Discomfort

// TW : torture //

“Alright, let’s try it, okay?” she asked, prodding forcefully.

I glanced down at the man in the chair with his eyes gleaming and a smile on his lips. Checking my notes, I asked, “Are you sure, Dayton, that you wanna do this? It’s not too late and I won’t be mad.”

For a moment he chuckled before catching Ester’s eye and swallowing the mirth. “Of course, Tally,” he muttered, looking down at his hands.

Taking a deep breath and shutting my eyes, I murmured the short incantation. My mind started to swirl like I’d let loose a tornado and my eyes were on fire. As I turned to face the subject, I held the spell at bay; it could consume me if I let it. “I want you to close your eyes, Dayton,” I murmured, my voice echoing and thundering. He did as I said and I continued, “I want you to imagine you’re standing in a stone hallway. The walls and floor are rough-hewn and stained with years of wear. There are no windows, only a crack of light coming from under the doorway in front of you.” As though my words were the script to a movie, the room was suddenly cold stone and darkness. “Under your bare feet, the cold is piercing. Jagged cuts across the soles of your feet ache with every step you take. The blood oozes and squishes as you shift your weight, sticky and slick,” I murmured as Dayton started to squirm in the chair. Clearing my throat, I added, “Something compels you to keep going, to push open the door with all your might and you’re met with a blast of bright light. It’s just candles in a dark room, but you’ve not seen light for ages. It’s blinding but you must keep moving. Your eyes are burning. You trip on a flagstone and land on your knees.”

I paused, seeing the agony already on Dayton’s face. When I looked at Ester, she rolled her eyes and snapped, “Come on. We haven’t got all day.”

To give myself an extra moment, I checked my notes again. All I really had was the spell written on the page, but Ester didn’t know that.

“The cuts from a few days ago reopen and blood streams down your legs as you struggle to your feet. Dirt and gravel are already embedded in your skin and there’s no hope of getting them out. You can feel them moving in the wounds as you straighten. You look at your hands; there are deep gashes across them and when you go to brush the dirt from your knees, the peeling skin tears and the gravel is further embedded,” I stated, trying to hold the magic at arm’s length, but my hands were starting to itch. Shaking my hands out, I tried not to notice Dayton groaning. I pressed on, “You walk to the middle of the room as though moved by an unseen force. There is a bench, which you sit on and wait. Your eyes are adjusting and you can now see the room is lined with tables, chairs, and benches. People in various states of torture are seated or lying before you. Some have deep cuts across them, others’ chests are open with organs on the floor. The metallic taste of blood permeated the air and every breath you take is rancid.” Dayton was breathing raggedly now and I looked to Ester for guidance.

“Just keep going. He’s fine,” she snapped, tapping her clipboard.

Nodding, I did, “A man appears in a lab coat that was probably white once. Now, it’s stained and burned and covered in viscera. He doesn’t speak but smells strongly of rubbing alcohol and something you don’t want to think of. He mimes holding his hands out at you and you feel compelled to mirror him.” Dayton moved his arms and I had to take another calming breath; this was always where these things went bad. “He turns his back and returns with a large knife caked in something dark red. You can practically smell the blood as he approaches. But maybe it’s just from the woman with her intestines wrapped around her neck who keeps coughing blackened viscera,” I continued as Ester jotted down notes with her scratchy pen. “He rests the point of the blade just below your elbow, lightly pressing in until a slip of blood drips down to your leg. You itch to resist, to walk away, to run, but you’re rooted to the spot. Suddenly, he digs the knife in deeply and follows the vein to the wrist, blood hemorrhaging,” I murmured quietly as Dayton started screaming. He was shivering and jerking.

“Keep going,” Ester demanded, glaring at me.

“Dropping that arm as the tear began to ebb away your consciousness,” I continued, speaking loudly over his cries, “he takes the other and does the same. This time, he drops the knife and holds the wound, blood pooling at his feet. You can smell it, the darkness coming. With his fingers on either side of the wound, he pulls it apart and you shriek. You can no longer feel your other hand, but this one is throbbing. Your toes are numb. The smell of your own blood is in your nose. The limpness is creeping up to your thighs now, moving towards your heart. Your head tilts and your vision is tinged with inky blackness. You can’t feel the pain anymore. It’s all gone. Everything is gone.”

The room became silent and still and black. Dayton had slumped forward, still as a corpse. When I whispered the spell, the room came to life again and my skin stopped itching.

“Well done,” Ester assured me as she checked on the subject. She grinned, “Alive.” As she passed me, she stopped and cleared her throat. “I know you didn’t write any of that out, that it was ad-libbed. You’ve certainly got a terrible darkness to you,” she murmured, looking me over.

“Hasn’t everyone got that?” I asked as I shoved my notebook into my bag. “Besides,” I added, “you asked for my help and I think this is going to do exactly that.”

Nodding, she pursed her lips and replied, “Sure, yeah. But that doesn’t mean you’re not scaring the shit out of me right now.”

“Uh, when Dayton wakes up, tell him I’m sorry,” I whispered with my hand on the door handle. Before I left, I added, “You know I can do that exact thing, without the little light show, without magic, right?” It was far less dangerous for everyone involved, and it couldn’t stop someone’s heart like the spell had the potential to do.

She pushed past me and replied, “We know. This is just teachable.”

The prospect of other people being able to do that, possibly without a conscience, didn’t ease my mind.

