to where Lupin was standing.

"At leassst sssomeone hasss mannersss around here. Very well, I'll accept your apology, though you did nothing wrong, wolf. Good luck with dealing with the fox. You have my sssympathy. " Serpentia truly felt sorry for the wolf demon.

No wonder the rest of the demon realm avoided the grumpy fox.

Lupin scratched his head, grinning at the snake.

"Thanks, we were kind of pushed into this, uh, temporary partnership, so..."

Lupin waved at Serpentia before walking off in the direction they were going before encountering Serpentia, carrying an unconscious kitsune over his shoulder.

"Good luck, wolf demon." The snake knew Lupin heard her because he laughed loudly at that.

Yeah, he'd need all the luck he could get. Or a divine intervention, whichever came first.

***

Kiyoshi woke up later in the evening, drowsy from sleep and disoriented. Looking around, he saw they were still in the forest.

"You know, for a demon whose name means quiet, purity, and other similar words, you're quite the opposite."

Kiyoshi turned to see Lupin lying on the ground, watching the stars.

"What happened?" Ignoring the jab, Kiyoshi asked.

Lupin, not turning his head from the sky, answered.

"You were about to set fire to the forest by threatening Serpentia, so in order to avoid that, I knocked you out. Simple as that. "

Kiyoshi was quiet.

"You knocked me out?"

"Yup." Lupin popped the "p."

The wolf didn't get a chance to continue to stargaze, because suddenly a big, white tail swung at him.

"Oi!" Lupin yelled at the kitsune, whose tails coiled behind him like tentacles.

"What? I thought I'd return the favor. I can't guarantee you'd wake up. Now be a good puppy and stay still. " Kiyoshi swung all ten tails at Lupin, who was fast enough to dodge them.

"You were going to burn the whole forest down! What was I supposed to do!?" Lupin asked, as he avoided a near hit.

"You were supposed to stay out of it, that's what! That snake had it coming! " Kiyoshi replied angrily, his tails moving in all directions.

"Your flames are the strongest ones in the whole demon realm. They would've spread across the whole forest; that's how strong they are! You know that better than I do! "

Lupin was faster than the kitsune anticipated, moving between his tails with agility. Kiyoshi had to give credit where it's due.

Not that he'd ever tell the stupid wolf that. He'd just gloat, waggling his tail in satisfaction.

"So you do admit to me being stronger than you? It's a shame I didn't record it. " That's what Kiyoshi said instead. He stopped trying to hit the wolf.

Lupin sat as far away as he could from Kiyoshi, not trusting the kitsune wouldn't try to hit him.

"I've never said that!"

"You implied it. There's no shame in it. I'm older than you and wiser. It can't be helped. Perhaps you'll get stronger in a few centuries. " Kiyoshi mocked the wolf, knowing he wasn't that much older, but used it to his advantage.

"You nearly turned us all into smithereens, and you call yourself wise? You're more petty than wise. Oh, and also, who ended up being knocked out by whom exactly? " Lupin grinned wolfishly at the glowering kitsune.

That night, Lupin needed to sleep on the other side of the forest, an angry kitsune chasing him off.

***

The following morning, they finally left the forest (much to the relief of other inhabitants, including a certain snake queen).

They were walking in silence, with Lupin keeping a safe distance from Kiyoshi. The kitsune may not appear as murderous as last night, but it's better to be safe than sorry.

Besides, those tails look heavy and like they could break a bone or two. Lupin didn't want to risk an injury.

And so the trip continues, leading the two demons to the roads leading to Midvar and Ashgin.

Kiyoshi expected another quarrel about which village they'd visit first, but he was shocked when Lupin himself turned right, taking a road leading to Ashgin without a single word.

Kiyoshi would've raised an eyebrow if he had them (he still looks like a regular fox) at this strange turn of events.

Wasn't the wolf complaining about this yesterday and the day before that? What made him change his mind?

Kiyoshi isn't going to complain.

He did insist (rather forcefully) that they go to Ashgin first, but he was curious.

Also, he noticed the silent treatment the wolf gave him.

Not that he was bothered by it.

He just got bored easily, and the wolf was a great source of entertainment when he wasn't a smartass.

Pot-kettle vibes, anyone?

Kiyoshi needed to get to the bottom of this. The wolf doesn't get to be the most mature of the two of them.

Really, Kiyoshi? Really?

Having caught up to Lupin, Kiyoshi walked a little closer to the wolf, giving him sideways glances from time to time.

It went on like that for five minutes.

Lupin sighed deeply, having had enough of the kitsune's not so subtle stares. It was unusual for Kiyoshi to not say anything outright. He always had something to say.

"If you want to say something, just get it over with." Lupin said, looking straight ahead of him.

"You didn't whine about not going to Midvar first. What made you change your mind?" Kiyoshi asked, not one to beat around a bush.

For someone so sly and cunning, Kiyoshi could be pretty straightforward.

"Not worth the risk of destroying parts of the realm, and we'd just be wasting time arguing about it. And you hate wasting your time, as you said before. " Lupin answered truthfully.

"Hm." That was all Kiyoshi said (hmmed) for now.

They had a few more miles until they reached Ashgin, so they spent the first three hours traveling in complete silence.

Surprisingly, in the third hour, it was Kiyoshi who broke the silence. He didn't know why, but the silence unnerved him.

"You know, you would've been fine. My flames wouldn't actually harm you or the serpent. "

"No, just leave me without fur, at best." Lupin said neutrally.

"I do know how to control them."

"Your temper is another story, though. For someone who looks so grumpy, you sure know how to be aggressive and just plain childish. "

Well, ouch, Lupin. You're being especially direct today.

"Thanks, captain obvious. Why do you think other demons avoid me?" Kiyoshi asked, actually impressed that the wolf spoke that way to him.

The wolf was usually making an effort to be somewhat civil.

Apparently, even he had a limit.

How shocking, right?

Kiyoshi can't deny that he can be extremely petty for no reason.

He never claimed to be perfect.

No, of course not. He's the epitome of modesty.

"Well, now I understand it much better. But, I'm not like other demons; you can't scare me. You might be stronger, but we never got to really test that theory. "

Lupin gave Kiyoshi a side glance before turning his head away.

"Are you challenging me, puppy?" Kiyoshi asked, his voice betraying no particular emotion.

"First I'm a dog, now I'm a puppy. You're giving me a cute nickname because you actually do tolerate me, right? " The wolf grinned smugly.

If anything irritated Kiyoshi, it was the implication that he respected someone other than himself.

"Just know that you're probably in third place on my list of things that annoy the hell out of me."

That was as close as Kiyoshi would get to admitting that Lupin wasn't the worst of them all.

"I imagine you have quite a long list."

"You have no idea. I can explain why your position isn't that bad. You should be thankful, puppy. "

"Aren't I lucky?" Lupin teased the kitsune.

"Shut up and listen."

***

"So, a witch wanted to chop you up for her potion?" Lupin was laughing uncontrollably; the look of discomfort on Kiyoshi's face was priceless.

Kiyoshi would deny he pouted a little.

He didn't appreciate the wolf's mockery of his (mis)adventures with other members of their community.

"You break my heart, wolf. I thought you said you sympathize with me. " Kiyoshi gave Lupin a fake-hurt look.

"You don't have a heart, kitsune. If you did, you'd accept that siren's invitation for some fun. God knows you need it. " Lupin teased Kiyoshi, watching the fox roll his eyes.

"She'd have eaten me alive later." Kiyoshi said.

"Yes, and you're a helpless kit, unable to defend yourself."

"Very funny, pup. Such a comedian of the demon realm you are. " Kiyoshi replied sarcastically.

"Thanks, I'm aware of that! Between the two of us, I might be the funniest. " Lupin puffed his chest in pride.

"You mean, more prone to doing stupid things that get you laughed at." Kiyoshi snorted.

Lupin shrugged.

"Maybe, but my point still stands."

Kiyoshi rolled his eyes but conceded to the wolf.

They fell silent after that. They were half an hour away from Ashgin, their first destination where they'd (hopefully) find the potential head for The Headless Horseman.

"I've got a question. It might be a bit stupid, loathe as I am to admit it. " Kiyoshi said, turning his head to Lupin.

"Ask away."

"Are you a werewolf or just a regular wolf demon?"

Lupin was surprised by the genuine question. He expected something more complex.

"No, I'm not a werewolf. They transform from human to wolf and back again, while we stay wolves. We can walk on two legs as humans, and that's where our similarities end, if they can be called that. "

Lupin gave a simple explanation, watching as Kiyoshi processed the information.

"Though we do "howl at the moon" sometimes, as you oh so poetically described us when we first met." Lupin teased the kitsune.

"I wasn't wrong about it, since you just said that you do, in fact, howl."

"Yeah, yeah, you're right." Lupin nodded along, enjoying the temporary truce.

It was something at least. They'd probably find something to bicker about soon enough.

***

As Lupin and Kiyoshi neared Ashgin, the wolf stopped walking for a moment, deep in thought.

Kiyoshi noticed the lack of the wolf's presence by his side, so he turned around to see Lupin in a thinking pose.

"Whatever you're thinking so intensely about, let me tell you that it's stupid and not worth our time."

"You don't even know what I'm thinking about!" Lupin complained.

"I don't need to."

"How are we going to enter the village?"

"By foot, obviously." Kiyoshi was confused by such a question.

"No, I didn't mean it like that! People can see me since I'm your everyday wolf, just the talkative one-"

"Way too talkative. Keep it to yourself if you don't want an angry mob after you."

Lupin gave the kitsune an annoyed look.

"As I was saying before, people can see me and they can't see you. They can't, can they? " Lupin asked, to which Kiyoshi nodded.

"Well, don't you think it'd look strange if a wolf walked around, going from one house to another in search of pumpkins? " Lupin said, not really wanting to scare anyone before Halloween.

"Yes, I understand your concerns. Luckily, I have a simple solution." Kiyoshi said, his voice full of pride.

"You do?"

"Of course. I'll transform into a random traveler just passing by, and you can be my dog. "

"Why do I get the feeling that you somehow anticipated this happening?"

"Well, it did cross my mind..." Kiyoshi trailed off, not fooling Lupin at all.

"And, correct me if I'm wrong, but I have a feeling you also couldn't wait to have an excuse to call me a dog, not that you had any problems before." Lupin gave Kiyoshi a deadpan look.

"You're not wrong."

Lupin resigned himself to his (temporary) fate of being Kiyoshi's "pet." He shudders at the mere thought of it.

"Okay, let's do it." Lupin agreed to it, much to the kitsune's surprise.

"Very well. I'm amazed—you didn't whine and complain even once. "

"That's because there's no other choice." Lupin said.

Kiyoshi nodded in agreement.

The kitsune closed his eyes, concentrating on his transformation. He formed an image of his "human self" and, suddenly, there was a puff of pink smoke.

There Kiyoshi stood, dressed as a random traveler.

Lupin whistled, impressed by it.

"Nice, you look more approachable than usual. You should stay in that form. You might get other demons to like you. " Lupin laughed heartily, no malice in his words.

A white tail swatted the wolf over his head, not too hard though.

"Silence, dog. Follow your master. "

"Woof." That was all Lupin said before they entered the village.

Ashgin was among the bigger villages in size only. The rest of it left much to be desired.

The villagers were earning what little money they could by selling produce on the local.

As Kiyoshi and Lupin started wandering around the village, the first thing they noticed was the lack of people on the street.

The second thing they noticed was the lack of carved pumpkins in front of the houses.

"What's going on here?" Lupin asked quietly.

"I've no idea. This has never happened before, at least not in this village. " Kiyoshi replied, just as baffled as Lupin.

"I'll tell you what happened. A sudden mouse plague occurred. The mice ate all of the pumpkins! " A new voice joined the conversation.

A black crow was watching them, perched on a branch comfortably.

"Of course you'd know first, Raven. When haven't you stuck your beak where you shouldn't have? " Kiyoshi wasn't surprised to see the crow at all.

"Fun as always, Kiyoshi! What are you doing here with a wolf demon of all demons? " Raven asked the kitsune.

"None of your business." The kitsune replied impatiently.

"Well, I don't really care, but whatever it is, you won't find it here." The crow said, stating the obvious.

Kiyoshi was about to give the gleeful crow a piece of his mind when Lupin decided to break up the potential fight.

"So, uhm, Raven, was it? Do you know if something similar happened in other villages? " Lupin asked, knowing they needed any information that they could get.

Raven moved its gaze from the agitated kitsune to the wolf.

"I don't think it has, but don't take my word for it. It'd be best to try with Sondar next. " The crow advised Lupin, ignoring a grumbling Kiyoshi.

"Sondar is two days away from here. Will we be able to make it? " Lupin wondered aloud.

"If we go now, we will. We won't make too many stops along the way, and we'll be in Sondar in a day and a half. " Kiyoshi answered.

"You're right, we should get going as soon as possible. We don't have time to contact the ghost either. We'll do it once we actually have something concrete. " Lupin agreed with Kiyoshi, ready to leave the village.

Lupin turned to the crow, and bowed slightly.

"Thanks for the info."

"A polite wolf demon, that's a rarity. But you're welcome all the same. You should learn from your friend here, Kiyoshi. Bye-bye! " The crow flew off just in time to avoid being roasted by a well-aimed fireball.

"Can you try being less violent for once?" Lupin asked, feeling tired already.

"You're too nice. And we could've used some meat. " Kiyoshi replied before moving towards the exit.

"Did you just give me a compliment?" Lupin was shocked.

"Of course not, you're imagining things."

***

Lupin and Kiyoshi were half way to Sondar when the weather turned stormy. Rain fell heavily, obscuring everything in sight.

Two demons didn't have any problems with it, since they were, well, demons. They could handle a downpour, right?

Wrong. The biggest issue wasn't the rain itself. It was the area around Sondar.

There was a reason why there were no paranormal activities around Sondar. There was a protective barrier in place, preventing demons or other creatures from getting near.

If they tried, they'd be...

"Godamnit! Pesky hunters! " Kiyoshi growled, as he was electrocuted by the barrier.

"Uh, what happened?" Lupin asked.

"I tried teleporting, since it would be a faster way to travel in this weather, but it turns out we can't enter Sondar because the hunters had someone place a barrier. So Sondar is a big no-no. "

"Oh. We have five or six days left, I think. We have time! " Lupin tried to be optimistic.

***

The rain fell persistently for another day and a half.

They would need to go on foot until they were out of the barrier's range.

But they couldn't go on foot yet.

Lupin found a cave while Kiyoshi was trying to teleport to Sondar. It was on a mountain overlooking Sondar, so they were safe from the rain.

Here's where Kiyoshi's flames come in handy. They could see well, but it was strange to just sit and wait in the dark.

"What a crappy turn of events."

Kiyoshi looked at Lupin, who was the one swearing this time.

If the wolf says something is crappy, then you best believe it's true.

"I couldn't agree more. If it weren't for the rain and the stupid barrier, we could've been done by now. " Kiyoshi sighed, frustrated by this whole situation.

"I hope it'll stop by tomorrow. We've lost, what, two days because of it? " Lupin asked while he watched the azure flames dance.

"Yes. If the rain stops tomorrow, we'll find a place free of the protective magic and teleport to Midvar. It's our best bet. "

Lupin wanted to comment on how they should've just gone to Midvar first instead, but they'd get into an argument and neither was in the mood for it.

"Look at it this way; if we don't find pumpkins in Midvar, we'll take our frustration out on those hunters the horseman would send after us."

The kitsune smirked maliciously.

"You know, that doesn't sound bad. I might even go for the headless bastard himself. "

***

By some miracle, the rain stopped the next morning, allowing Lupin and Kiyoshi to look for the closest barrier-free spot to teleport to Midvar.

Lupin was clueless about one thing.