23/08/21

I’d been sneaking around a large compound of buildings with lights glowing through cloth and wood barricades for nearly an hour when I heard a sound. It was like breaking bones; a twig shattered underfoot. It was a dissimilar sound to that of glass crunching as I shifted my weight to my front foot. Breathing deeply, I crushed myself against a concrete wall, where bushes had grown tight to the pocked surface, leaving very little discoloured space to stand. As I peered through the darkness, searching for further clues to which direction the danger was coming from, I rested my machete’s tip on the ground. I couldn’t risk the dull blade reflecting orange light into the night.
After what felt like far too long for a predator to sit stalking me, I began to slowly creep around the building again. Above me, a group of people were talking in hushed voices, there was a tinkling of glass, then a small, hearty laugh. I shut my eyes for a moment, struggling to hear an audible word, but the group was clearly aware of their conspicuous gathering; throwing any kind of light out into the darkness was a dangerous game to play, whether you were hunting or being hunted. It was as though they were flaunting or daring the monsters to come out.
When I reached the corner of the building, I stepped on something sharp, a nail or piece of glass, that pierced through my heavy-duty boot. Sucking in to avoid screaming, I leaned against the wall, raised my foot up, and felt carefully around the sole. When I could feel anything that could have penetrated my shoe, I bit my tongue as the thundering of blood heading for the open wound spread through my body. Whatever I stepped on must have slid out; I supposed that was a positive as I couldn’t continue my mission to find out what was going on if I had a shard of glass sticking out of my foot. I braced myself and considered my options.
No one knew where I was. Everyone but the night watcher was asleep and would be for hours. I’d be dead from blood loss by the time anyone realized I was gone. Plus, I was the only one who’d been concerned about this region of the forest, so it wasn’t as though we were planning to check this building. I needed to fix the wound myself.
Leaning heavily on the wall, I pulled myself up and around the corner, scratching at the textured surface to stand beside a large, heavy wooden door that led to the building’s basement. I took a moment to tighten my shoe, hoping to curb some of the blood loss as my ears started to ring. Around the wide gaps in the door, I could tell the party didn’t extend to the bottom story, which I took as a positive. As I struggled to return to an upright stance, a strong, bony hand gripped my shoulder.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” came a deep, whispery man’s voice as I turned to see who it was. Towering at nearly seven feet was a lanky figure who, with his free hand, unlatched the door I’d been looking at and swung it wide.
Though under normal circumstances I could probably put up a fight against this giant, I was starting to feel woozy from the blood loss and I couldn’t find my machete. He shoved me through the opening and into a pile of damp hay. Turning on a light switch near the door, his face was thrown into deep, jagged shadows that made him look like a grotesque skeleton. “Here, bandage your foot,” he ordered, tossing a stained piece of clothing at me and shutting the door with a discerning glance up at one of the other buildings.
Wincing, I undid my shoe, feeling a rush of blood to the area and struggling to remain lucid. Quickly, I wrapped the cloth around my blood-soaked foot and tied it tightly. I sat back on the mouldy hay and steadied my breathing. “Who are you?” I asked as the ringing in my ears turned into periods of deafening silence.
He stared at me with pity and replied simply, “That doesn’t matter now. Can you make it up the ladder?” From his stance, it seemed like he didn’t really want to do what he was doing, but I glanced at the wooden steps beside me. I didn’t really see another option, so I nodded slowly. “Up you get, then,” he stated. Moving to stand beside me, he reached up and knocked three times on the wooden hatch. There was a scuffle above our heads and the panel swung out.
The man offered me a hand and pulled me to my feet, moving to steady my arm as I got a head rush and wavered. Blinking up into a dusty, mouldy room, I carefully put my injured foot on the first rung of the shallow ladder and gingerly shifted some weight to it. Though the pain was shooting like lightning up my leg as I went, I took the steps quickly so I could relieve the pressure as soon as possible. As my head came up through the hole, I glanced around at the remnants of a dining hall; there were tables shoved into a haphazard pile in one corner, benches and chairs lined the walls, and through an open doorway I could see a kitchen.
People were glaring at me from spread-out seats around the room. Most of them were in new, clean clothing and their hair wasn’t in mats; they were obviously well to do. In the back corner, a small gaggle of women holding champagne glasses were sniggering and whispering as I pulled myself out of the hole and stumbled back against a broken window.
“Alright, I’m ready now,” stated the man from the basement as he easily extracted himself and slammed the door shut.
A man peered out from the kitchen, glared at me, then turned his attention to the skeletal figure. “Was that just to show off?” he snapped, adjusting his heavy apron as he stepped into the room. Looking over the people in the room, perhaps two dozen, he cracked a moderately maniacal grin that showed off his perfect teeth, and announced, “Now that Carl has proven that he did, in fact, hear something outside, we can begin.” He stood with his arms raised like a maestro at the start of a particularly difficult concerto and paused.
The pause went on for too long. Finally, he dropped his hands and stalked into the kitchen, his face sporting a deep shade of crimson and a scowl I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of. He shut the door behind him, and it sealed. During the stop in the performance, Carl grabbed my shoulder again with his bone-breaking strength and wheeled me towards a vacant bench. “Sit,” he growled, pushing me down and taking a seat next to me. Everyone had gone back to sizing me up in the other man’s absence and I was just trying to focus on remaining conscious.
“Now, we can begin!” the man shouted as he opened the door, carrying a tray with a large, smoking bowl on it. He was now wearing a pair of thick rubber gloves that were we with a suspicious substance that dripped on the floor ahead of him. Before the door shut again, I could have sworn I heard someone sobbing. Setting the tray down, he resumed his dramatic stance and continued, “Since before the first monster was created, scientists, like myself, have been attempting to perfect an inoculation for the coming plague. In all this time, I have been experimenting and creating my own monsters to that end. I have now perfected my serum and offer it to all of you tonight.”
As he stood there, clearly waiting for applause, my stomach dropped, and I realized just how screwed I really was. Turning my hands over to examine the blood, I was just mustering my strength to break Carl’s grip on my shoulder when someone began pounding on the lone door directly outside.
“Please! Carl! Open the door! Open the door! They’re coming! Somebody! Anybody?” shrieked a woman, her voice cracking as she begged the giant to open the door.
With his eyebrows raised, he looked to the mad scientist for direction. The wicked grin had returned to the man’s face as he purred, “She was weak. It’s time. Now is the time!” He picked up the tray again and walked to the nearest group of people, nodding to the bowl.
Outside, a horde of the undead was tearing through the unoccupied buildings, breaking any remaining windows and destroying anything they ran into. When they reached our fortified building, the woman screamed as they tore her apart. The doors and barricaded windows were soon inundated with thundering, aggressive pounding and animalistic growling and shrieking.
I’d heard of experiments like this, and they never ended well. Under normal lab circumstances, there were only five possible outcomes, but I had yet to hear of a successful one. The most likely effects were either that everyone was instantly turned into members of the undead, or nothing at all happened. Every once in a while, there were rumours that someone had turned a subject into a zombie, then they came back to life sometime later; I’d never seen absolute evidence of this, but the tales of those circumstances fuelled hope across the world. In this instance, I suspected no outcome wouldn’t involve my demise. Whether the mad scientist was right or not, I was about to be torn apart by zombies; the only question was whether it would be ones presently inside the building or outside.
As the people around the room held pieces of steaming ice in napkins, no one wanting to be the first to try it, I looked to Carl. He was sitting quite still, his fingers still digging into my skin. “Please let me go. This isn’t gonna work,” I whispered urgently. The edges of the room were starting to darken, and my foot had gone numb; I didn’t have a lot of time left.
“It’s our last chance to survive this,” he stated simply, though relaxing his grip on me slightly.
Desperation kicked in as the scientist circled the room and I continued, “I’m dead whether you let me go or I sit here beside you. Come on, if this doesn’t work, I can’t get far anyway.”
Furrowing his brow, Carl looked down at me and sighed, “If this doesn’t work, at least we’ll be dead. No more running. No more fighting for our lives against those monsters. It will be over for us.” He sounded as though he’d prefer it to not work; he sounded resigned.
“Why do you need me, though? You could just let me go now and, and I’ll just, I’ll not be here,” I pleaded as my heart started to pound. I was terrified. I was about to die. Why couldn’t he just let me go?
“When my concoction works, I’ll need a witness to spread the good news, dear girl,” the mad scientist replied, handing Carl an ice cube before setting the tray down again and taking his own. Raising his hand up as something smashed in the kitchen and a guttural scream pierced the air before cutting off suddenly. “Now, into the dawn!” he announced, downing the cube and staring around. He remained like a statue, excited eyes and expression locked in; perhaps something was happening that he didn’t want anyone to know about.
The noises outside were getting closer and angrier as the monsters attempted to get in. After a deep breath, a woman across the room ate her cube and stood up, wide-eyed. Others followed, and soon it was only Carl left staring at the inoculation. As the kitchen door banged open, he popped it into his mouth, looked down and murmured, “Sorry, kid.”
Nothing happened for the first twenty seconds or so and the zombies that broke in seemed to sense something was wrong; their normally rabid nature was more curious as they wandered in, blood smeared across tattered clothing. When it happened, it was fast. One second, the scientist was standing there perfectly fine, but the next he was screaming in agony, doubled over, and his skin had taken on the bluish tinge of frostbite. The sounds he made as he turned weren’t human. It was unnatural and horrifying. Across the room, people were shuffling away from the first woman, but as she bent over, so did they.
Soon, the noise was agony to my ears as the undead growled at the newly undead. It was like introducing a new cat to the old one; they circled one another until they realized there was one human in their midst. Carl’s grip never loosened as he froze from the inside out. His emaciated face paled and his eyes deadened as I struggled against his hand. Suddenly, he turned toward me and shrieked. It was such a shocking, unnatural sound that, for a brief moment, I forgot about the pain in my leg and tore away from him, scrambling to a badly boarded window.
Scratching at the edges of a rotting board, I pried it away and looked out at a swell of undead streaming between the deserted outpost’s remaining buildings. They were climbing up the sheer walls of the other building, knocking one another out of the way like rabid animals.
I turned as the scientist launched himself at me, biting through my arm and hitting bone. As the pain enveloped me, I screamed.

---

I woke up with my sheets wrapped tightly around me. Shaking slightly, I wiggled out from beneath the material and reclined back against my pillow; my heart was still thundering in my chest and the hair on the back of my neck was standing up. For several moments I attempted to think about other things. Anything, really. I tried to think about puppies and hockey, but the faces from my dream kept bubbling up.
When a light thud came from upstairs, I nearly jumped out of my skin. Breathing deeply, I reminded myself it was just my roommate taking laundry out of the washer. That was it.
But it was as though the dream had seeped into my mind. The simple sound I’d heard a hundred times before was sinister. Sitting up and leaning against the wall, I came up with a list of reasonable explanations for the noise, hoping one of those would calm my heart’s fluttering; she could be moving a box or a shelf, or perhaps she’d knocked over a chair. It was a normal sound that shouldn’t have affected me.
Breathing deeply, I climbed out of bed as quietly as I could, inched to the door, and stood listening intently at the crack. If the undead had, indeed, infiltrated the house, they’d likely be making a racket. When I couldn’t hear anything, I gently turned the handle, my heart pounding in my throat, and opened the door a crack.
The hallway was empty. I’d hoped seeing that no one was there would dispel the last cobwebs of my dream, but when another muffled thud came from upstairs, it sent me right back to where I’d been. Grumbling, I slowly crept down the hallway and looked up to the second floor, listening to figure out where my roommate was.
“I didn’t wake you, did I?” she asked, suddenly appearing at the railing and making me jump. Her hair was in a messy bun that showed off her non-undead face. When I jumped back, her eyes narrowed and she asked, “Are you okay?”
Honestly? Not really. I’d spent about twenty minutes thinking zombies had taken over the planet and one was about to kill me. “Chuckling, I replied, “Yeah, I’m fine. Just wanted to make sure you hadn’t broken anything.” With that, I went back to my room to lie awake in bed for a few more hours.