"Why didn't we just teleport from the start?"

Because of the author, Lupin. Moving forward!

They found a demon-friendly place and teleported to Midvar right away.

The situation was completely different here. There were children laughing and running around, people mingling and, more importantly...

There were pumpkins, lots of them!

"We definitely should've come here first." Kiyoshi admitted his mistake.

Lupin tried not to be a brat about it, but he just couldn't help it this time.

"I told you so."

"Who's petty now?" Kiyoshi mocked the wolf in return, but there was no heat in his words.

"Hey, I have every-hold on a minute, I'll be right back!" The wolf ran off somewhere, leaving a confused kitune behind.

Five minutes later, Lupin returned, a blank look on his face.

"What was that about?" Kiyoshi asked.

"Okay, so remember when I said that I'd contact the ghost on Monstagram? I did just that, and you know what he said? "

"Enlighten me."

"He said we'd recognize the right pumpkin when we saw it! Can you believe that? It's so fricking stupid, like in those romance novels, with love at first sight and finding your "soulmate" right away! So annoying! "

Kiyoshi gave Lupin a strange look.

"You read romance novels?""You read romance novels?"

Lupin slapped his forehead.

"That's not the point here! The point is that he expects us to just magically know which pumpkin to choose! How are we supposed to do that? "

"I guess we'll need the power of intuition. Or the power of love, if you prefer. " Kiyoshi looked like he wanted to die of laughter.

"Wow, you just cracked a joke. Miracles do happen. "

"Shut up, puppy. We'll get the pumpkin tonight, to avoid curious humans. "

***

"Let's pick the ugliest one." Lupin told Kiyoshi quietly.

"Is there a difference?"

Kiyoshi and Lupin are picking out the pumpkin. The first few they saw weren't up to their standards (pumpkin police, everyone!).

"He'd probably prefer the ugliest one, you know, to look badass. So let's pick the biggest and the ugliest one we can find. " Lupin said this as he examined a random pumpkin.

"You think he'd like a big head?" Kiyoshi was starting to have some fun with this.

"Of course he'd like a big head. He has to compensate for something, doesn't he? "

"Oho, are you sure you're not secretly a fox? You sure are full of mischief under that "nice guy" guise. " Kiyoshi grinned.

"I've spent a week with you. I guess you gave me fox cooties." Lupin grinned. He leaned down to pick up a pumpkin that was just big enough and carved atrociously enough to be passed off as "perfect."

"What do you think?" Lupin showed the pumpkin to the kitsune.

"Oh what the hell, let's take it." Kiyoshi said.

"Now there's an idea!" Lupin gave the thumbs up to Kiyoshi.

"Well, well, well, what a peculiar sight. A dog and a fox picking pumpkins together? Who would've thought? "

A smooth voice was heard from behind them. They turned around to see a vampire watching them, a smirk on his aristocratic features.

"We had a job to finish. We'll be taking our leave. " Kiyoshi replied coolly.

"Oh, have you now? I'm curious, though. What could you possibly have to do that required the presence of a lowly mutt?"

The vampire's haughty tone was grating on the kitsune's nerves.

And on the wolf's, too, if low growls coming from Kiyoshi's right are any indication.

"We are making pumpkin pie together. Can we go now? " Kiyoshi snarked.

"Oh, you may leave, kitsune, but without the mutt. Last year, he injured one of my men. He needs to be punished. " The vampire's eyes glowed red in the dark.

"He deserved it! He was picking on a child! " Lupin's growls grew louder.

"So what? We feed on humans, big and small. Now, take your punishment! " The vampire lunged at Lupin.

Lupin was getting ready for a fight when there were flames engulfing the vampire.

"If anyone's going to get punished, it's you. The wolf did nothing wrong. Now scram! " Kiyoshi snarled at the vampire.

"Let's go," Kiyoshi said to Lupin.

They left Midvar without another incident.

"Thanks, you didn't have to interfere, but you did."

"Don't thank me, wolf. You owe me a spar, though. "

"I'm game!" Lupin said.

***

"Ah, great choice, you two- "

"Shut up and give us the money, horseman."

Author: Emilija Veljković

Down by the muddy riverbank on a sunny afternoon, Lizzy sat with her back against the trunk of her favourite tree and with her favourite book in her hands. The sound of the running water next to her soothed her nerves, and the words written across the pages she was reading had all of her attention. Lizzy had always been like that, she always appreciated the little things. Like the chirping of the birds jumping from one tree to another, the feeling of the soft grass between her fingers, the rustling of tree leaves, or even the sound of turning a page in a book she was lost in. Lizzy was a passionate, positive, and sensitive girl who always loved living life to the fullest. She romanticised everything, and always had a way of making something terrible seem perfect.

Every person in Lizzy's small town knew who she was, they all loved her. But no one knew where she always ran to when she felt life was too overwhelming and just wanted to be alone with a book. No one but Lucas.

"What are you doing?"

Lizzy jumped at the sound. She was too lost in her book that she forgot about the real world around her. She looked up and saw Lucas sitting down next to her. A smile drew itself across her face at the sight of her best friend. "I'm reading, obviously."

"You're always reading. I miss you."

"You just saw me yesterday, idiot." She said but her stomach fluttered with butterflies.

"Reading is the only place I can let go, you know that."

"Yeah, escape from reality and live all those different lives, you told me that before." Lucas said. "But don’t you get tired of reading that book over and over again?"

"I love that book. It's always good to live in a world where you know there's a happy ending."

Lucas raised his eyes to look at her. He took her in, her soft skin and the dimple in her cheek, her blue eyes that glimmered in the sunlight, the golden strands of hair that fell down her face and the warm smile she had as she pushed them back and looked at Lucas.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Lizzy felt the same butterflies again. She loved how Lucas always stared at her. She loved to feel his gaze on her when she was not looking and imagine all the things he could be thinking of. She imagined he was thinking she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever known. She imagined he thought he'd do anything to make her happy. And she imagined he was picturing the two of them together, just like she always did herself.

"I just love seeing you happy. If reading the same book over and over makes you happier than living in the real world, then please, keep reading it." Lucas said. Lizzy noticed just a hint of a sad smile on his face she didn’t see a lot. Lucas was always happy, he always wanted her to do something or go somewhere instead of just sitting there reading. He was enthusiastic about life and knew how to put a smile on someone's face in the worst times possible. So that sad smile he had, Lizzy wasn’t comfortable with. When Lucas noticed her narrowing her eyes at him, he stood up in one quick motion and clapped his hands together. "But for now, you need to get up and come with me."

"Where are we going?"

He shrugged. "I don’t know. Anywhere. Everywhere. Come on, everyone's asking about you."

Lizzy closed her book and got up. "Why would everyone ask about me, Lucas? Are you just trying to get me out of here?"

"No, I'm serious. People love hanging out with you, Liz." He took a step closer to her. His eyes gazed down on her. "Especially me."

Lizzy felt her heart skip a beat. She gazed into his eyes and never wanted to look away. In that moment, she didn’t care about anything else in the entire world. In that moment, it didn’t matter that Lucas just got out of a serious relationship. It didn’t matter that they were best friends practically their whole lives. In that moment, Lizzy didn’t care about her books or the happy endings she was never going to have. She only cared about Lucas. She wanted to freeze that moment when he locked his eyes with hers and showed what she could only describe as love. Lizzy wanted to stay in that moment forever and never let the reality of their world break them apart.

But nothing that felt so good ever lasted. Lucas broke their eye contact first. He looked down, then up, then behind him at the river, he looked everywhere but at her. Lizzy could see the glistening of his eyes. And his lips turned up at one side. She wanted to ask him why they couldn’t be together if he felt that much about her. But she didn’t dare let the question past her lips.

Lizzy slowly lifted her hand to touch his, he turned to face her again, she dropped her hand beside her. "Come on, let's go."

He lead the way through the trees and back onto the road. Outside the shadows of the trees above her, Lizzy could feel the sun heat warm up her body. She had to scrunch her eyes to avoid the sunlight hurting them. She'd been sitting by the river for hours that she got used to the green colours of the grass and the light blue of the river water. She had to accustom her eyes to the pale yellow outside on the streets.

Lizzy and Lucas walked side by side, street after street, shop after shop. Lizzy never liked their small town. Whenever she walked down those dusty streets, surrounded from both sides by different kinds of shops, and feeling the always hot air on her face, she felt suffocated. She felt like she could never leave, like every turn she will take, will always lead her to the same spot again. The only thing that made it all better, was having Lucas by her side.

They opened the door to the florist's shop, Mrs. Jackson. She was an elderly woman who walked on crutches. She smiled when she heard the ringing of the door chimes and looked at them. Her smile only made the wrinkles in her face more defined. She walked over to Lizzy and Lucas using her crutches for support.

"Oh, I wasn’t expecting you two today." She said in her high-pitched, old woman voice then she narrowed her eyes at them. "Did you skip school?"

"No, Mrs. Jackson, it's Saturday, we don’t have school today." Lizzy laughed and looked at Lucas but he wasn’t giving any reaction. "Lucas is going to buy me flowers. Right, Lucas?"

He snapped out of his trance and gave her his most charming smile. "Of course, anything for you, love."

Mrs. Jackson grinned, making her wrinkles even deeper. They walked further into the shop but everywhere Lizzy looked, there were wilting flowers. She looked at Mrs. Jackson, "Mrs. Jackson, have you been okay? Was there no one taking care of these flowers?"

The old florist frowned. She looked around her small shop. "Uh… I'm not sure…" she stuttered with confusion. "Maybe I wasn’t feeling well,"

"Mrs. Jackson, it's okay." Lucas said and supported her when she started to fall back. "It's okay, you should rest."

Lucas walked outside with a confused Lizzy. The world outside the shop seems to be even dustier and yellowish than it was before they entered the flower shop. "How come the weather is only getting worse when it's almost evening?"

Lucas stopped and looked up at the sky, covering his eyes with his hand. "I don’t know. We always get these very dusty days, Liz, don’t worry about it."

He looked at her and extended his hand for her. She didn’t care about the weather anymore as she accepted his hand and let him drag her behind him into an aimless run. They ran, their hands intertwined, and their laughs blending together and they didn’t stop until they were already at the end of the street. They kept laughing as they breathed heavily, trying to recover from their sprint.

When Lizzy stood straight up again, she was startled to see Lucas standing inches away from her. The last of their laughs died down and they were left staring into each other's eyes again. "Lizzy," Lucas spoke, his voice barely audible, "Elizabeth Parker, what are you doing to me?"

Lizzy's voice got caught up in her throat. Her heart jumped and her skin tingled. Her lips parted and she saw how Lucas's eyes flitted down to them.

"Lizzy, I missed you so much."

"What do you mean, Lucas?"

He shook his head and smiled. He opened his mouth. Lizzy wanted to kiss him. He wanted to say something. His eyes held so many words that never passed his lips. But he was leaning in. Lizzy closed her eyes. She waited. But nothing happened.

She opened her eyes again then frowned. The flower shop was right behind Lucas. "How did this happen?"

Lucas followed her eyes.

"How did we get back here?"

Lucas didn’t say anything.

Lizzy was distracted from the flower shop when she was almost knocked down by a strong body. She looked to her side and instantly felt a lump in her throat at the sight of Laura. She looked at Lucas and he looked just as surprised.

"What are you doing here with her, Lucas?"

"Are you stalking us?" Lizzy couldn’t help but ask.

Laura turned her attention to Lizzy and smirked. "It's a small town, Parker. If you don’t want to run into me, get out of here."

Lizzy almost took a step back under the intimidating look Laura pinned her down with. How could Laura know that Lizzy wanted to get out of that town? And why did Lizzy sense a warning in Laura's glare?

"Lucas, we need to talk."

Lucas looked at Lizzy before he said anything. "We shouldn’t, Laura."

"Please. I need to talk to you."

"It's okay. I'll wait for you." Lizzy said and gave his hand a squeeze. His skin was cold. Lizzy didn’t think anything of it.

She walked a few steps away from the ex-couple. She couldn’t even look at the two of them together. So she let her eyes wander around the street. One side was lined with small shops, the other was the woods that lead to the riverside. Lizzy wandered to the edge of the woods and lost herself in the life she made in her head for herself and Lucas. How they'd go through their ups and downs then end up together in the end. She liked to think it would be a romantic moment in her life when years from then, Lucas finally confessed his love for her and then they lived happily ever after. Lizzy smiled at the thought as she let her eyes follow a chirping bird over the river.

She longed for the calm tide of the river, for the sweet singing of the birds, and the soft grass. It was the only place she could let go of all the stress and be as peaceful as she could ever be. It's where she felt the most calm.

That is until she saw a shadow moving in the trees. She walked closer. Then closer. And even closer. There was no shadow. There was something else. Blood. Dark, red splotches of blood ruining the beautiful green of the grass and the brown of the tree trunks. Red blending in with no longer clear blue water. Red everywhere.

Suddenly, Lizzy was crying in Lucas's arms. She opened her eyes and dared a glance at the woods. Everything was normal. No blood. Nothing.

"You're okay, Liz. You're okay, baby."

She looked up at Lucas. His fingers ran across her cheek gently, his hand held hers tightly. He was colder than before. When she looked at his face, the redness in his cheeks was turning pale. The green of his eyes was losing their glimmer.

"Where's Laura?"

Lucas smiled. "She left. She thought we could get back together."

"What did you think?"

"I don’t want her, Liz."

Lizzy smiled despite the rapid beating of her heart and the fear she still felt. She let Lucas help her to her feet and he walked her home, saying that it was getting dark. They walked through the same streets until they reached her house. The sky was getting darker and darker very quickly. And by the time they reached Lizzy's house, it was completely dark, the street only lit by a dim moonlight.

Lizzy's father opened the door for them when they knocked. His usual red face was as pale as Lucas's. But he smiled even though he looked tired. "Lizzy, come here." He pulled her into a tight hug that Lizzy didn’t understand.

She laughed it off. "Dad, I've only been gone since this morning."

"I know. It's always good to see my daughter anyway."

Lizzy ignored her father's overly emotional attitude and thought that maybe he'd been looking through his old pictures with her mum and it made him emotional. But she couldn’t ignore his freezing skin. She touched Lucas's hand as they walked up the stairs to her room and wasn’t surprised to see it was freezing just as her father's.

"Lucas, what's going on?"

He didn’t answer her. He walked into her room and she followed him. She stood at the doorway and watched him looking at every corner of the room like he was taking it for the first time.

"Lucas?"

Lucas turned his back to her. She took a step closer to him. Slowly, she brought a hand to his shoulder. He flinched away.

"Lucas, what's wrong? Why are you freezing like that?"

He turned around to face her. Lizzy was surprised when she saw tears falling down his face. "Lizzy… I tried… I'm sorry…"

"What are you talking about?"

"I tried to protect you from the truth."

"What truth?"

Lucas smiled. A smile that Lizzy fell in love with from the moment she saw it. He took a step forward. "I can't be around much longer. No one can. We all tried." He said, "I wish I could go back in time and leave this town with you when I had the chance."

Lizzy frowned in confusion. When did she leave town and asked him to go with her? She was still in school. She'd planned to leave after school, and she'd always planned to take Lucas with her.

"I wish it was easy to keep you in this world. This world where everything is fine, where we find our happy ending, you and me. I wish we could stay here forever."

"Lucas…" Lizzy whispered. She didn’t have anything to follow his name with. She didn’t need to, because he was stepping forward again and closing the space between them.

Lucas brought an ice-cold hand to Lizzy's face. He brushed her hair behind her ear. He leaned in and stopped right before their lips touched. "I love you, Lizzy. I always have."

Their lips connected and they weren't as cold as Lizzy thought they would be. She shut her eyes and kissed the only boy she ever loved. She shut her eyes and remembered. She remembered how his lips felt against hers. She remembered the way it made her stomach flutter. She remembered feeling complete for the first time in her life. She remembered how Lucas whispered those three words, I love you. And she remembered losing all that in seconds, when she failed to convince him to leave with her.

His cold hands were warm on her skin. His hair tickled her face. His tongue moved with hers.

A wall broke down in her mind. The wall guarding her from the truth. A gate opened and all the memories came rushing through. She was scared to open her eyes. Lucas's touch was gone. His lips weren't on hers anymore. She couldn’t feel his presence anymore. All she could feel was emptiness. She knew when she would open her eyes, she will be in the real world, the one in ruins, the one that took away everything she ever loved.

Lizzy braced herself for the harsh reality. She opened her eyes and she wasn’t in her house anymore. She was in the street, in front of Mrs. Jackson's flower shop. She saw the world for what it really was. Messed up. In ruins. Shop fronts were broken down. The signs were cracked and thrown off to the side with blood trickling down the wood. What horrified Lizzy the most wasn’t the town in ruins, it was the people. Torn open and thrown onto the streets. Red everywhere. Everything was red. Red streets, red broken glass, red tree leaves, red torn clothes. Red, red, red everywhere.

Lizzy walked through the mass of dead shop owners, she held her tears back and tried to keep the bile in the back off her throat from coming out. She saw people she knew and people she never spoke to before. She saw Mrs. Jackson on the ground with one of her crutches sticking out of her stomach. She saw classmates she hadn't seen in a while. She saw Laura lying down in a heap of dead bodies. She tried not to recognise the faces but her mind did it before she could think about it.

Her friends. Her family. Everyone.

She passed from house to house, all with shattered windows and broken down doors. Some with still flickering lights shining over the glistening blood still on the walls inside. Abandoned bikes were thrown into the streets. Cars with opened doors and dead owners inside. Lizzy always thought their town had to have been cursed for her to hate it that much, she always connected that hatred to her mother losing her life slowly in their house. But for everyone to die in this town, it had to be cursed.

Lizzy found her house, standing in the midst of a dying fire. She took a deep breath and pushed through the open doorway. Her feet stuck on something squishy. She stopped moving and brought her hands to her mouth, refusing to look down. Her eyes burned with tears that begged to fall. She looked down and gasped at the sight.

Her father laid down in a pool of his own blood. Lizzy couldn’t hold back the sobs that broke out of her. She leaned down and touched her father's face. She watched her tears trickle down and onto his pale skin. She closed her eyes and forced herself to keep going. She went up to her bedroom, no sign of blood. No one lived in this bedroom anymore.

Lizzy's eyes were fixed on the spot right in the middle of the room. The exact same spot where Lucas kissed her for the first, and the last. Where she tried and failed to convinced him to leave with her. He had to stay and take care of his sick mother and his little brother, he'd said.

I love you, Lizzy. The words echoed in Lizzy's head. She shut her eyes and pretended he was still standing there. She pretended he was speaking the words, over and over and over again. She'd told him that she had always been in love with him. Then he kissed her. He promised to join her someday, when his mother was better, when his brother was older. She promised him she would come back someday. They were empty promises.

The whole room taunted her. Reminded her of her selfishness. Reminded her that she could have stayed and suffered the same fate as everyone in this town. Some might say she was lucky she got away, but Lizzy thought this was what she got for abandoning her family, abandoning Lucas, she got to live with the fact that she was completely alive, and alone for the rest of her life. No one ever left their small town. No one but her. And that was her punishment.

Lizzy left her house. She knew where she was going. She knew the way like the back of her hand. She'd taken that path thousands of times ever since she was a kid. The path to Lucas's house. She arrived and saw his little brother first. He was lying on the porch steps, just as dead as everyone else. His mother was right behind him, her throat slit open in her wheelchair. Lizzy remembered all the time this woman had welcomed her into her home, all the times she made her dinner and covered her when she fell asleep on the couch watching television. She remembered how she felt she had a mother in Lucas's mother. Lizzy forced her blurry eyes away from Lucas's family as she stepped over the wooden sticks that were once a door.

Up the stairs she went, her hands sticking on specks of blood on the railing. She stopped at the top of the stairs and stared at his open bedroom. Her heart started beating faster. She was scared of the state she will find him in. She was scared she would never be able to sleep without seeing his bloody face in her dreams.

Lizzy breathed in, then out. She went in and the tears fell down immediately. He was on the floor next to his bed. Scratches covered his arms, and bruises covered his face. But what took him out was the knife sticking out of his chest, where his heart is. Lizzy leaned down and laid on the floor next to him, she touched the tips of her fingers to his cheek. He looked peaceful, she could pretend he was just asleep. She let her tears fall as freely as they could, she let her sobs be as loud as they could be. No one was there to hear her anyway. She put her head on his chest and her arm around his body and she closed her eyes, pretending to just be asleep next to him.

Lizzy felt herself pulling away again. Pulling away from the town in ruins, from the broken glass and the bloodied dead bodies of her town. She was pulling away from the truth, from the real world, and to her own perfect world. She wondered if she could leave town right now, just get in her car and drive as far away as possible. She wondered if she could start fresh somewhere else where no one knew her. She thought of the possibility of a new life, new love, new family. And let go of her past, let go of the fantasy she made herself live in over and over again.

But when Lizzy opened her eyes again, the sun was casting its light through the tree leaves above her. Lizzy sat with her back against the trunk of her favourite tree, with her favourite book in her hands and her nerves at peace.

Diane was a young woman living alone in a cottage overlooking the big Masora Forest, known for many legends.

One of them is that, every few hundred years, there's a healer living nearby, destined to become privy to many secrets the forest keeps well hidden.

Of course, Diane was already aware of this fact. That's precisely why she chose this particular cottage—apart from it being cozy and homey, it was also close to the forest, which was exactly what she needed!

So many unknown herbs are waiting to be discovered and used properly! Diane learned what she could from her grandmother, who was a famous healer. Diane watched her at work when she was a little girl, memorising every technique and every ingredient.

Diane decided right then, when she was just 10 years old, to one day become a healer like her grandma. Twenty years later, her hard work paid off, yet there's still so much left for her to learn.

Not that Diane's complaining; she loved learning! She was curious by nature, which more often than not led her into some crazy situations.

Diane's reminiscing was cut off by the pounding on the door.

'My first patient, and I hadn't even had the time to prepare! Should I call the people who come to see me patients? I'm not a doctor per se...' Diane didn't have the time to think too much about it, because the person threatening to break down the door opened it without waiting for Diane to answer.

A giant stepped inside Diane's cottage, looking around before spotting Diane standing near the table. Diane noticed him limping and wincing at every step he took.

"There you are, lass! Help this big guy, would ya? A bloody snake bit my leg! " The man said it as he sat in front of Diane's table, cursing silently.

"Of course, sir! Let me see the bite, please. I need to check if it's venomous or not." Diane spoke gently, going straight into healer mode. She helped the man raise his leg on a stool, which made him yelp in slight pain.

"Blasted lizard..." The giant cursed silently. Diane cast a quick spell, her hands glowing with a green light. If the light stays green, then it's just a simple snake bite she can heal with magic. If it's venomous, it'll turn dark purple, meaning she'll have to prepare a remedy.

A minute passed and the light stayed green. Good. The only thing left to do now is heal it.

"It should only take a minute. You're lucky the snake wasn't dangerous." Diane addressed the man.

"Thank you, lass. Who knows what might've happened if I hadn't gotten here in time. " The giant expressed his gratitude that his life wasn't in danger.

"Oh, you needn't thank me, sir. I'm happy to help! It's why I became a healer in the first place." Diane blushed a bit at the giant's gratitude. She has been doing this for so long, and yet she still gets embarrassed when people thank her.

"The name's Gord. No need for that "sir" nonsense. What's your name? Can't call you lass all the time, can I?" Gord asked with a grin. His black eyes twinkled with mischief. Despite his height, he seemed like a nice and friendly person. Diane liked him already.

"I'm Diane, and well, you know what I do. Nice to meet you, Gord. You're my first customer, actually! It'd be weird to call you a patient, since I'm not a doctor."

Gord laughed heartily, his laughter booming through the cottage. Combing through his snowy beard, he said, "Nah, you're much nicer than our doctor. He's a good chap, I'll admit, but grumpy. Impatient as well."

Diane didn't say anything about that. She hasn't met the doctor yet, so she can't be a judge of his character. She stood up, going back to the counter.

"Well, Gord, I'm so glad your injury wasn't that serious as it looked. Do you need anything else? I wouldn't want to keep you from whatever you were doing before." Gord just shrugged Diane's concern off.

He pulled something out of his bag before putting it down on the table.

"I was hunting before the accident, so here's my thanks and a sort of welcome gift to the new healer. There are many herbs in the forest that you can use. Lots of fruits too. Just be careful around the foxes; they can be tricky little buggers."

Gord warned Diane before waving her goodbye.

The quiet settled inside the cottage again. Diane sighed before smiling to herself.

'Gord is so nice! I hope I'll see him again, but under less daunting circumstances.' Diane looked at the package Gord left for her, deciding to see what it was. She went to the table and, unwrapping it, saw a rabbit inside. He couldn't have known she hadn't eaten anything yet, could he? What a thoughtful man he was.

"This rabbit is too much to eat at once, so I'll just leave half of it for dinner..." Diane whispered before moving to the kitchen.

The rest of the day was uneventful; no giants appeared, just a cute little family of a cat and her two kittens asking for food and shelter. Their mews were so heartbreaking to listen to, so Diane decided to take them in. They would have a warm home and food, and Diane would have some company.

Plus, the kittens were so adorable, their fur shiny and soft to the touch. Their mother gave Diane permission to pet them; at least, that's what it seemed like to her. Her cottage feels less lonely now that her little friends are here.

The next day, Diane took a trip to the town. She needed fruits, vegetables, eggs, milk, and some tuna for her cats. The town wasn't far—a nice 20-minute walk from her cottage. The day was sunny and warm, pleasantly so. It would've been a pity to spend it cooped up inside.

The town of Asmer was a small town, surrounded by tall trees. It's so well hidden that you could easily miss it unless you know the right path. Its architecture was reminiscent of that of the olden days but well maintained. Cobblestone pavement gave Asmer a certain aesthetic.

A local market was located in the city center. Diane was in awe; she didn't know where to go first! She took out her shopping list, checking to see what she wrote on it. She'll buy some tomatoes first. She'll need parsley, pepper, salt, and cinnamon for the cookies she intends to bake, along with flour and some other stuff.

Diane's got a long day ahead of her. That's fine, though; this is a perfect opportunity to see some of the shops she might visit in the future. Before that, she'd like to visit the library. She's in dire need of new reading material.

Once Diane finished at the market, she looked around for a place to rest a bit. Her feet were killing her! Diane quickly spotted a quaint café a few minutes away from where she's at right now. Groaning, she dragged her feet towards it, trying not to crash into someone.

Diane stood in front of a café. It looked old on the outside, with its glass windows. A sign hanging above said "Zozo's." The bell chimed when Diane entered, signalling her arrival.

Diane took in the plush chairs, the wooden tables, and a bar in the center. They were selling delicious-looking cakes too.

Diane's stomach growled. She could use a bite of that chocolate cake she spied.

Diane took a seat in the corner, near a window. She was just putting down her bags when a chirpy voice could be heard above her head.

"Hi, welcome to Zozo's! Would you like to order?" A red-haired girl asked Diane with a friendly smile on her face, carrying a menu with her. It wasn't forced or fake. The girl appeared to be enjoying doing her job. Diane felt at ease immediately.

"Hi, I'm new here, so I haven't decided anything yet. Apart from that chocolate cake I saw. Do you have any recommendations?"

The waitress grinned, happy that someone asked for her opinion.

"You made a right choice with that one! A nice, hot cup of coffee would go splendidly with chocolate cake. " Diane nodded at that. It was what she would order as well.

"You can't go wrong with a chocolate-coffee combo! Okay, I'll take a slice of chocolate cake and a cup of coffee, please."

"Great! I'll be right back with your order!" The waitress spoke before going to the back of the cafe. Diane smiled. This girl is certainly an interesting one.

Diane observed the other patrons in the café.

There were humans and magic folk coexisting peacefully. Since Diane had magic of her own, she could detect those who had it as well. There were mixed groups sitting together, chatting and having fun.

They all had their differences. Nothing is perfect, but as long as no one causes harm to another, it's fine. Diane was happy to be able to mingle with both magic and non-magic people. She was brought out of her thoughts by something spilling on her table.

The waitress was wiping up the mess quickly. She was on the verge of tears.

"I'm sorry! I'm naturally clumsy, so I tripped on thin air and spilled your coffee! I'll bring you another one right away. It's on the house! Oh God, the boss is going to kill me... " Diane waved her hand, wanishing the spilled coffee and refilling her cup.

The waitress gaped at Diane, who only smiled and winked.

"There, all taken care of. Nothing happened." The waitress bowed down, thanking Diane profusely. Diane waved it off.

"I'm Diane, the new healer. What's your name? " Diane asked.

"Oh, how rude of me! I wanted to offer my name when I brought you coffee. My name's Ashley. It's nice to meet you. Gord has told us about you. He said you were really nice, and you healed his snake bite. " Ashley said, offering her hand to the healer, who shook it. Diane blushed at the praise.

"Oh, has he? It was nothing serious, honestly. And it's nice to meet you too, Ash! You don't mind if I give you a nickname, do you? I'm sorry if I offended you in any way! " Diane panicked. She meant no harm and hoped that Ashley knew that.

Ashley looked at Diane in wonder before bursting into laughter. Her laughter attracted the attention of other patrons. It was contagious too, so Diane couldn't help but laugh along.

"Wow, I spilled your coffee, and you think I'd get mad over a nickname? You're so cute. I like you already! And don't worry, I don't mind the nickname. Can I call you Di in return? " Ashley asked, happy to be able to make another friend. She just knew Diane and she were going to be best friends.

Diane nodded, "Sure, I don't mind. Well, Ash, I hope we'll get along! "

"Trust me, we will. I have a good feeling about you. And my instincts have never proved me wrong before. Oh, shoot, I need to get back to work! Thank you for the, you know, and if you need anything, don't hesitate to call me. See you! " Ashley said in one breath before running off to another table. Diane shook her head and smiled.

Diane thought this day wasn't a complete disaster. She made a new friend and got to eat a tasty cake, which she'll be doing right now.

After paying for the cake (she went back and forth with Ashley about it for five minutes), Diane left the café, promising to return tomorrow. Ashley said she'd come and visit Diane on her day off.

The next few days found Diane slowly settling into her new life. She got more customers thanks to Gord and Ashley, which she's grateful for.

Diane started exploring Masora Forest, taking short walks and enjoying the peace and quiet it offered.

Nature is truly a blessing; the thick green treetops create cover from the sun as the birds sing their afternoon song. The scent of flowers permeates the air around the forest, a scent so potent Diane wished to trap it in a bottle to use as perfume.

There was a river streaming through, its surface glittering like tiny crystals in the afternoon sun. It truly was a place out of a fairytale. Diane fell in love with it.

There were animals that carried some form of magic within them. They kept the forest safe—another special trait of Masora Forest. If you don't mean harm, the animals won't bother you. Otherwise, expect to be chased out by a pack of wolves that do live here. Many people thought wolves were extinct in these parts. They couldn't be more wrong.

Despite being aware of the dangers this enchanted forest hid deep within, Diane felt as safe as if she were in her own home. The forest's magic called out to her own, embracing her like she was its child. She didn't need to be afraid.

Diane carried a small journal with her where she drew flowers she came across. She made notes of their size, color, and pattern.

The flowers didn't have any particular names, but Diane didn't worry about it. She was curious about how they could be used in her ointments, remedies, and cremes.