Camp Nano – Short Story #3

Joy

*For Camp Nanowrimo this April, I plan on writing 10 short stories that fall into different genres & elicit different emotions. Because I’m planning on editing them as I go, I’ll be posting a whole short story every ~3 days.*

My consciousness drifted back into being and the tea party I’d been dreaming about disappeared; I could still remember the bitter, fragrant taste of English breakfast tea on my tongue as the tinny music box melody that had played was replaced with the quiet sobbing of my roommate, Alice. Breathing deeply so she wouldn’t realize I was awake, I remained relatively still between my lumpy mattress and threadbare sheets. After what felt like hours, the knock came to the door and Alice ceased her crying instantly. A well-choreographed morning ritual.

“Good morning, Adrina,” she called to the door in her childish, high voice. There was no trace of the sorrow from seconds before.

When the door opened and Adrina stepped inside, I opened my eyes and yawned. “Mmm, ’ Morning,” I murmured, sitting up in my bed and smiling at the eldest child in the group home.

Stepping along the cold floor in her bare feet, she passed Alice her anxiety pills and a cup of water. When I first arrived here, they gave us our medicines in the kitchen, but the people who ran the home found this easier on everyone, apparently, and there was no point arguing. She watched and waited carefully as the small girl took her medication before whispering, “Good job, Al. We’ve got waffles for breakfast this morning so why don’t you hop up quick like a bunny and get ready for the day?” Adi was kind, in general, and definitely tried to make it easier on those of us who’d only ever known this makeshift pseudo family; she probably had a reason for her gentle, motherly nature, but those kinds of questions weren’t asked.

As Alice started to get dressed, Adrina walked to my bed and stood above me with an unreadable expression. Handing me my drugs and some water, she glanced over at Alice as she noisily made her bed, struggling like only a child could. I took the opportunity to slide the pills under my pillow and sipped the water as Adi looked back at me. “Thanks,” I croaked, blinking as I cleared my throat and handed the cup back.

“Your tutor is coming this morning, Joy, so better hop to it,” Adi suggested as she left the room, shutting the door softly behind her and moving quickly down the hall.

I grabbed the pills from my pillow and tucked them into the plastic bag in my toiletry box. I’d stolen the bag from a boardgame specifically for the task of covert capsule disposal. “Why aren’t you taking your medicine anymore?” Alice asked, her lip pouting a little as she sat on the edge of her bed swinging her legs.

Buttoning my blouse over my nightshirt, I replied, “Because I don’t really need them. They’re just making me miserable.”

“Are mine making me miserable, too?” she asked, her eyes somehow wider than usual.

“Oh,” I muttered, “No, no. I mean, yours are helping you to, to do things and be a kid. It’s different. I’m different.” Crossing the room, I gave her a hug and whispered, “I need you to please not tell anyone about the pills, okay?” When I pulled away, I stared into her watery eyes until she nodded. “Great. Let’s go brush our teeth so we can get breakfast, shall we?” I suggested, offering my hand to Alice and leading her across the hall to the much-shared bathroom.

When we arrived in the kitchen, Adrina was just starting on the second round of toaster waffles as one of the society’s staff members cut up some bruised exotic fruits. Smiling at us, Adi nodded to the pile of plates on the corner of the counter, and I took two; I passed one back to Alice as she followed me to the food. With our plates made up with a waffle, some fruit, and syrup, we headed into the dining room and scarfed down the food before anyone else made it down to the kitchen. Sometimes we were allowed a second plate of food, but waffles were already a treat, so Alice and I just sat quietly at the table until everyone had their breakfast.

“Alright, everyone. We’ve got a couple of tutors coming in and the schedule is up in the learning room so if it isn’t your turn and you’re going to stay there, please either do your work quietly or find somewhere else to be until they’re finished lessons,” Adi announced between mouthfuls of strawberries and overripe kiwi. The other eighteen kids finished their meals in quick order and scattered to play outside or do chores around the house, leaving me alone with Adrina. “Joy, are you alright? You’ve been quiet lately,” she asked, chewing the last little morsels off a small strawberry.

To be fair to the group home, they did have some very good, skilled staff members, but none of them were had time to be involved in our day-to-day lives; only Adrina would have noticed something was off. Nodding, I replied, “Oh, yeah, I’m just tired lately.”

She knew it was more than that, but left it alone. When you had well over a dozen other kids to look after, one being a little off couldn’t be afforded much more than a cursory examination. One, maybe two questions, tops. Nodding at me sadly, she got up and brought her plate to the kitchen. Through the wall, I could hear her joking with the kids cleaning the dishes and water sloshed somewhere. She laughed.

---

As I was just finishing up a practice quiz my tutor gave me, the numbers I’d been putting in began to shift and change; some formed new symbols while others inched around the page like uneven worms. Glaring at them, I blinked to see if they’d go back to normal and announced, “I’m finished with the test, Zak.” He stood beside the desk nodding at the page as I took deep, calming breaths; a panic attack seemed in the offing and I was determined to not allow it to come.

“Great job. Do you wabnt do nothina es?” he asked in gibberish, looking at me expectantly.

For a few seconds, I tried to figure out what was happening before gasping, “What did you say?” in clear English.

Taken aback, he repeated slowly, “Great job. Do you want to do another test?”

I swallowed a pit growing in my throat and shook my head. Though there were several other kids in the room working on their homework, none of them seemed to have heard the nonsensical words Zak had spoken.

“Yulre od igct,” he murmured as he packed up my math work, not realizing he’d gone back to gibberish, and put it into my folder. Turning, he smiled at Saje and exclaimed, “Id ya und uf wi.”

Standing up from my chair, I ducked my head and left as swiftly as I could; I didn’t want to hear any more broken sentences. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I had a decision to make. Either I would go upstairs to my room and avoid anyone else until at least lunch, or I could try to find a corner somewhere to think. I took a breath and took the stairs two at a time.

Halfway up, the worn wooden steps started to wabble under my bare feet, and I gripped the railing with both hands to keep upright. I stopped and wiggled my toes as the wood reverted to its stationary form. Shaking my head, I continued up to my room and shut the door behind me. It thundered and shook the whole house like an earthquake as it thudded into the frame; I had to cover my ears because it was so loud. Pushing through the noise, I switched the light on to illuminate the beds and simple dressers. When I sat down, the blankets puffed up around me and changed colour like it was woven out of hundreds of chameleons.

I peered around the room slowly and everything went back to its dull, sad normal state. Sighing, I leaned back on the bed with my hands behind my head and shut my eyes. On the inside of my eyelids danced flowers and beetles and other multi-limbed creatures of phenomenal colour. Whispered singing enveloped me in nausea so strong that it caused my head to spin.

Opening my eyes, I looked up at the brilliant ball of light hovering in the middle of the ceiling; it was so warm and comforting, beating down on me. I looked around at the bedroom and realized I was sitting in a field of wildflowers and heather. When I breathed in, it smelled like warm plants instead of like bleach. Chuckling to myself, I got up, brushing my fingers through the grass, and tentatively stepped to where I knew the door was. As I pulled it open, the grass continued down the hall, swaying in a light breeze as a short figure danced towards me. Eyes widening, I smiled at the creature. It was about the size of a child, but it had white fur, a pair of long satiny ears that stood up from its head, and a distinctly rabbit-like head.

“Haf un waja, Joy?” asked a high, childish voice coming from the creature.

Tilting my head, I smiled at the rabbit and replied, “I’m fine, bunny rabbit.” It felt like my mind was taking a vacation or something; I felt more relaxed and just happy than I had in a long time.

When the rabbit glanced nervously behind it, it asked, “What bunny rabbit?” and I finally recognized the voice and the cute, second-hand dress it was wearing.

“Oh, nothing, Alice,” I replied quickly, sidestepping her and heading downstairs. As I reached the top and looked down at the first floor, I couldn’t help but giggle; in the entryway was a small conglomerate of fanciful animals in human clothing chatting idly in gibberish. There were a couple of cats and dogs, rabbits, geese, and one skunk. Shaking my head, I carefully picked my way down the steps, unable to see the solid surface beneath the grassy coating.

As I swung around the corner, not hazarding to guess what any of the animals were saying, I found myself in the dining room. Set along the entire surface of the table were mismatched teacups and pots, piles of biscuits and trays of decorated cookies, and mice sitting at their own little tables amidst the crumbs. For a while, I watched them squeaking at one another before a tall goat entered from the kitchen wearing an apron and a concerned look. I straightened and smiled at her sheepishly.

“Joy, hantav nes fing?” asked the goat, who sounded suspiciously like Adrina.

Shaking my head, I croaked, “Uh, I didn’t catch that?” While the animals in clothing and awesome smells filling my world were certainly upgrades to my current, unhappy life, I could have done with continuous English.

“How’re you doing?” she repeated, taking a few steps forward with her hooves thudding heavily in the dense grass underfoot.

I smiled and replied, “Oh, yeah. Just a little tired; I think I’m going to go outside and get some fresh air.” Perhaps she recognized the deception, but I was banking on her not wanting to put any unnecessary effort into making me feel better as she was obviously busy. I felt more joyous than I had in ages, anyway. Slipping past her, I headed out into the backyard and was astounded by what the world outside had become.

Around the edge of the property was a tall, weathered cinderblock wall that towered above the apple trees and dwarfed the playhouse in the corner. As for the cheap, handmade playhouse, it looked far larger than usual and had taken on the façade of a fancy gingerbread house. Laughing as a group of humanoid animals played soccer with an oversized orange, squealing excitedly and shouting nonsensical words at one another, I shuddered as a loud, guttural cry tore through the peaceful day. None of the others noticed as a massive, winged beast flew overhead, shrieking at the sky. It was a leathery dragon with massive, clawed feet and piercing yellow eyes.

I waved as it crossed the yard again and again as though it was searching for something. When, finally, it seemed to spot its prey, it dove down and out of my sight. Sad to see the creature go, I wandered under the apple trees and scoured their branches for signs of supernatural life. As I shifted a branch out of my way, a glowing apple fell into my hand. Its smooth surface shimmered and wavered as I turned it in my palm.

“Hey, you aren’t supposed to pick the apples yet!” a shrill voice called from behind me. Turning, I grinned at the short rabbit with her arms crossed. It was hard to connect the cute appearance of the bunny with being annoyed.

As the dragon made another pass, this time silently, I offered the apple to the rabbit and murmured, “It fell when I came over here to look around, little rabbit.” Though she looked hungrily at the sweet, barely ripe fruit, she shook her head. “Suit yourself,” I added, taking a big, crunchy bite. Juice dribbled down my chin as the sweet apple gave up its sugars. It was like no apple I’d ever eaten before; this one had notes of tart grapefruit, with some blueberry and peach mixed in. “Amazing,” I sighed as I took another bite. Everything was better than before.

“Come here,” Alice whispered urgently, opening the sticky, icing-covered door of the gingerbread house and beckoning to me.

When I ducked in, the room opened up like an illusion until it was the size of the house. Ignoring this fact, I turned to the rabbit and smiled as I finished off the apple, core and all. I Swallowed and cleared my throat before asking, “What did you want to talk about?”