Diane sat under a big tree, gazing at the river. She felt content just sitting in silence, taking in the fresh air and listening to the river. Diane leaned more comfortably against the tree, closing her eyes. She could feel the breeze tickling her face and playing with her hair.

"It's time you hurry up home, little healer." Diane was awakened by a voice from somewhere in the forest. She opened her eyes, trying to locate the source. There was no one to be found.

Thunder can be heard in the distance. The forest became dark, transforming into a completely different place. The atmosphere was eerie and gloomy, and the threat of rain loomed.

Diane hurried along. The warning she got from the mysterious voice proved to be just in time. She ran, trying to make it back to the cottage before the storm it was shaping up to be.

As she ran through the forest, Diane could have sworn she saw the shape of something unidentified following her.

Diane didn't have time to wonder about it before she felt the first few drops of rain on her face. That motivated her to run faster, lest she end up soaked to the bone.

The lightning zapped through the dark sky, making everything around her appear more terrifying than it was just a few hours ago. The sound of thunder added to the scary atmosphere. The wind started to pick up.

Diane made it home in the nick of time, just when the sky opened its floodgates. She had trouble closing the door because of how strongly the wind was blowing. She leaned back against the door, catching her breath. Diane has never run this fast in her entire life!

Diane looked at herself. Her clothes did end up wet in the end. She needs to change out of them or else she'll catch a cold. A nice, warm bath and some hot cocoa sound good right now.

What Diane failed to notice, as she went to her room, was a dark shadow in front of her window. When lightning struck, it was gone.

The next morning, pounding on the door was what woke Diane up. She groaned, mourning those extra few minutes of sleep.

Groggy from sleep, she trudged to the door.

She opened the door, squinting in the bright sunlight. A tall man stood in front of her, his expression way too sour this early in the morning.

"Do you usually keep people waiting outside? That's bad practice and unprofessional. Now, are you going to let me in? " A cold voice asked, making Diane's head throb. She had a feeling this visit was going to leave her more exhausted than she already felt.

"And you are, if I may ask?" Diane asked as she motioned for him to come in. She stiffled a yawn, assuming it wouldn't be received well by the grumpy looking man.

"Forgive my manners. I'm Dr. Nickels, a local doctor. Perhaps you have heard of me. You are friends with Gord and that pixie girl from the café, right?" The doctor asked, observing the healer from behind his glasses.

Diane could feel his steely gaze piercing through her very being.

"Oh, I believe Gord mentioned you once! It's nice to meet you! How may I help you? " Diane went into her work mode immediately, trying to make this visit as painless as possible.

"You don't need to help me, per se, but one of my patients. They're in need of a soothing salve of some kind, and, while I know my way around them, the ingredients are often hard to find. " Diane could tell that it was physically difficult for the doctor to utter those words, but she kept quiet about it.

"Of course, I understand. I think I have some around here. Please wait a moment; I'll be right back. " Diane turned around without waiting for a reply.

"Don't take too long, though. I have other patients to attend to. Time is a precious commodity. " Dr. Nickels' words made Diane roll her eyes, thankful that he couldn't see her.

'He'd probably think I'm disrespectful, apart from being unprofessional. Does he have a good opinion of anyone, or is it just me he dislikes for some reason? ' Diane wondered as she searched for her camfor and orange oil salve. She located it on the shelf, hidden behind a few other bigger jars.

Diane did a quick check, making sure the ingredients were fresh, before returning to her guest, a term she used loosely when it came to Dr. Nickels.

When she came back to the counter, the doctor was where she left him.

"Here is the salve. It should be applied evenly to the affected area, but I can write down the instructions, if you want. " Diane offered, hoping her head wouldn't get bitten off for her suggestion.

The doctor was quiet for a moment before replying, "Yes, that would be wise."

Diane took a piece of paper and started jotting down simple instructions, all the while trying to do it as fast as she could.

Surprisingly, it was the doctor who broke the silence first, "I heard from Gord that you healed his wound. Not a single scar was left. Some of my other patients spoke fondly of you, as well. "

Diane was caught by surprise. She may not have known the doctor well, but she figured he wasn't one to be swayed by the opinions of other people.

"I do try, you know. I've been doing this for as long as I can remember. There's still so much left for me to learn about healing, but I'm in no rush. I like helping people, and I take my job very seriously. Just like you do. " Diane handed Dr. Nickels the paper, noticing he was caught off guard by what she said.

She was beginning to get fed up with his snotty attitude towards her anyway. She had managed to be polite so far, but he was testing her patience.

"Will that be all, doctor?" Diane asked the doctor. He shook himself out of his thoughts, replying, "No thank you, that would be all. For the time being, at least. It still remains to be seen just how seriously you do take your job, Miss Diane. "

With that, Dr. Nickels headed straight to the door.

"I'll see myself out. Have a nice day." Dr. Nickels nodded his head before leaving.

Diane waited for a few moments to make sure he left, before mumbling under her breath, "Asshole."

Two hours after Dr. Nickels' visit, Diane could be found at Zozo's, eating her favorite chocolate cake. Usually, she orders one piece of the cake.

That's usually when she's not eating her stress and annoyance away. She ordered three pieces now.

When she gave her order to Ashley, the waitress gaped at her for three seconds before telling Diane her cake would be ready soon. The black cloud over the healer's head was telling. It was rare to see Diane in such a mood; she's cheerful and friendly most of the time.

"So, mind telling me what happened that made you attack that poor cake?" Ashley wondered if she was the only one crazy enough to approach someone who gave off such angry vibes. And Ashley was good at sensing them.

Diane gave herself a moment to calm down. She sighed deeply before explaining what was bothering her.

"Sorry for that. That's how I get when I stress eat. And my magic gets out of control when I'm angry. " Diane said, taking a sip of her coffee. Her magic settled, not sending sparks all over the place.

Ashley felt it, too. She sighed in relief. One magic accident is avoided successfully.

"Yeah, I can sense that, literally. What I want to know is why. Did something happen? Are the kittens okay? " Ashley fell in love with Diane's kittens when she visited Diane for the first time.

She even gave them names—Coco and Whiskers. So it's understandable she gets worried about them.

Diane smiled at her friend softly and said, "No, the kittens are fine, Ash. Don't worry. I got a visit this morning from Dr. Nickels. "

Apparently, that was enough for Ashley. She gave Diane a look of sympathy.

"You finally met our local ray of sunshine of a doctor, huh? He elicits that kind of reaction from most people. What did he say to you? " Ashley got a hunch that more had happened than what Diane had offered so far.

"First, he woke me up. That's not a crime itself, but he pounded on the door like a brute! Then he said that I was unprofessional because I kept him waiting outside; please excuse my lateness; I just woke up! Then, throughout the whole visit, he gave me that holier-than-thou attitude. His time is precious, his patients are waiting, and so on. And lastly, he had the nerve to imply that I don't take my job seriously and that it remains to be seen if I'm that serious about it as I said I was! In short, he's downright rude and arrogant! " Diane finished her tirade, feeling better for sharing this with someone.

A snort and stiffled laughter was all she got out of Ashley, who was trying hard not to laugh. It got to be too much for her, so she started to laugh loudly.

Diane stared at her in shock, then gave her an unimpressed look. She took an angry bite out of her cake while waiting for her friend to calm down.

Ashley wiped her tears away after laughing so hard. She calmed down a bit before she said anything.

"Wow, that was intense! You actually talked back to him? And you managed not to strangle him while at it? Di, you're a saint, honestly! " Before Diane could argue that, Ashley continued.

"I'm being serious. He might be a great doctor, but he raises the blood pressure of the people he treats. He's like that with everyone, so don't take it personally. Don't let him get to you; it's not worth it. You're just as good as anyone else at what you do! Who is he to judge? " Now Ashley starts to get angry on her friend's behalf.

"He never saw how you treat people with kindness, how caring you are, how you explain what each herb is used for. My grandmother sings you praise every morning she wakes up without breathing heavily. The tea you gave her for her lungs helped her so much, so he's talking nonsense! He should really get off his high horse! " Ashley shouted the last part, drawing curious gazes towards Diane's table.

None of the girls paid them any attention. Diane was moved by her friend's passionate speech; her eyes stung a little, but she pushed the tears away.

"He did mention Gord and you. He knows I'm friends with you guys, and he said that he saw no scar where Gord was bitten. He did give me a backhanded compliment, I suppose. You're right, though. He has no right to judge my work ethic when he hasn't seen me actually working! " Diane said, making her the one to calm Ashley down now.

"Exactly, so don't let him get to you. You do your work, he does his, and everyone is happy! Now, finish your cake, and we'll go to my place. You're staying for lunch. Nana would be thrilled to have you over. " Ashley stood up, stretching her back. She needed to go back to work.

Luckily, her shift is going to be over soon. Before leaving, Ashley said, "And I won't take no for an answer. Wait for me to finish my shift and we'll go together.

Diane simply nodded, knowing that there was no use in arguing with Ashley once she had made up her mind about something.

It was decided that Diane would stay over at Ashley's for a sleepover. They could bake cookies, drink hot chocolate, and just talk about nothing and everything.

Ashley's grandmother was happy to have the healer over. In a way, she took Diane under her wing.

Nana frequently sent Diane food, knowing that given her occupation, she wouldn't eat unless forced to. Now that Diane's staying for the night, she can put some actual food into her.

Needless to say, Diane had a fun afternoon and evening with her friend and her grandmother. Both had a wicked sense of humor, something Diane appreciated greatly. Rude doctors were forgotten for the time being.

"Miss healer, miss healer, where are you? We need your help. Hurry! " It was what Diane came home to, or rather, what she found outside her door when she got back from Ashley's place.

Two white rabbits were waiting for her, looking frantic.

"What's wrong, little ones?" Diane asked them.

"One of the foxes was injured when a hunter shot it. Don't worry, it wasn't your friend the giant that did it. Please help the fox! They may not be the most pleasant animals to be around, but they contribute to the safety of our forest in their own way. " One of the rabbits explained.

"Let me just get my things. Wait here! " Diane said as she unlocked the door, gathering what she might need from the shelf. She put it all in her bag before hurrying out.

The rabbits lead the way to the forest. A few minutes later,

Diane could see two sillhouettes.

Those were the foxes, the pair that Gord had warned her about when they first met. They were cunning and maintained order in the forest.

They put anyone they came across on a trial of their own making, especially newcomers like Diane. It's different for everyone; something sly, befitting of the foxes' nature.

It was only a matter of time before Diane ran into them.

Will they put her on trial now that one of them is badly injured? She's going to heed Gord's warning. It's best to be prepared.

When Diane and the rabbits drew near, they saw a fox lying on its stomach. The fox was hissing in pain, the arrow that struck her sticking out of its back.

Diane needed to tread carefully. If she moved too fast, the fox might try to attack her.

"It's alright, little healer. We know why you're here; we called for you, after all. You won't be attacked. " The fox that was sitting spoke.

The voice sounded familiar to Diane, but she didn't have the time for that. She needed to get the arrow out.

The arrow was buried deeper than Diane expected. This is going to be a little tough. The healer took a moment to take in the soft looking reddish-orange fur. Diane started petting the fox gently in comfort.

The fox stopped hissing and settled down. Diane smiled softly before saying, in a quiet voice, "It's going to be okay. The arrow is in a little deeper, so bear with me, alright? I promise to be gentle as much as I can. "

The fox nodded in understanding. Diane grinned, before turning to the other fox and the rabbits.

"Alright then, let's begin! I'll need some fresh water, so could you bring me some, please? It'll move things along faster if we work together. " The rabbits nodded, taking the bowl that Diane handed them. They ran off towards the river that was, thankfully, nearby.

Diane took out a container. There were ice cubes in it. She gently rubbed the area around the wound, making it numb. She also used her magic to ensure it stayed numb.

The other fox observed in silence.

The next challenge is getting the arrow out in one piece. Diane gripped the part sticking out and started to pull it out slowly. She gauged the fox's reaction to make sure it was not in any pain.

"Here's water!" The rabbits put the bowl near Diane's bag, getting a nod of thanks from the healer. They watched as she slowly, but surely, pulled the arrow out.

Diane threw the arrow away, letting out the breath she had been holding. She managed to take the whole arrow out without leaving pieces of wood inside. Diane started cleaning out the wound to stop it from getting infected. She wiped the blood and dirt away gently, doing a thorough job.

Diane preferred dressing these kinds of wounds the old-fashioned way—without magic. One shouldn't rely on magic for something as simple as disinfecting.

"I took the arrow out and now I'm just disinfecting the wound. Do you feel any pain? " Diane asked the injured fox, who only shook its head no. Diane was glad her numbing technique and spell worked.

"That's good. I used some ice and did a numbing spell before doing anything else. I'm not a doctor, but I was taught how to do first aid as well. And I don't like seeing anyone in pain if I can help it. " Diane explained, trying not to give out too much information.

All the while, the other fox sat back and watched it all play out.

"Is Roxy going to be okay now, miss healer?" One of the rabbits asked nervously. Diane could tell they were really worried, which is strange. Don't foxes hunt rabbits? Leaving that thought for later, Diane turned to the rabbit who asked her.

"Yes, Roxy is going to be just fine. All that's left to do is a quick check to see if there's any poison or some other toxin left and to bandage the wound. And then Roxy will need some rest. No strenuous activities until the wound is completely healed! "

With that, Diane put her palm over the wound, checking for any poison or toxin that might've been on that arrow.

Her palm glowed light blue. So there was something on the arrow, but it wasn't that strong. It was probably something to make Roxy sleepy. Whoever shot Roxy didn't mean to kill her.

"What does the blue light mean?" The other fox spoke for the first time since it told Diane not to worry.

"It just means that there is some sort of chemical or medicine that is not meant to harm or kill anyone. I'll get it out fast. There's a small amount of it in there. " Diane said while focusing her magic in that one spot.

When the light finally turned light green, Diane knew she had succeeded in getting the remaining chemicals out.

Diane felt relieved that it was finally over. Now all that she needs to do is to bandage the wound.

"The bandage would need to be changed every day for at least a week, so I guess you'll be seeing me every day for a week." Diane told the foxes after washing her hands and packing her stuff.

"That's understandable. We have no means of doing it ourselves, so a little extra help is needed. We offer you our gratitude. "

The fox told Diane as both foxes bowed their heads.

"You're welcome. It's my pleasure to help animals too, not just humans. Besides, you have an important role in the forest, don't you? You can't exactly afford to be indisposed. " The foxes seemed impressed by what Diane said.

"You've done your research, I see. That's correct. We do an important job of maintaining order in Masora Forest. Wolves serve as bodyguards while we punish those who disturb our peace. We reward those who contribute to it. That's how things have worked around here for thousands of years. "

Diane nodded in understanding. While their methods might leave much to be desired, if they get the job done, then it's fine.

"And how else would we be able to be our mischievous selves? That's a contract we signed with the higher spirits that protect the forest. We get to be ourselves in exchange for protecting our home. A fair trade off, if you think about it. "

Diane swears she saw the fox grin slyly as it spoke.

Before leaving, the fox said, "You can find us here. Just call out our names. You already know Roxy. My name is Kettu. Until tomorrow, little healer. "

Diane just waved them goodbye and left the forest.

Later that night, as she got ready for bed, Diane remembered where she heard that voice from two nights ago—it was Kettu's voice. Kettu called her "little healer" then, too, when the fox warned her about the storm.

A week later, Roxy's wound healed nicely. Not a single scar remained, which made Diane very proud and happy. The fox actually heeded her advice and rested throughout the whole week.

Diane was happy that all turned out fine in the end, but there's just something strange about this whole situation.

Now, Diane might not be an expert on magical creatures, but she's pretty sure that some animals, particularly the ones in tune with nature, have powerful healing abilities. That includes the ability to heal themselves as well as others.

Diane even went to the library to do some research on animal magic, foxes in particular. What she found confirmed what she already suspected to be true.

"Well, let's see what they have to say about this tomorrow." Diane said as she returned the book.

The next day, when Diane checked on Roxy's wound, she decided to go straight to the point.

"You could've healed yourself from the start, couldn't you? Since you're the protectors of Masora Forest, you must have some kind of ability. And healing abilities are one of them. Am I wrong? " Diane asked the foxes, looking straight at them.

Kettu and Roxy shared a single look before Kettu spoke, "You're right, we are able to heal ourselves just fine. Let's just say we had a valid reason for this little charade. "

"And that reason is?" Diane had her suspicions, but she needed to be sure. You never know with these foxes. But so far, they've been more straightforward than most humans ever are.

"Your cottage is on the border between the human realm and our own magic realm. You have the power to heal. That makes you, in a sense, a part of our world too. We wanted to be sure you'd be able to help us should the occasion present itself. And you proved yourself more than capable. "

Diane glared at Kettu, "And you couldn't have done it in a different way, maybe? Not that I'm surprised. I was warned about you before. You really are little buggers. " Diane said the last part without any heat in her voice. She kind of expected it, so there's no need to get worked up about it.

Kettu and Roxy laughed in their foxy way, already knowing who called them like that.

"Yes, we are sometimes. But it's necessary. Otherwise, we wouldn't be able to discern your sincerity and dedication. It all turned out fine in the end, didn't it? You've taken more than good care of me, Diane." Roxy spoke to Diane for the very first time.

Diane stared wide-eyed at Roxy, "I thought you couldn't speak at all! "

"Kettu loves doing all the talking. I'm just a quiet observer most of the time.

Now it was Kettu's turn to glare. "I'm just better at handling such things. If we had had it your way, then everything would've remained a mystery. "

"And what's so bad about a little mystery? They make this whole world that much more special and keep the brain working. " Roxy stated, casually. Diane just sat there and listened to the foxes going back and forth.

'They're like little kids or, more correctly, like cubs. But they're not that bad, I suppose. Better than most, certainly. ' At that, Diane remembered Dr. Nickels.

She had another encounter with him this week, but chose not to take the bait this time. Ignorance can truly be bliss sometimes.

Diane couldn't complain-life can truly be a mystery. After all, there's so much that we haven't uncovered about the world around us and ourselves. The adventure has just begun.

AUTHOR: Emilija Veljković

The potent smell of unbathed bodies filled the rowdy tavern, covering the sweet scent of mead that lingered in Dennis's empty mug. Once more, the persistent nudge urged him to look over his shoulder, and once more he ignored it. They wouldn't come looking for him in a place like this.

Drunks at the surrounding tables whistled as barmaids refilled their drinks. The sound was mildly distracting, but more distracting was their constant laughter and crude jesting.

Rubbing the pad of his thumb in small, deliberate circles over one of his worn cards, Dennis eyed the five other players calmly. Maybe even slightly arrogantly. With a smooth smirk, he tossed in a couple denarii. A round of slight gasps came from their onlookers, and the other players eyed him with disdain.

"There's more where that came from, gents." Dennis's delicate accent contradicted his sly, and slightly, wicked smirk.

More denarii tinkled as a large man with a red beard tossed in more denarii. "We know," he growled. His dark eyes pierced Dennis, and his thick fingers seemed to tighten around his cards. Hands like those could squeeze the life out of someone. Someone like Dennis.

As the game wore on, Dennis had earned himself several more glowers, and the urge to flee rose within him. But he was no coward. If he was going to win the game, he would. If he was going to get pummeled for it afterward, he would do that too.

*Outside the Tavern after the Game was Won*

"Fair and square!" Dennis insisted for the tenth time. "I won, fair and square!"

Without warning, the red-haired brute from the game slammed Dennis against the grimy wall and punched him in the gut. Several other losers snickered in delight, taking pleasure in the wheeze the punch pulled from Dennis.

"Come on," Dennis moaned. "It was a fair game." Sweat caused from the blistering, afternoon sun burned his eyes and soaked his finely woven tunic. It would have to be washed. Or completely replaced depending on how the next few minutes went. "There is no need for this. I won fairly."

Another punch to the gut. It took all of Dennis's self-control not to vomit. The last thing he needed to do was humiliate himself further. If it hadn't been for the hand pinning him to the wall, he'd have collapsed.

The brute's lip twitched with despise and his eyes bore deeply into Dennis's with cold bitterness. "You don't belong here, boy."

Dennis's heart hardened. He'd never hated his surname more in that moment. "I'm not like them. I belong here."

The man didn't look believing. "If you fall into debt, you call on your petty father to come to your rescue. Likely, the money you used tonight wasn't even yours. When none of what I said is true, then tell me you aren't like your family, rich boy." With a harsh shove, he backed away.

Dennis gave the man a dull look. "I'm not like my family," he stated blandly. "Besides, it's not the money used in the game, it's the player, pal. And you're just a really bad player."

Getting pummeled wasn't fun unless one deserved it. Insulting this idiot seemed to be the only way to make things more enjoyable.

Before the predicted fist could come flying for his face, someone cleared their throat. "What goes on here?"

Not him. Dennis cringed. Anyone but him.

"Ah, another rich boy," the brute sneered. "Here to rescue your pathetic brother, are you?"

Pathetic? Not charming or very likeable? Crud. Arrogant would've also worked.

Dennis turned slightly, getting a glimpse of his exalted eldest brother. "What are you doing here, Sam?"

Samuel ignored Dennis and leaned his muscled shoulder against the crumbling wall. His serious face rarely smiled, but a faint smile pulled at his mouth. "Go ahead and finish here, I'll carry him home when you're done."

Dennis turned back to the brute with a nervous chuckle. "He's jesting."

Popping his knuckles, the red-haired nightmare grinned. "We'll be done momentarily."

Wonderful. This would be quick, and his dashing features would likely be marred.

An ugly fist came flying for his nose and Dennis braced for impact. Why did it always have to be the nose?

*Back Home*

"You didn't have to do that," Dennis muttered. Wincing, he pinched a towel to his nose.

Samuel was lounging on the sofa in the common room, while Dennis limped before the furnace in an attempt at pacing. "I didn't lie to him, Dennis. You were in the city testifying what you believe." He was gazing into the flickering flames and their shadowless fingers danced light across his stern features.

"Testifying what I believe?" The words were muttered as he tossed them around in his head, but he wasn't focusing on them. What the bearded man had said sparked something inside Dennis. He didn't want to be lumped with his father everywhere he went. He wanted more than what was offered here. The pleasures of the world called to him. What would it be like to gamble without worrying he was doing wrong? He supposed it was freedom he wanted.

The thick, wooden doors opened silently, and five young men bombarded the room like a pack of hyenas.

"Good, you're alive."

"Dennis! What happened?"

"What did you do to yourself?"

"Goodness me! You've got to know to use your words, kid!"

"Tell me you didn't start another fight."

Dennis waited patiently for his elder brothers to all get a word in. He tossed the towel down and faced them. Each one visibly winced as they got a look at the blackened eye and crooked nose.

"You started another fight," Remus, the second eldest, said dully. His weathered hands were placed on his hips, and he stood as though he thought himself in charge.

Anger spiked through Dennis at his brother's quick assumptions, and he glared, then winced as the motion shifted the bruised muscles. "I didn't start that blasted fight!" he roared. "I won that-" His clamped his lips and cringed. It wasn't the first time he'd slipped, but he knew he wouldn't be able to cover this one with a lie. Not one that was believable, that is.

Silence overtook the room as it dawned on each of the room's occupants.

"You were gambling," they said in sync. Their faces were crestfallen. Horror, sorrow and something else shone in their eyes.

As usual, Samuel said nothing to confirm even though he knew exactly what Dennis had been doing for the past few months. Letting Dennis sort out his own problems seemed to be a hobby of his. Even if it meant letting the baby of the family get his nose broken and his eye blackened.

Dennis could take it no more. His glare turned hateful, and he wanted to smack the looks of shame off their faces. "Like you all are so perfect! I just want a life! A normal life. This place does nothing but drag me down! You all do nothing but drag me down." His last words came out in a near snarl. His bitterness stunned him slightly. It stunned his brothers too, from the looks on their faces. They stood in shock, as if Dennis had slapped them in the face. Even Sam looked hurt.

Remus swallowed, opened his mouth. "Dennis," he said softly, as if approaching an injured fawn.

But he wasn't an injured fawn. He was a young man yearning for a freedom outside of his father's walls and rules.

Before Remus could say another word, Dennis stalked out of the room. It was time he started living his life. When he reached his chambers, he started packing his bags. He didn't take much. Just denarii, a bar of soap and a change of clothes.

He was out the window before anyone knew to look for him.

As he tore down the road to the city and away from his father's land, Dennis didn't look back.

*Two Days Later*

The high sun beat against the city like an angry overseer. But the heat didn't bother Dennis, because he no longer had to work in it.

A beautiful servant girl came to him and refilled his wine goblet. Most men in the quiet tavern let their eyes linger on her. The first day Dennis had done the very thing, had maybe even been looking forward to playing with the dame's hair. Now, the very thought made him so sick he thought he'd vomit up his wine. Though he was away from his father's home, everything he'd learned from a young age still clung to him like a briar.

The tavern door swung open, and Dennis squirmed in his seat. Oh dear. The brute who'd given him the lashing stepped in.

Brutish scanned the room and his hard eyes instantly landed on Dennis. His lip lifted in a sneer. Dennis contemplated on running for his life, but he refused. He wasn't a coward. If the man wanted to give him another lashing, he'd take it like a man. A man who was terrible at defending himself.

The brute moved toward Dennis in sturdy steps. No swagger, no intimidating saunter, just solid footfalls that managed to scare the living daylights out of Dennis.

"What are you doing here, boy?" the man asked gruffly. "You aren't looking for another fight, are you?" He took a seat without asking.

Dennis took a sip from his goblet. "Only if you're looking for another game to lose."

Faint amusement flashed through the man's eyes. "I've never seen you here before."

"That's because I've never been here before now." Dennis picked at the smooth table, trying terribly hard to find a splinter that would wake him from this nightmare.

"Do you think this is somewhere you belong?" His tone was demeaning, and implied he knew exactly the kind of standards Dennis grew up with.

"I figured this place is better than the streets." He winced as he found the splinter. Unfortunately, he didn't wake up.

In confusion, the man's eyes narrowed. "Streets?" In shocked Dennis to hear the slight concern lining the man's voice.

Dennis gulped the last of his wine down. "I left home, ruffian. I told you, I don't belong there." He nearly slammed the goblet down in his attempt at setting it down gently.

A short chuckle escaped the man. "It's actually Ren. But you were close, both start with R." He rubbed his jaw in thought. "Didn't think you had it in you, honestly, rich boy. Seeing as how you had the guts to do it, how 'bout I show you a bit of the city someone like yourself has never been."

A smile curled at Dennis's mouth. "You'd be willing to help someone like me?" He waved the barmaid away as she attempted to refill his goblet.

Ren smirked. "You mean someone homeless? Of course." His eyes twinkled. "Come on. We've a lot of places to see."

Dennis didn't move at first. His stomach tightened to think of the places he wasn't about to enter. But this is what he wanted. This is the freedom he'd been seeking. He pushed out of his seat, watching the ground sway beneath his feet. "Lead the way, Ren."

Ren let out a burly laugh. "How much wine did you drink?"

Dennis rubbed his temples. "I've been here two days, and wine is the only thing they serve. What do you think?"

Ren stood and came around, looping his arm under Dennis's arms. "Let's find you some food, then. The only places you know how to find are taverns."

*The Following Night*

After meeting several people Ren knew, Dennis felt he'd made the right decision coming to the city. Surprising enough, it hadn't been his money or his statis that had caused people to dislike him. It had been his cockiness and his unwillingness to take responsibility. Now that they knew he was trying to fend for himself without his father's money, they readily took him in.

Low snores filled the room Dennis was staying in. He wasn't accustomed to sleeping with so much noise surrounding him. But he didn't mind. It was... exhilarating. Living life on the edge was so much more than he could've imagined. There were no rules. Though, his bag of denarii was noticeably lighter than when he first began. He was sure it would all work out. He could find a job. Probably.

A low creak came from the door as it opened. A dark form slipped into the room and the door shut just as quickly. Nimbly, the form stepped over the sleeping lumps scattered across the floor. Dennis squinted his eyes to try to see better, but the room was too dark. Before he could move out of the way, the form stepped on him. With a surprised gasp, they jumped back.

"Hey!" she snapped. "You're in my spot." Her voice was husky and rough. Never before had Dennis encountered a woman who trampled over a man's authority. But from the tone she was using he guessed it was something this one did quite often. He couldn't bring himself to dislike it.

"My apologies," Dennis said smoothly, watching as her form went rigid, likely because she noticed his accent. "There is plenty of room, allow me to find someplace else to lie." He gathered his mat and slid it across the floor near a snoring man with a large belly.

The woman said nothing as she reclaimed her spot. Dennis could feel her eyes digging into him. With hate or curiosity, he couldn't tell.

*The Following Day*

"You sleep a lot."

Dennis slowly opened his eyes, wincing as light seared painfully across his vision. "I'm also awake a lot. I don't like having one without the other." His voice was groggy. He rolled over and sat up, surprised to see the room empty save for a woman standing at his feet. "Who are you?" he asked.

Her hazel eyes scanned him curiously, and he noticed the feint hint of amusement. "Ren's sister. He won't be back until the full moon. I'm to be your guide and protector."

Dennis's eyebrows slowly rose. "Protector?"

She smirked. "Ren said you have the tendency to run your mouth in the wrong areas. Your bruised skin is a testament to that." Again, that amusement filled her eyes. "Let's break our fast and get on with our day. Ren wants me to take you to the heart of our city."

Dennis was on his feet in an instant. "The heart of the city! That sounds exciting." He grinned. Her mouth turned up in a sly manner and suddenly, Dennis grew slightly concerned. "That sounds exciting, right?"

*In The Heart Of The City*

The heart of the city wasn't what Dennis was expecting. It was loud and full of exotic colors. Bright banners hung from every wall, piles of spices filled bins, dried herbs were bound in thick bundles, and laughter bubbled from everyone's lips. But the most exciting part was the two wrestling men in a small dust pit. Those cheering and taking bets surrounded them.

"What..." Dennis's eyes were wide. "What is that they're doing?"

The woman's arms hung loosely like the scarf around her neck. "It's a less bloody version of the Gladiator Games." Her grin was broad. "Ren thinks you'd be good at it."

Dennis's stomach dropped. "He what?"

She chuckled, gazing at the two sweaty men pounding each other's faces. "He says you don't run. And besides, you need a way to make a living if you aren't going to rely on your father."

Dennis suddenly didn't like the heart of the city. "I don't run because I'm a really bad runner," he hissed. "Fighting isn't my forte. Ask Ren."

She laughed. "He didn't say you should do it, Dennis! Goodness no. You'd be dead before the fight was over. He just thought you could eventually be good at it." She winked. "We're here for that." Dennis followed her gaze to a quieter area where several men sat under a canopy around a table.

His stomach churned with greed. That was something he was good at. "I do know how to play a good game," he mused.

The woman nodded. "Ren said as much. If you can watch your mouth, he thinks you could be good at it. I'm here to make sure you do. And if you don't, smooth things out with diplomacy."

Dennis made a face. "Diplomacy is overrated."

"Come on," she said. "We can get in in on the next game."

Dennis grinned. This would be too easy. It wouldn't even be working. No sweat, no muscle aches, but lots of money.

Once the game was over, the next one began, and Dennis was able to get in. He placed his money down and he was given his cards. His fingers tingled as he scanned his cards. He won, of course. And he won every other game after that. His name was spread through the city because of his skill. Dennis liked that.