She peered out into the yard and replied gravely, “Hafla og beelns jawam opt.”

Again, I shook my head and requested, “Could you repeat that?” Outside, I heard the yowling of a large cat, perhaps a lion, and was momentarily concerned for my housemates before reminding myself that everything was fine.

“Adrina is worried about you and how you’re acting all weird today,” Alice reiterated, crossing her arms again and setting me with a stare I couldn’t imagine on Alice’s cute, human face, let alone the rabbit’s soft features.

Touching her shoulder, I sighed, “It’s okay; she has too much on her plate and I am fine. Better than fine, even. I’m happy, Alice, happy.” With that, I grinned and left the house to stretch in the warm, bright sunshine. I glanced over at the makeshift soccer field and spotted the tail of a lion disappearing over the massive wall; all the animals had been clustered around it and were now moping back toward the game, clearly unhappy that they’d driven the creature away.

I decided to go back inside and found myself in the library. Books were floating and flying above my head as I sat in one of the ancient, comfortable, plush chairs when Adrina walked in and shut the door behind her. Watching a particularly frisky book fluttering against the window, I tried to ignore the goat as she sat down in the chair opposite me. After a few seconds, I looked over and commented, “Beautiful day outside.”

This time, unlike most of the other conversations I’d had today, she asked in unbroken English, “Did you take the medication I gave you this morning?” She sat back in the chair, her wide eyes staring into my soul.

“No, I didn’t,” I admitted simply. Sighing, I continued, “I was miserable taking it and today, Adi, today has been so joyful.” When she didn’t immediately scold me, I continued, “I haven’t felt this free and happy and just, alive, since I got here.” I sighed again and looked back up at the books in the air. If the rest of my life was this full of wonder and joy and excitement, I would be happy forever.

Adrina was silent for a very long time. So long, in fact, that I looked over to make sure she was alright. “Joy,” she finally began quietly, considering every word very carefully, “the pills that I give you in the morning are just vitamins. Whatever has brought you joy today, is just you making it happen.”

Creepy

            The man hanging from the ceiling fan was babbling last night. Normally, he just hangs there and wheezes, occasionally gurgling. He was saying something about his son and my neighbour, but it was hard to tell exactly through the blood.

            I got to sleep and forgot about his horridly pale skin and the way bubbling blood dribbled down his chin.

            When I woke up again, the witch cackling in the corner was early. She kept peering out from beneath her hair, glaring and talking about the pain of burning and drowning. Usually, she simply laughs and paces in the corner.

            It took me ages to shut my eyes with her being creepy. In a way, I was concerned about her.

            The third time, the creepy fraternal twins were back after a week-long hiatus. Holding hands and quietly reciting nursery rhymes, their faces were oddly inhuman, as always. After a week without them, they made my skin crawl. They’re really creepy.

            Nothing could help me sleep after their return. Instead, I kept the light on and waited for the morning light.

            To be honest, the hallucinations weren’t bothering me as much as they normally did. I was used to them now. But that didn’t mean I welcomed the guests in my room every single night. Morning could never come too soon.

Natalie

            “I re’mber this one time I was sayin’ we should go steal one of those crap old cars in that used lot at the edge o’ town ‘cause they never lock ‘em an’ I figur’d it’d be easy, righ’? Well, she goes on ‘bout ‘ow I’d ruin my ol’ life jus’ fer a minute o’ fun,” Tracy murmured, her legs spread on her chair and he head bowed. Of everyone, I would say Tracy had it the hardest with Natalie gone; I wasn’t allowed to say it in group therapy, though.

            Nodding with a sad smile, I replied, “She was always trying to protect the people in her circle.” I looked around at the others, searching for someone who needed to let out their emotions. “David, would you like to say a few words about Natalie?” I suggested, trying not to push too hard.

            With his arms crossed and eyes closed, someone unfamiliar with David might have mistaken his regular manner for sleep. “She was a real killjoy,” he growled, opening one eye so he could glare at me.

            “David, we don’t speak ill of the dead,” I replied, maintaining the calm demeanour I always did. With a sigh, I looked around again and smiled at Kim.

            She shook her head and cried, “I can’t. I can’t!” Since Nat had died, Kim had been having a rollercoaster of emotions even with her medications at the right dose. Rocking in her chair and weeping, she calmed herself down as everyone else tried not to make eye contact with me. When I was about to move on Kim tried again, “I miss her so much that it hurts and I can’t, I can’t really, I can’t think straight with her not here.” When Kim first arrived in the group home, she’d been a catatonic mess who couldn’t speak or look at anyone; no one was entirely certain what she’d gone through before that. In the five years I’d worked with her, she had made a lot of progress, but Natalie had helped her make great strides.

            “Natalie made us all better people. She saw each of us as the amazing people we really are and wanted to help us become those people,” I commented after a short silence. Glancing at my watch, I cleared my throat and announced, “Group session is over for this afternoon. I’ll see you all at dinner and prep?” There was a murmur of agreement.

Normally, I would try to ensure everyone had a moment to speak in the session, but I had an outside party utilizing my services in a few minutes. As everyone filed out, Kim remained in her chair clutching her knees. Experience told me that she just needed time, so I left and headed to my office to make sure everything was ready.

In the tall study, I placed the file box I’d been storing there for the last week on the table by the door and checked my files in the top drawer. I’d been preparing for this moment, so everything was readily available. Sitting in the comfortable desk chair, I shut my eyes and I thought about the whole, disastrous week. Everything had been going fine until Natalie requested day passes for half the girls in the house; if I’d known what would happen, I would have denied the request and that would have been the end of it.

When the doorbell rang, I hurried to the front hall and let a tall, lanky woman in. Her hair was perfectly straight, and she was draped in two layers of black. Though her eyes were meticulously made-up, I could just about see the red blotches; I’d been taught to see through the flawless façade.

“Come on in, Darcy,” I murmured, guiding the woman into the office, and shutting the door behind us. Everyone knew not to disturb me if the door was closed. Sitting behind my desk, I balanced at the edge of the chair and asked, “How are you holding up?” I couldn’t begin to imagine the number of times Darcy must have heard that question in the last week, but it was more pointed in my case.

Nodding as she slumped into the armchair across from me, she sighed, “Oh, I suppose alright, given the circumstances.”

This was only my second meeting with Natalie’s twin sister, but I could tell she had the same strength as her sister. “I wanted to express my condolences. I don’t often say this honestly, but Natalie will be really missed in our home; she was a light to a lot of my other patients,” I assured her, smiling.

“And I really want to say thank you,” Darcy replied, sitting up a bit in the comfortable chair. She sniffled and continued, “I know she didn’t look like an addict on the outside, but she’d been going through such a hard time when she found you. I think you, and the other patients, really helped her break out of that behaviour and become herself again.”

Smiling, I added, “Nat used all that energy she was putting toward getting high into keeping everyone here safe and happy; she was like a mother to everyone.” For a moment I fought with myself on whether to say what David had, but decided to go for it. “She was the killjoy of my group, which is probably the highest compliment they could give her,” I chuckled. Fearing there would be tears, I changed the subject, “I’ve boxed up her things for you. You don’t have to take them if you don’t want to. I could also hold them for you.”

Darcy looked down like she was preparing herself for something big and asked, “How did my sister die? They won’t tell me what happened and I just, I need to know.”

That was a subject I didn’t want to go near. “I uh, I can’t speak to an ongoing investigation,” I muttered as I touched Natalie’s file on my desk. Sighing, I added, “Look, Darcy, whatever the outcome is, it isn’t going to be easier than not knowing. I know it feels like you’re never going to get past it now, but you will. You’re really strong.”

I blinked. That was the exact same thing I told Natalie before she died.

Psychological War Zone

            When I finally managed to open my eyes, peering around with every intention of shutting my eyes once again, I breathed a sigh of relief; I was on a battlefield. After all the horror stories I’d heard of psychological torture, a simple war zone would be a walk in the park. Straightening and looking down at myself, I saw and very nearly felt the weight of the rifle in my hands. Everyone had been working on various methods to create these dream-like states, but none were entirely at the level of physical touch working right. This one was no different.

            I took a tentative step forward, expecting something to hit me at any second, but it was just hard-packed dirt on the road I paced down. For what felt like forever, I didn’t even meet any living people. Desert stretched as far as I could see in every direction with war debris scattered and half-buried.

            Raising the weapon to my shoulder, I eyed an empty flagpole sticking out from a pile of loose boulders and pulled the trigger. In my real life, I would have been able to hit it easily, but there was a pop, a flash of smoke, and nothing else to indicate I’d fired. I grumbled about shitty torture, dropped the gun to swing idly at my side, and continued along the road.

            Again, the path stretched on as I walked, now beginning to whistle to myself in the quiet. Normally, no one would even consider making this much noise, but it was all a fever dream.

            When I reached a sudden walled property, I walked up to the broken gate and gave it a little shove. As it swung, it screeched and clattered; that was pretty realistic. I wandered through and stopped at a pile of soda cans stacked in the center of the courtyard. Glaring at them, I glanced around and took one.

            I was about to toss it away, to see if it would explode or anything, when two people appeared in front of the simple, concrete house. Standing in her wedding dress was my wife, her makeup running down her face and her hair caked with dried blood. Behind her, a man was pointing a gun at her head. They hadn’t made a sound when they came into view. No dirt had swirled up around them. Nothing. They were just there.

            My heart tensed and my breathing became laboured; I suspected a panic attack, though I couldn’t imagine why. This was all a dream. Standing up straight, I took a step forward and the man’s finger tightened on the trigger.

            “Don’t move! I’ll kill her!” he shouted.

            Slowly raising my rifle to my shoulder, I aimed for his head and took a breath. I was certain, with my aim, that I could hit him without hurting my wife. When I pulled the trigger, there was a moment of nothingness that dragged on forever before the shot hit.

            Blood seeped from my wife’s abdomen and she gasped, holding herself. I wanted to go to her but couldn’t. She gasped and reached for me as she slumped to the ground. Behind her, the man laughed.

            Shutting my eyes tightly, I kept reminding myself it wasn’t real. When I opened my eyes, I was where I’d started; in the middle of the desert. This time, I started off in the other direction. I arrived at the same gate and readied myself. Dropping the gun before I entered, I took a soda can to throw at the man.

            When they appeared, I threw it and he shot her. This time, she slumped as blood dripped down her head. I shut my eyes again and was back in the desert once more.

            Perhaps remaining sane wasn’t going to be as easy as I thought.

I dreamed you died…

            Smog hung thick between worn brick and metal buildings, smoking chimneys that spewed darker fumes shoving their way towards the sun to breathe. Every so often, a pale building shot up through the dim landscape like a glowing beacon to everyone promising a future to people who knew their days were numbered. The lie of progress plain for all to see. Maybe, once, these places had attracted and accepted those of us under the smog, but not now. Now, they were simply a reminder of just how low we’d been brought down. It was a citadel of frozen tears.

Cloud cover was so heavy above the train that you couldn’t even tell where the sun was. It didn’t matter, anyway. Whether it was six in the morning or afternoon didn’t make a difference to us. As we passed an expansive factory, though, their exhausts suddenly went still; must be quitting time.