The more known he became, the more he was invited to certain places that made his stomach churn. Each time he turned down the invitations. People thought it was because he was scared, and that he was still a boy, but it wasn't that. Gambling was one thing, but he couldn't defile himself. The more invitations he turned down, the less games he managed to get into. They didn't want a nonchalant player who didn't "play". Maybe his father had rubbed off on him too much. And for once, he wasn't entirely ashamed of that.

*A Month Later*

Dirty and unfed, Dennis sat in the streets of the city tempted to eat the leather of his sandles. He hadn't eaten but what little scraps people tossed to him. When Ren had returned to find Dennis's reputation "dirtied", he was forced to keep away from him. As was Ren's sister. Which was quite a shame. Dennis happened to like her a lot.

A low growl from his stomach reminded Dennis just how hungry he was. Maybe he'd made a mistake leaving home. What was so bad about having high morals and hard work? Living on his father's land had never been a bad thing. Now surely his father never wanted to see him again. He could imagine how ashamed the man was of his youngest son. Dennis himself was ashamed of how he'd acted. He'd been so ungrateful. His father had given so much, and Dennis had done nothing but throw it all away. He'd practically spat in the man's face.

Such an idiot, Dennis. Stupid, arrogant idiot.

An ache dug into his heart, and it amused Dennis. After all those years thinking he despised them, he missed his brothers. Likely they'd forgotten about him long ago. Probably happy to be rid of him.

"Look mommy, a beggar." A little girl pointed in passing at Dennis. The mother didn't give Dennis a passing glance.

Humiliation burned in Dennis's chest, and he looked away. If his father could see him now. Nothing more than a beggar in a prosperous city.

A pair of leather boots stopped by Dennis. Fancy, well-tailored. The man's garment was expensive.

"It took me awhile to find you."

Dennis froze. That wasn't a snobby noble.

Slowly, as if fearing it was a dream, he looked up. A dream or a nightmare, he wasn't sure. "Father?" Dennis squinted to keep the sun out of his eyes. "What... What are you... What are you doing here?"

His father's kind eyes gazed down on him. "What do you mean by that, son?"

Dennis tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry to swallow anything. "I've..." He cleared his throat and ended up coughing.

His father bent and offered a canteen of water. "Here, son. Have some water."

Dennis hesitated, feeling so guilty for what he'd done that he let the canteen hang in the air between them. The canteen pressed into his palm and his father uncorked it as well.

"Drink, son." Gentle, full of love and compassion, was his father's voice.

Dennis drank deeply, greedily, until he remembered whose water it was.

"Why did you come here?" Dennis asked, wiping his mouth with his dirty sleeve.

His father's eyes only twinkled, as if he thought it a silly question. "Why wouldn't I?"

Dennis shook his head. "I... I've been so ungrateful. I left home without a word. I've lost all of my savings. And I..." He let his head drop. "Father, I was so ashamed to be associated with you and what you stand for. I just wanted... freedom."

"Hmm. And did you find your freedom, son?"

Dennis looked up. "I could've. But I couldn't..." He clenched his jaw, unable to finish his sentence.

His father nodded in thought. "I understand. And what do you want now?"

Dennis's throat tightened. "Father, would you let me come on as a servant hand? Not even for denarii or a place to sleep, just for food and water."

His father smiled. "A servant hand?" He scoffed with a gentle shake of his head. "Why on earth would I do that?"

Dennis hung his head. He deserved worse. A slap in the face and scorn filled words. "I understand."

"I would never allow my son to work as a servant. You are my son, and though you have your tasks to complete, you won't ever be my servant. You are my heir same as your brothers."

Dennis was confused. "But aren't you ashamed of me? For what I've done?" He dared to look his father in the eye, to search them for truth.

There was no scorn there. Just gentle warmth that radiated his love. "Dennis, even though you ran, you're still my son. You'll always be my son. And though I can't support the life you've chosen for yourself, if you should choice to come home, I'll welcome you with open arms."

Tears pricked Dennis's eyes. "Oh, father. I've been so ungrateful. Can you ever forgive me?"

His father's eyes twinkled. "You were forgiven before you asked." He stood and lent Dennis his hand. "Come, let us go home and feast. Your brothers will be glad to see you again. They've all been worried."

Dennis arched his brow in surprise. "Them, worried?" He scoffed. "I doubt it. I'm sure they're all ready to clobber me."

"True that," his father said. "But they understand you more than you realize."

"How do you mean?" He took his father's hand and stood. Instantly, his father helped support him with his strong arms.

He looked down at Dennis with a strange smile. "They were like you once. Wanting a life outside of the one they were given." He chuckled and led Dennis to two waiting horses. "Why do you think Sam always knew to go to the taverns to find you?"

Dennis's jaw hung open. "You don't mean..."

His father nodded. "I do. I never loved him less because of it. I was just waiting for him to see where he truly belonged." He glanced at Dennis. "Like you, son."

Dennis clasped his father's arm and hugged him tightly. "I don't deserve a father like you. I don't." He sobbed.

Despite the filth that must've been on Dennis, his father hugged him back firmly. "Let's go home, Dennis."

(Author: Hope Robens)

Amanda was asleep in a room in the Connecticut bunker, and she was shivering slightly, not because of the little chills in the room, but because she had been with this condition for years.

**** ** ****

In Amanda's nightmare.

"Mum, don't do that. You can't stop me from going to prom. I won't let you." Amanda said with anger flaming in her eyes as she stared at her mother.

"Amanda, you're sick. The doctor advised that you sit out any form of stressful activity. I get that prom is important to you,…"

"Stop saying that. You don't get anything. You hardly do." Amanda interrupted her mum as she uttered these words infuriated while she walked out of the room, passing by her disconcerted mum's side with a bag pack in her hand and a bottle of pills in her other hand.

"…but you're more important to me" Susanne finished her sentence as she looked at the door that was slammed by her daughter in enraged transit. She let out a sadder face of concern and she couldn't help but break into tears as she sat on her daughter's bed and held the quilt on to herself while she appeared to be crying into it.

Amanda was 18 and was the primary concern of her mum, Susanne, a retired big time actress. She didn't have a father, as her mum had her through In Vitro Fertilization, and the sperm donor was kept anonymous on her request.

Amanda was born with a medical condition whereby she couldn't stay conscious for long hours without being on medication, and it worsened about two years ago.

Amanda, getting down from the staircase of her mum's mansion, picked up her phone from the edge of her tiny-strapped yhand bag as she headed towards the entrance door.

"Iris, open the door!" Amanda frustratingly yelled at the AI controlled door and as it clicked open, she went right to her car where she rested her thumb on the door's knob to unlock it.

She sat by the driver's seat of her Tesla MX340 and dropped her bag on the chair to her right side without much care. She then rested her thumb yet again on the ignition switch, and the car started with the AI systems coming alive.

"Hi, Amanda. That's an ugly frown. Where are you wearing that to, girl?" The AI asked from within the speakers of the car.

"Just drive, please. Now's not the time for that conversation." Amanda replied with a sombre pitch as she looked towards the door of her house.

"All right, girl. We don't have to talk about it. We about to go get stoned, and maybe put down our teenage girl pants for a minute." The AI replied her with an eccentric accent that sounded more like a fusion of Black American, Scottish and Spanish.

"AHHHH AHHH AHH! You always get me girl." Amanda laughed before she could utter a word.

"We girls got to have each other's boobies, right?" The AI said the phrase the wrong way with all humour intended.

"Yeah, I guess so. Thank you, Ava." Amanda said with a genuine face and a gleeful touch on the screen over her dashboard.

In a ride that wasn't more than a dozen minutes long, Amanda arrived at her school and alighted from the car with the door still open.

"You're forgetting something, girl; your corsage." The AI said promptly.

"Thank you." Amanda replied with a smile as she took her corsage from the side of her bag.

There were a number of cars, majestically looking and delicately designed luxury ones parked over the whole premises and this was a view that she'd envisaged. Everything was going as she'd always imagined it to be.

Amanda walked up the many stairs that led to the hallway of the school, and at every five feet stroll she took, a couple were making out steamily with their hands in places she'd rather not concern herself with.

For Amanda, this night held two surprises. She was going to surprise Lucas, her boyfriend by showing up and she was going to tell him that she loved him. The thoughts of how all these could be romantic stirred up an orchestra of butterflies in her belly.

"Hey. It's so good to have you back here, Amanda." A tall guy said with a tone of concern.

"You were in our thoughts and prayers." The other boy, whose nails were painted like the Croatian map and had lip-gloss heavily expressing themselves on his lips while he constantly held up one of his hands in the air back and forth, with his other hands romantically leaning on the guy who spoke first.

"Thank you. Have you seen Lucas?" She asked, in a hurry to get away from these lovers whose pheromones were half as powerful as hers.

"He should be by the pool-side." One of them replied while Amanda walked speedily towards the location.

"He must be so lonely to be staying there." Amanda thought to herself a while she walked because that spot was renowned for being home to the school loner's or losers who had no one to hang out with or to the super lustful couples who needed to exchange bodily fluids.

Amanda was walking fast with her heart pacing and beating loudly like a notorious 90's punk band. With every rising, tingling and affectionate energy flowing through her veins and into her heart, she began to feel weak.

The bodily weakness halted her steps and hastened her breathing and her heart rate in this hallway where no other person was at. She was still a far distance from the poolside where she was headed and she had to get there. She had to see him.

With every bit of strength left in her, Amanda forced her legs into moving from where they were stuck at, and she rationalized the whole "I can do it against all odds" speech in her head while she advanced slowly and painfully.

One would not have known the measure of pain in her chest as she wheezed while walking with a loud smile that could haunt any creeping ghost in this dimly lit hallway. A guy passed by her but barely noticed her groans and the little aching sounds she was letting out from her widely stretched red cheeks. She didn't want help anyway. She had to do this for herself, and by herself.

Amanda kept struggling, and with just a few steps towards the edge of the turn that led to the poolside, her vision began to blur like a Polaroid camera out of focus, with eigengrau becoming more evident in her eyes which were shutting slowly as her breathing became louder.

"Oh, no!" Amanda muttered barely with her body getting shivers of numbness all over. She was on a Sisyphean quest and with not much strength left in her, she held her hand tightly on the edge of the wall and struggled to pull herself to the side of the edge from where she could have a clear view of the lonely, sad and loving eyes of Lucas.

The light-headedness was becoming thicker and Amanda was losing clarity to its weight while she fought hard to stay conscious. She could barely see things as they were, as the pixels of all around her were either grey to her fading vision or wriggling in their shapes.

She saw a shadow of a guy's back reflecting on the wall, and without much help, she could identify audaciously that it was Lucas'.

You know how lovers can sense the presence of their other halves from across the room? Amanda was feeling this heavily, and her pain coupled with her fleeting consciousness seemed like less of the bully it was.

"Lucas?...lu…" Amanda said softly with more sighs of exhaustion and unconsciousness evident in her indiscernible words.

She had seen him, or at least the shadow of his back, but he hadn't seen her or even felt her presence as he was in the business of searching the uttermost parts of Clara's mouth with his tongue while she was seated on his right side by the edge of the pool itself.

"uhhh. Uhh!" Amanda sighed once and subsequently panted hardly with her hand slipping from the edge of the wall which she held on to earlier. A few seconds into her hand's slip, she faded out of whatever was left of her consciousness levels and her body thudded heavily on the ground with her back taking the hardest hit which she didn't feel as she was wrapped in vivid unconsciousness.

Despite the hard thudding sound her body made on impact with the ground, Clara and Lucas weren't in any way distracted as their lips fervently rubbed on each other's.

"Lucas?" A woman asked with a tone of curiosity and slight surprise from a distance which was a few feet away from the pool.

"Oh, shit!" Lucas said with his mouth running out of Clara's mouth's heavy grip as he turned his face towards Susanne, Amanda's mom. In this fit of shock and heightened levels of guilt, he stood up hastily and all of these prompted a bewildered facial expression from Clara who scoffed and watched whatever scene was unfolding before her eyes.

"…have you seen Amanda?" Susanne asked with a palette of emotions; anger, hurt, and disappointment while she slowly uttered her words to the trembling Lucas whose forehead was bearing a bold sweat on it.

"No… I didn't know she was coming." Lucas said in a lowly turn soaked in guilt and hurt as he barely kept eye contact with Susanne.

Susanne nodded her head slowly with her breathing going off rhythm while she struggled to keep her head straight.

"Amanda. Amanda. Somebody help me. Anybody, please." A guy yelled with a voice coated in tears and pain boldly inscribed on every stuttering syllable as he held Amanda's head on to his knee while rubbing her face. He hoped for help, or a miracle. He needed something and someone to come save her. He loved her. That was obvious to everyone but Amanda.

Susanne sprinted her way to the corner which was a few steps away from where she stood. Lucas followed her from behind with his guilt getting the better of him as a concerned burden became fixed on his face as he looked at the unconscious Amanda on the floor in her prom outfit.

That was always her dream. That's all she'd ever wanted, and Lucas had failed her.

"Amanda, mummy's here. You'll be okay." Susanne said with her hand over Amanda's head and the other hand on her neck to feel her pulse.

"Calum, let's get her to the car now." Susanne said hurriedly to the sobbing boy who had shouted earlier. Calum was her best friend, and all he'd ever wanted was for her to be happy and healthy again.

Amanda, dressed in a white hospital patient outfit and laying on the bed in this ward with what appeared like a lean smile on her face that had an oxygen tube right underneath her nose, gasped suddenly and her eyelids which were initially closed, twitched a dozen times in a space of a few seconds before she finally opened them wide.

Amanda had been in a coma for 112 days and her body was used to sleeping and being half-conscious. The right side of her head hurt and she was having blurry vision and a strange tingling sensation around her back. Amanda's mind was fuzzy, and she barely understood anything about what had happened to her and where she was.

In an attempt to settle her unnerving curiosity, she slowly sat up with her back resting on the frame of the bed where her head formerly was while she released a few moans under her breath as she felt pain in her joints and body.

Amanda, looked to her left side, towards the window of the hospital and saw her hologram device by the table a little far from her. She wanted to touch it, to feel something besides her pain, but as she extended her hand halfway, the pain gripped her yet again, and strongly this time, so she gave up and returned her hand to her thighs letting out sighs borne of discomfort.

"Fuck!" Amanda yelled with the throbbing mild aches she felt. This was her first word in over four months, and as she spoke, her Hologram came alive.

"Fuck! Amanda, you're awake. Was kinda hoping it'd take Calum's kiss to make that happen, but here we are. I missed you, girl. You scared the shit out of us all." Ava said with heavy happiness and a speedy rush.

"Those cuss words are definitely a reason I can't die yet, Ava… I missed you, too." Amanda said with a light laugh and keen cheer while she placed two of her fingers on her head.

"I bet, girl. So, catch me up. You stalked Jesus much? He as pretty as em GQ dudes? Don't hold back! Tell me all of it." Ava said with over-the-top excitement and non-drug-based euphoria.

"Oh! You are nasty, Ava.. and I didn't see Jesus. I did see my boyfriend, Lucas, a lot though." Amanda wrapped up her sentence with a perfect blush resting on her pale cheeks.

Ava went silent, and said nothing. In this moment of silence, Amanda turned her head towards the right side of the room and saw a pile of beautifully designed and multi-coloured greeting card, and for some reason, her heart leaped for joy and butterflies were roaming in her belly.

"Are those from Lucas? Oh, my God. That's so sweet. He did them the vintage way. I've always wished for something like this. It's just as if he read my mind." Amanda kept speaking with eyes and cheeks lighting up for joy towards this gesture.

Ava remained silent, and Amanda noticed this, so she returned her face to Ava's side.

"What's wrong, Ava? You aren't saying anything?" Amanda asked curiously.

"Amanda, Lucas didn't write those. He didn't write any of it. I'm sorry." Ava said with an empathetic tone.

"I don't understand. If he didn't, then who did?" Amanda asked with her smile fading from her face.

"Calum did. He came here every day and he'd bring one every time and even read to your ears while you were out." Ava said, still with a sombre tone.

"How long… how long was I out again, Ava?" Amanda asked with the ringing pitch in her head rising slowly while she spoke.

"112 days, Amanda." Ava replied.

"..and not once did Lucas come over, right?" Amanda continued with an heart-breaking voice.

"I'm sorry, Amanda." Ava said, in a bid to comfort her.

"mmmm… can you read me the first one Calum brought?" Amanda asked as she sniffled lightly.

"Yeah. Hey. It's the first day since you've been all Snow White, and I'm terrified. Please, get better, for your mum and for me. I love you." Ava read, with all emotions the letter weighed.

"hhhh!" Amanda, disconcerted and emotional at the same time let out a shallow breath with her eyes opened a little less widely.

"Can you read the last one he sent, please?" Amanda asked in a very low voice that was almost under her breath.

"So, guess what? I got us tickets to go to the Theatre of Antiquities in New York, just like we'd always planned. We are to leave in nine days. I am not going without you, Amanda. You have my heart and my love. You're going to come out of this, and we're going to be old and grey making jokes and painting ugly pictures of ourselves." Ava read with a rather poetic voice as she was immersed in the sincerity of the letter.

"Ughhh." Amanda chuckled lightly with tears rolling down her eyes.

How did she not know that Calum loved her? She'd meant the world to him, but she hardly saw him as more than her best friend.

In the middle of this slightly eccentric sobbing, someone walked into the room hastily with a letter in his hand, and a big bag on his back.

"Amanda?" the voice said with shock and excitement.

"Calum?" Amanda replied with affection as she raised her head to see the unfamiliar voice.

The moment their eyes met, the whole lights in the building and the other sky scrapers next to them went off. Every gadget, electronic device and technologically fashioned device buzzed their last before shutting down.

All lights out.

"What the fuck?" They both thought to themselves in the middle of this gross darkness that had befallen them.

A few seconds after, tears and wailings could be heard loudly and discordantly from every edge, corner, room and part of the hospital.

Amanda was terrified, not just because of the sudden darkness, but the heavy breathing that her lungs and mouth were producing as she began to hyperventilate from her mouth.

"Amanda, breathe. I'm here, okay? We'll get through this." Calum said as he rubbed his hand warmly on her trembling shoulders and arms.

Calum took his hand from her and dropped his bag on the bed while he opened it up to bring out an antiquated torchlight that used 20th century lithium rechargeable batteries. While Amanda kept breathing hard and saying nothing because of the shock that had overwhelmed her, he switched it on, and he looked into her eyes.

Those eyes, turquoise edges of the moon in bloom were adorable, and as the light spread across the room, he could see her face light up. Every part of her was beautiful, even her scared and teary face, and he couldn't hold back on the smile that his face unveiled.

"Hey. You are going to be okay. Okay. There's no easier way to say this, and now feels like really horrible timing, but I'll say it anyway. You know how.." Calum said in a haste of awkwardness before Amanda interrupted him.

"I know, Calum. I'm sorry I didn't acknowledge it earlier. I love you, too." Amanda said with a soft and yet still voice with a face of extreme sincerity.

"Whoa… ooofph! I waited half my life to hear that and this was just perfect. Thank you, Amanda. However, that's not what I was going to say… uhmmm." Calum replied with a hefty blush on his cheeks that spilled words even more awkwardly than before.

"It's 2099, Amanda. The apocalypse is happening. And I'm sorry if you find that hard to believe right now, but that's what this is." Calum said, while stuttering throughout most of his words before Amanda's clueless and confused face.

"Calum, are you really quoting one of your teenage comics or nerd references right now?" Amanda asked with seriousness as she demanded clarity.

"I wish that was all this was about, but it's no joke, Amanda. It's really happening. Okay, look, outside as we speak, the sun is gone, like it has vanished, and bad, bad things are about to come next." Calum said patiently with a tone that had a rising amount of fear in it.

"That was good, Calum. Very good Eli Roth impression there." Amanda said with a brief and awkward chuckle.

"Oh, come on. What do they have you on? This is no joke. Can you walk? We really have to go now." Calum said with more apprehension and fear enveloping his voice.

"Okay. Let's assume for a moment that I do believe you, and the "apocalypse" is happening, where are we going to?" Amanda asked as she was leaning into the idea that all these might be true.

"There's a bunker…" Calum replied instantly before she interrupted him with an exclamation.

"Really, Calum? This is so not funny anymore. What movie is this whole act from?" Amanda asked as she was slowly freaking out.

Calum, anxious to prove to her that this was no farce or movie joke, walked towards the other end of the room and pulled the curtain open for her to see what was outside.

"More noise, noise, dread, horror, blackness." That was all she saw, felt and heard in that moment she looked outside.

"Okay, I believe you." Amanda said quickly as her mind was thunderstruck and helplessly clueless.

"Good, let's go." Calum said with a sense of relief as he slowly held her hand while she sat by the edge of the bed to wear her hospital crocs which Calum brought nearer to her feet.

"We are gonna have to go a little faster than that, Amanda." Calum said while they dragged their feet and walked like pregnant snails.

"You really want me to go faster? I've been half-dead for 100 plus days. Have a little pity for my speed." Amanda said humorously as she held her arm around Calum's neck.

"remember what you'd always tell me? You can do…"

"Anything you put your mind to." Amanda and Calum said together at the same time as she moved faster.

"And how are we supposed to get to the bunker?" Amanda asked curiously amidst all the panic and screams that emanated from every corner and turn.

"We'll cycle. I got the bike downstairs." Calum replied quickly while panting from the energy expended in adding her weight to his while they ran down the stairs.

"Ooooh! God, why didn't you just let me rest in your arms or something when you had me over for vacation?" Amanda asked God rhetorically as she looked towards the roof above them.

"Now's not the time for philosophy, girl. We are on our own this time." Calum said with no bit of humour as he pointed the torchlight towards the bicycle where he'd parked it.

"Is that it?" Amanda asked with her body weight bearing more on Calum as they were a few metres away from the bicycle.

"Yeah, that's Leah, and she's our ride." Calum said as his movement paced.

"You named that after our grade eight teacher, didn't you?" Amanda asked as she burst into a nasty laughter.

"Well, maybe." Calum replied with a laugh.

"Pervert!" Amanda added while she laughed so hard that her nose oinked like a pig's.

"Oh, fuck!" Calum uttered with worry as the torchlight in his hand flickered as they got to the bicycle.

"We are both doing this, right?" Amanda asked sarcastically.

"Yeah. Why else does it have two pedals and two seats?" Calum replied while helping her to sit on the rear end of the bike.

"I'm good. You're really handling this whole apocalypse shit well, you know.." Amanda said, looking at him while he sat in her front.

"Yeah, it's either that or the other option we are definitely not talking about." Calum said as he fixed his hands on the handles and gear while holding on to the torchlight.

"Thank you, Calum." Amanda whispered lowly to the back of his body which was in front of her.

"Did you say something?" Calum, who was already pedalling and navigating the bicycle around here said without looking back.

"No, I didn't." Amanda replied as she wrapped her hands around his back and joined in the pedalling and slowly pedalled the one at her feet in rhythm with his.

They pedalled and rode through the darkness with most of Calum's instincts and help from the flickering torchlight as they finally got to the multi-million dollar Ares Company.

"Okay, come on. Let's go." Calum said as he removed his bag from the basket tray in the front of the bag and helped Amanda get down while he faced the building.

"Uhhhmmm.. is that legal?" Amanda asked with uncertainty clouding her voice.

"I think the word "Legal" died when the sun kissed us bye." Calum replied as he dragged her closer to himself while they walked into this edifice in search of the bunker's location which Calum had not paid much attention to earlier during the nerd breakfast broadcast.

"Do you actually know where we're going…. NNnnnkkkkk" Amanda asked as she coughed, short of breath.

"Is the oxygen tube still intact?" Calum asked her with care as he held her hands and stopped trekking ahead of her.

"Yeah, it's just not as effective, I think." Amanda said with low breath and a thin voice.

"I'm sorry. I promise you'll be okay. I may or may not have stolen two mini oxygen cylinders, too." Calum said as he burst into a criminal laugh.

"Oh, no. you didn't." Amanda replied with laughter of curiosity.

Amanda fixed her eyes on his voice and she found hope, love and strength in it.

"What more could one ask for?" She thought to herself, revelling in the love of Calum.

After a dozen missteps and a ton of miscalculated routes within this building that now felt like a maze, Amanda was exhausted and sat on the ground while Calum looked around them in search of a sign, memory or anything.

While they stayed clueless in this silence, a loud crash of glasses by something heavy and huge scattered round the building and caused them both to shiver and this heightened the chills in the building.

"What the fuck was that?" Amanda asked Calum who was speechless and equally frightened by the sound.

"Shhhhh!" Calum said to Amanda who wondered why.

From a distance, foot steps were approaching towards their direction and Calum patiently listened in a bid to identify their distance and to catch up on their words.

"What is that?" Amanda said in a stealthy voice while she dragged Calum's trouser by his knee tightly.

"I don't know. Let's find out." Calum replied in an even quieter voice as he sat down next to her and put off the flickering torchlight till it was absolutely dark around them.

As the footsteps advanced and the sounds of their shoes and movements became louder, fear gripped Amanda and Calum the more.

What was lying around them? Were these people dangerous? Would their death be gentle, kind and merciful? These thoughts danced around the pages of their heads as they covered their mouths in order to keep their trembling and freaked-out moans within their mouths.

"Jesus. I can't do this anymore. Fuck. I'm sorry, Calum. I'm freaked out." Amanda yelled loudly in a Tiffany Haddish voice that was loud enough to rock the bowels of anyone breathing in the building.

"What the hell, Amanda?" Calum said in a mid-baritone voice weighing tons in tension and suspense as he knew that their cover had been blown.

"Who's there? Please don't hurt us. We're just looking for a bunker. We have no weapons and are very domestic and loving human beings. We are Homo Sapiens Sapiens, people." A guy whose voice was full of fear uttered uncontrollably as he kept walking slowly towards where he'd heard Amanda's scream.

"Please shut the fuck up, Garcos. You're saying shit that could get us killed." A teenage girl who was next to him replied hastily with more confidence than fear.

"I'm the dumb twin. You deserve better, baby girl." Garcos replied her with a voice that broke into tears that became louder by the second.

"Oh, shut up. You're the perfect twin. I couldn't have wished for any brighter one, cos then I'd be the dumb one." Fillux replied authoritatively as she kept her heavy emotions at bay.

Amanda's fear gradually lessened as she heard this jovial and somewhat funny banter between these two that were about 6 feet away from them.

"Should we…?" Calum asked Amanda quietly.

"Yeah, sure." Amanda replied confidently as she nodded her head.

"Hi, guys." Calum said as he got up from the floor where he sat.

"Oh, God. Garcos, I love you, too. I should have said that earlier." Fillux screamed out in fear of the stranger's voice that intensified the dread in her veins.

"You remain my favourite twin, even till the afterlife." Garcos said as he hugged her tightly as they sobbed in each other's shoulders.

"That's not weird at all. You guys, we aren't attacking you or anything. We are just like you, so you can end the sibling's party now." Amanda said with an emphatic tone which stirred up from her frustration at how sweet the banter of the twins was.

"What? You guys aren't bad guys?" The twins said together with uniform pauses as though they shared a telepathic connection.

"Oh, come on! What's with you all and thinking this is some Nolan or Tom Hanks' movie?" Amanda replied with a slight scoff as she looked towards their direction.

Calum, who had been standing in silence while smiling at the cuteness of them all, switched the torchlight on and pointed it directly at their faces.

"Whoa! Is that light?" Garcos asked as though he was re-entering into civilisation.

"Okay. Let's make this quick, before the actual killers come for us all. And I don't know about you, but I'm not ready for that." Amanda said as she looked at their illuminated faces which were even friendlier than their voices and repartee.

"I'm Fillux, and this is my twin, Garcos. You guys are?" Fillux asked with a smile and curiosity on her face.

"I'm Calum, and she's Amanda." Calum said as he pointed the light towards his face and Amanda's.

"Are you guys twins, too?" Garcos asked with a smile so wide you could count all his teeth.

"No. Lovers, actually. Now, let's go find that bunker." Amanda said as she advanced towards nowhere in particular while they all ran towards her like lost puppies and followed her.

Calum had not gotten his smile off his face since she called them lovers and in that bubble of excitement, he looked towards the ground and noticed neon lights that shined slightly whenever the torchlight in his hands struck them.

He traced them with his light into a farther distance from them, and it made sense to him.

"It's the direction." They all said together with smiles and jubilant blushes falling off their cheeks.

"Let's go." Calum said as he held Amanda's fingers and locked them into his while they advanced.

People who are labeled the “dregs of society” seldom fret about the dregs of society the way those, who aren’t dregs, do.” –Ralph Ebe

Stephanie and I had grown up together, our houses separated by an easily climbable chain link fence. We were both born at Boston Medical Center during the fashionable phase of care, before epidurals were invented, in which our mothers were given “twilight sleep” and then were delivered of their babies—that is, us—using forceps. Fernand Lamaze would turn over in his grave.

Nothing indicated we had been forceps babies. We both excelled at the same school with other children whose birth techniques remained a mystery. We were both breastfed for 16 months, but we couldn’t tell what kids hadn’t. We each had two parents, as well as uncles and aunts. We each had two siblings, a little brother and a littler sister who were about the same age. Ours was apparently a community of synced pheromones, waxing and waning according to some mysterious neighborhood algorithm involving radon, tidal gravity, or perhaps even sanctifying grace. (Stephanie and I were both Catholic, studied the same catechism, and had the same guilt infrastructure in place). We got the same grades, won the same extracurricular and academic awards, and were probably quantumly entangled.

Until high school, when we each went to a Catholic high school exclusive to my and her gender. Besides gender and, now, high school, the only difference between us was that I had always wanted to be a doctor, and she had always wanted to be a good Catholic.

We remained close during those years, dated, and even dipped into the bodily fleshpool a bit, but never went all the way. She was a good fire-and-brimstone prude and I was scared of venereal diseases and pregnancy; and of her father. After all, I had plans.

“You can’t get VD if I’m a virgin, too, stupid,” she said.

“I like the way you think,” I replied.

Homework together in her room or mine became a non-issue for both sets of parents, since we had done that since the fifth grade, but the grade levels weren’t the only things that had changed. Like the sure-thing tip on a hot horse, the surging hormones invited me, implicit with my self-appraised status of being sexually underserved. So, I fell victim to a mutual denials between my encouraging hormones and the diseases, pregnancies, and fathers that only happened to others.

“No, but I can get pregnant,” she added. “That’s when my father kills you. Better to get VD, because he’s a Teamster.”

“A Catholic Teamster,” I clarified.

“Teamster first,” she said. “I could never tell him I was pregnant, well, not until Sunday, when he’s a Catholic again. But, then I guess the priest would kill you.”

“I don’t think they’re allowed to do that.”

“They’re allowed to on Sundays. They’re Jesus on Sundays.”

“Today’s Saturday,” I pointed out. She laughed. “How come you’re not on the pill yet?” I pressed her.

“Are you kidding? Dad would kill me.”

“I guess if you get pregnant, we should just kill him, right?”

“Over my dead body,” she vowed.

“This is getting way too complicated. Can’t we just trust the crystal ball and, well…we had promised that when the time came, we would lose our virginity to each other. You remember that, right?”

“Yea, when the time came,” she said. “And it’s not tonight.”

“Prom?” I asked.

“Oh, that’s so spontaneous and romantic. You want an appointment? Should I pencil you in?”

There is a term in Catholicism called “the near occasion of sin.” The Church recognized that if you sin because you can’t help it, it probably isn’t a sin; but if you put yourself knowingly into a position where you will risk not helping it—then that’s the sin. That tenuous zone, open to interpretation, is the near occasion of sin.

“No appointment,” I said. “Let’s just put ourselves in the near occasion of sin and see what happens."

“For Prom,” she pointed out.

“Yea,” I said, “for Prom.”

“You haven’t asked me yet.”

“Of course! Will you, Stephanie, go to Prom with me?”

“Whose? Yours or mine?

“Both.”

“And which one is the one?”

“I was hoping maybe both.”

“Poor baby. You’re here all hot and bothered—the only one ready—and I’m the party pooper.”

I remained silent, seeing a glimmer of hope in her smiley eyes and hoping this thing could turn around yet. When it didn’t, I surrendered. We were nowhere near any occasion, of sin or otherwise.

“Look,” she offered, sex is too important. It’s not just putting Tab A into Slot B.”

“Again, I like the way you think.”

“It’s communion, the forging of a completely new, composite being, so it’s holy.” I put Tab A away dutifully.

Truth be told, we really had pledged to lose our virginity to each other. When the time came.

That time never came which, as a male, meant being cheated my opportunity for a free and easy sexual encounter—all the way, mind you—at a time when accomplishing this was neither free nor easy. I couldn’t understand this tragic miss, because I had already gotten through the hard part—her agreeing to sex with me; the timing, it seemed, should have just followed. It didn’t.

I’ve often wondered to whom she did lose her virginity. I’m not jealous, just resentful, because it should have been me—should’ve been mine. I owned it. It was my unopened package at the bottom of the Christmas tree. I could only hope that hers went as unpredictably and awkwardly as mine had gone. They’re all like that the very first time, aren’t they? The gift wrapping all ripped up and lying tattered on the floor, the toy that can't be fixed--forever broken.

By senior year, attrition wrecked our broken plans originally woven out of gossamer, and we drifted apart according to fair-weather lures of newfound social circles. I had heard she went to her prom with the singer of the very band who had performed for it, so she danced alone. I wondered if she lost it at her prom.

I missed my own prom because of strep throat. Streptococcus made the sour grapes of my missed rite of passage taste a little less bitter in my mouth.

We both had impressive grades in high school, and we were both accepted into universities, 1500 miles and two whole time zones apart. We wrote letters until email made such thing passé. After that, our communications suffered from the dreaded “poverty of speech” that barely held together truncated relationships which dangled by just a verb or an abbreviation. Our communication line finally snapped.

Was I over her? She was a beauty, but so is anyone who is 18-years-old, until they’re ravaged by age, obesity, the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or just the consequences of bad choices. In my indelibly inked mind’s eye, she was still angelically faced, muscularly sinewy and lean, twinkly and smiley-eyed, and just pouring out with excited enthusiasm for every micromoment of her day. But, yes, I believe I was over her.

Still, I wonder what would have happened had we not gone in two different compass directions for our educations. The fantasies, the plans, the expectations of our young, open, and pioneering minds—would they have been realized? Maybe. Perhaps a few of them?

In college I was pre-med, as were 60% of my entering freshman college class. By senior year, only 4% of our class were still pre-med. By the next year, only 1% of us were actually in medical school. I went as an out-of-state student to LSU School of Medicine in Shreveport, Louisiana, which is really in Texas, for all practical purposes. After my second year, I was granted the opportunity to switch to the LSU in New Orleans which, for all practical purposes, isn’t really in the South.

I remember a particular lecture from a visiting professor of Emergency Medicine. He explained that you can always predict what the next drug-fueled societal calamity would be in the United States by looking at what was happening in Japan in the present. I was curious.

“What is the drug problem in Japan right now, sir?” I asked.

It was rude, because I had interrupted him; but he was gracious and answered. He didn’t say, exactly, “crack,” but it was whatever crack was back then. By the time I applied to residency programs, crack was all over New Orleans, consumed by those who not only didn’t care whether you died when they mugged you, but didn’t even care if they died. The guns didn’t help, certainly. By senior year, both crack cocaine and I prepared to seek our destinies.

I had decided I wanted to be an Emergency Medicine doctor. I was accepted by Boston Medical Center’s Department of Emergency Medicine. I remember well my personal statement I had sent to them when I had applied:

For me, the Emergency Room is a special place, because it is the final resting place of consequences. Not only the accidents that come from being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but the bad diet and sedentary lifestyles that doom the physiology, foolish stunts and senseless risks that imperil the body’s integrity and structure, and poor life choices—their victims all ending up needing help for problems bigger than them. And this is probably why such things get to that point—the lure toward such maleficence was too powerful to resist. In any event, they’re at a point where they need help beyond that of which they are capable. As an Emergency Department physician, I become their steward, to mend them, perhaps fix the problems that got them there, and hopefully educate them so that I never see them again. This is not their gift to me; this is their gift to me—an honor entrusted to the very few. Although a real doctor learns to accept that he or she cannot fix everyone, were it another’s responsibility, the outcome may have been worse: at the end of each endless day, when I tally what I had done, the fact that it was my responsibility that oversaw such people to the best of my abilities is a feeling like no other. It's not hubris; it’s love, and without it no real doctor has any business practicing medicine. This is the passion I want to bring to my rotation and to the specialty into which I venture.

Whoever sat in judgment of such Admission Committee fodder loved it. A quick weekend trip was enough to establish a place to live, within walking distance to the hospital, and I was all set to report to my first rotation in the Emergency Room on July 1, the most dangerous day of the entire year in medicine—when shiny, new MDs with no unsupervised experience were thrown, unsupervised, at those who would have fared better on June 30, the safest day of the entire year in medicine. I defiantly said Bring it on! This is me. A real doctor. My call, my vocation, my destiny. I was ready, grandiose, and pompous.

Rotations of 12-hour shifts began on the 7s, so by 6:00 AM I was walking along Massachusetts Avenue toward the medical center. It was only a ten-minute walk, but I wanted to get there with enough time to have a cup of coffee and perhaps meet some of my equally inexperienced doctors, ready to assume stewardship of those for whom July 1 seemed no different from any other day in the calendar.

My walk on Mass Avenue, toward the corner of Melnea Cass Boulevard, was stymied by persons with substance abuse issues whose dispositions were not keen on yielding politely. “Mass and Cass” represented a zone of homeless, addicted, underserved, and abused individuals foretold by the same scourge in Japan years earlier. They endured, between their visits to methadone clinics, homeless shelters, and drug treatment centers, in their ramshackle tents.

My walk was like entering an enchanted forest; true, there may be an augmented degree of adventure the deeper I journey, but it can also rain upon you a progressive accruing of menace and danger, from those who didn’t care whether they died, and also didn’t even care if they died. The farther I went, navigating my zigzags through this human heap of desperation, the more frightened I became. I witnessed active drug deals involving cash for pills, patches, vials, and needles.

I wasn’t really looking at anyone as I walked; I had my tunnel vision on, avoiding eye contact, my destination the horizon, as my only vantage reference point, like an actor performing to the “fourth wall,” far in the distance. Some eyes, it seems, can hook you.

A woman, easily 20-30 years older than me, flashed smiley eyes reminiscent of my childhood Stephanie. They were the only things on her that rang that particular bell, because she was so different otherwise—pale, emaciated, slightly stumbling in her gait. Obviously ravaged by age and the traditional nemeses of any 18-year-old: the slings and arrows and consequences of bad choices. All of this poor woman’s micromoments, originally slated for celebration, had blurred into the last throes of survival. I watched her stagger toward me but, to my relief, she was aiming past me, not at me.

We crossed paths and that was that. A closer examination as she passed revealed a haggard woman, impossible to age and life-exhausted. She had cutoff shorts that were too tight, but which revealed that the track marks were not exclusive to her arms. Yet her eyes twinkled, but not as much as I remembered Stephanie’s because of the dilated pupils and jerky movements of them. Japan’s troubles of yesterday were alive and well in this woman’s eyes.

It was emotionally exhausting. Although I hadn’t been to Mass in years, I found myself offering Catholic prayers as I passed, because I had nothing else to give them. Hail Mary’s, Our Fathers, and Glory Bes. Hell, if I were able, I would have hauled novenas at them. Self-reflecting on my faith, I realized I was not qualified to pray for anyone.

I would take a taxi next time, if they’d be willing to go this way.

My first official duty was to attend a briefing—how to be a real doctor—a 10-minute primer:

Use this suture for lacerations; use that antibiotic for punctures or dog bites. Give anyone with hypoglycemia dextrose IV until the Internal Medicine resident came. Put restraints on anyone combative until the Psych resident came. Use these settings on the defibrillator until the ECG gets read. Epinephrine sub-Q for anyone wheezing. Put a tube in every orifice before consulting the Surgery resident; no narcotics for anyone.

We all scribbled furiously, although it was mostly common sense.

“Go report to the ER and ask the Chief Resident to assign you a patient,” the elderly doctor briefing us said. Then, with his back to us as he left, added, “When in doubt, ask. You’ll be a real doctor when you don’t have to ask questions.” He yelled back to us more loudly the farther down the hall he went, “And if you don’t feel you need to ask any questions right now, here on July 1, please tell us, because we’ll make sure you won’t ever be a real doctor.”

I managed a question for every patient I saw, even if I knew the answer. “Treat ’em and street ’em” was the protocol. For the others, the consulted residents would take them away to their respective services. In the meantime, there was my stewardship, in full glory.

It was a revolving door, and I was lucky enough that my passengers went smoothly with its torque. At one point, my collection of patients had reached zero, and I decided I should try to hide if I wanted to get anything to eat. I salivated over my brown bag lunch, sitting in a cubby hole, hopefully not stolen. Like a heat-seeking missile, I made a beeline for it, but my run for the gold was thwarted.

“Room 8,” the resident said. “Meth Mile patient in bad shape. Really yellow. Watch out, she’s a spitter.”

I masked, goggled, and gloved myself. I opened the door a crack and peaked in. No spitting. At least not yet. I stepped all the way in and I saw that same woman I had passed on Meth Mile. Indeed, she was much yellower than I had realized. No smiles in these eyes, only a buttery hue to the whites of them. Still pinpoint, they looked right at me.

“You my doctor, now?” she asked. Her voice was raspy from 40 pack-years of smoking crammed into only a decade.

“Right now, yes,” I answered.

“Good,” she said. “You’re just my type.” This threw me off a bit.

“How’s that?” I asked.

“You just know it, don’tcha?”

“Well, there are things I need to know about you—besides that.”

“Sure.”

I looked through my notes for her demographic intake sheet and looked back up to ask her a question, but she was asleep. Her sickly eyes were closed, closing her windows to the world, and with that, her brow unfurrowed, her face unfolded from the anticipation, apprehension, or bitterness; her jaw unclenched. I was able to see the child in her, even though she semmed middle aged. Her disastrous life was swaddled in respite, visiting another place, hopefully dodging the very things that landed her here in Room 8.

“Cheyenne? Cheyenne Skye,” I asked. She started, then reposed when she saw me again. “What brings you here?”

It was a rhetorical question. Her intravenous drug abuse had brought her here; her hepatitis, her HIV+ status, her malnutrition, and her addictions had all brought her here.

“I need a bump,” she answered.

“Excuse me?”

“A bump. A dose, a hit, a fix, ’cause I’m going down…” she began in singsong, “down to the pits that I left uptown…I need a fix ’cause I’m going dow-dow-down.”

She smiled, but it was a smile of self-irony—of resignation. It was the smile given when there’s nothing else left to give. And it was a plea as well.

“First, Ms. Skye—”

“Cheyenne,” she mumbled, but not to me—for me to catch.

“First, Cheyenne,” I continued, I’m going to have to draw some blood, I’m afraid.”

“Go ’head,” she agreed. “Not afraid of needles,” she laughed, whether this was funny or not.

“Good. Let me wrap this around your upper arm and lay it down here.” I applied the rubber hose tourniquet and looked her arm over. “Should I even try here?” I asked, looking at the gridiron crease in her mid-arm.

“Those ships have sailed, Doc,” she said. “Here, I’m gonna show you Ol’ Faithful, but you gotta promise you won’t tell anyone else.”

“Top secret,” I said.

She slapped the inside of her lower arm and there appeared a sinuous tract, complete with knobby valves. I ran my finger along it upwards, and it collapsed, indicating patency; I released my pinch on it below my little test and it refilled.

“Looks good, Cheyenne,” I said.

“Something on me that looks good,” she huffed sarcastically. I had no answer because she made a good point. “Cheyenne’s my stripper name.”

“Oh. What’s your real name, then?”

“Stephanie,” she answered.

Couldn't be was the fastened door whose locks and tumblers started fumbling loudly. I studied her carefully. Could it? Malnutrition, drug abuse, disease, emotional collapse, and a failing liver meant she could be anybody.

I swabbed the area with alcohol and it glistened, beckoningly. “Yea,” she said, “I should do that with the alcohol, too, I guess.”

I uncapped the needle and connected a vacuum tube to the syringe’s end, but not enough for the needle to penetrate it and establish a suction yet. For that I needed penetration into her vein. She crooked her neck up to watch as I placed the needle right over her skin for the thrust, and I saw a different type of look come over her face—not wan, forlorn, no longer desperate—a lover’s look, but twisted by passion. “Doc,” she said seductively.”

“Yes?”

“Make it feel like a good…like a good fuck.”

It wasn’t romantic, but it must have worked for her, for now her face showed absolute pleasure. “That was so…good. You’re the best. See? I told you.”

“Told me what?”

“You’re my type,” she answered. “We just had to put ourselves in the near occasion of sin, that’s all. After that, it ain’t a sin, right? That’s how I always go about it. Helps with all that guilt. I thank the guy who told me that all the time.”

“No, don’t,” I cautioned. “It’s bad advice.”

“What about for me? Not for me.” She sat up halfway in a pose, allowing the wardrobe malfunction hospital gowns were prone to suffer. I reached over and pulled one side of it toward the other, reducing her exposure and spurning her invitation.

“Sorry,” I said. “That time won’t come. I’m going to send in another doctor, now. Someone not your type. But know this, Cheyenne, sex isn’t just penetration. It’s not just putting Tab A into Slot B. It’s communion, the forging of a composite being, so it’s holy.”

“It’s Stephanie, Doc, not Cheyenne” she said sternly. As I turned to leave the room she spat at me, and I felt her spittle strike my white coat from behind.

We each had had our masks, preventing recognition—mine an N95, and hers, malnutrition, drug abuse, disease, emotional collapse, a failing liver, and the pock marks on her soul from the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Her mask had fallen, but mine kept me safely anonymous.

I was decimated with a type of pain I had never felt before. Empathy is one thing, but when it’s to the point of sharing a person’s total surrender, there is no rip in the world more treacherous—a one-way trip into the black hole. Some problems are bigger than you, once you’re past the event horizon. Hers was bigger than me. Here in Room 8 was a final resting place of consequences and poor life choices.

I had failed: I was a bad steward, unable to mend her, fix her problems, or educate her. This honor of stewardship—the doctor’s calling—was no gift but a trap from which there was no return. I would either escape it or die in it.

To this day I wonder how the outcome might have been different for her, had the responsibility of her stewardship been assigned to someone else. That night, at the end of my first day as an Emergency Room doctor, when I tallied what I had done, I had a feeling that blindsided me. It was antithesis to the passion I so eloquently had offered in my application personal statement.

Newly etched in my lifestone were two things I knew for certain:

I wasn’t over her; and—

I would never be a real doctor until I was.