Patting the bunch of olive-green material on my lap, feeling the hard metal shell of a cigarette case inside them, I sighed. I adjusted the sleek metal badge at my chest absentmindedly. It had probably been perfect before, but it was the only adornment we were permitted. Today, I just needed something to fix because everything else was falling apart and I couldn’t do anything about it.

It had been months since I was home, but I didn’t feel any attachment to this place, not like before. Beside me, one of my underlings smiled shyly. I’d been on tour with her before. Laura. What had started out as a close friendship had turned into brief, impassioned love affairs. I hadn’t told her why I had to come home now, halfway through my deployment, but I didn’t think I could say it aloud. Instead, I half-smiled back at her and touched the back of her hand before looking out the window again.

Everything went black as the train slid into the station building, blocking all sunlight and civilization from view. As with everything in the military, those with higher ranks got to disembark sooner; I was usually seated with them, but today I felt like I needed to be no one. After a very long wait for the first cabin’s occupants to get out, our door slid open with a crash and a familiar face appeared at the door.

All eyes were on me as I slowly rose, sidled past the woman beside me, and made my way to the door. I was pretty sure everyone had already heard the news, were perhaps interested or sorry for me, and I couldn’t look at them. At the door, I stepped down in front of my friend and followed him off to the side of the train.

In the light, I could see that his eyes were full of tears and he was holding his hat, crumpled, in his hands.

“What?” I asked, very nearly inaudible. As I watched the tears break over his cheek, I wanted so badly to cry. I wanted to wail and beat the wall and shriek in anguish. I wanted to let out the emotions I could feel somewhere deep inside, but they wouldn’t come.

Taking a deep, rattling breath, the soldier before me whispered, “You missed it. And the uh, the cremation and um, and-” He cut off to hold his face, rubbing his eyes and struggling to find his voice. “And they wouldn’t let me speak because I’m below him so uh, so the only person they um, they only let his mother speak,” he blurted, falling against the brick wall of the station blubbering.

I shut my eyes as I felt emotion well up white-hot and prickly; it wasn’t sadness. “If they’d just postponed a few more hours I would have been here,” I spat from between clenched teeth. We’d all been enlisted together after a botched rebellion landed us in an internment camp; James and I had worked our way as far up the ladder as people in our position could, which was exactly one rung, while Nate had remained at the bottom. Within a week of meeting, James and & had fallen for each other. Nate’s relationship with him happened the first time I was sent off without them. It wasn’t as though we’d committed to be exclusive and it was lonely on the road.

As my subordinates filed past us, Nate cried, “Ava, he’s really gone!” and I felt the anger melt away to reveal the truth; I didn’t feel anything. Even as I hushed him and helped him up, I didn’t feel a damn thing.

“Did they record it?” I asked as I helped Nate into the passenger seat of the monstrous military SUV he’d brought for me.

Walking around to the driver’s seat, I turned the engine over and headed toward Nate’s barracks. He finally cleared his throat and replied, “Yeah. I’ll bring it up when we get home.”

When he said ‘home’ I got a pang in my chest. No one called the barracks home; he meant our home, James’ and my house. I realized I hadn’t even been planning to go there tonight. I couldn’t. Just the thought of stepping foot somewhere he wouldn’t be ever again was horrifying. It made me feel hollow and like a wisp of air.

Parking the vehicle across two spaces in the quiet apartment complex, I sat there with the engine idling until Nate murmured, “This is the first time I’m going in since then.” Still, I didn’t move. “I thought it might be easier with someone else, but I don’t think anything could make this easier,” he continued, unbuckling himself and jumping down to the cracked concrete.

I sucked in a breath and followed him to the door. There were only two other apartments occupied at the moment; this whole building was dedicated to partnerships within the military and there just weren’t a lot of us. I’d always said if we brought Nate in officially, or any of my dalliances, that we could probably be moved to a more populous area. Anytime I brought it up to either of them, they looked at me as though I’d grown a second and third head. It was lonely here, though.

“I left my key in my locker,” I stated plainly. I could have stopped by on the way home, probably should have, but I knew Nate had a key.

Checking all his pockets as I looked away, wondering who’d moved in below the Laryns, he pulled a chain from around his neck when he thought I couldn’t see. It wasn’t even as though I didn’t know about it.

Unable to shake the ranking process, Nate stepped aside as he opened the door to let me enter first. I nodded and walked around him, mainly because I suspected he was about to cry again.

Inside, it was dark and cold. Switching on the light, I mounted the three flights of stairs to our door. Again, I stopped to wait for Nate. He was breathing hard and sniffling, but that was just normal grief; best not interfere with it.

When the door opened, light was streaming through and spilling out onto the floor. Upbeat dance-type music was playing. James could have been home.

My throat caught. It felt like I was suffocating. Like my lungs were about to explode. It was painful to the point where I dropped to my knees. Finally, I gasped and coughed, except it wasn’t really a cough. Air tore through my throat. It was loud. My eyes burned and I couldn’t see past the water. I was blind and suffocating and my heart was tearing apart.

For a long time, I remained in that state of horror and agony and grief.

“I pulled the eulogy up,” Nate whispered. I realized he’d gone past while I was falling to pieces outside my door. Offering me his hand, he helped me in and guided me to the couch. For a few excruciating minutes, I sat staring at the image of my dead boyfriend as I tried to tame my emotions. All my life, I had locked them down so I could survive. Emotions just got in the way. They were again.

With my shaking hand, I tapped the button to play the clip; it was only ten minutes long. Our funerals weren’t long, but that was short. James’ captain stepped to the podium and shuffled some papers around. Though I hadn’t been around him much, I knew he hated giving speeches about deceased soldiers. Well, any speeches about his soldiers. Even the nice, promotion ones. He always looked so awkward.

“We are here today to pay tribute to a loyal soldier, James Olian,” he began, clearing his throat twice. Looking everywhere but at the camera, he continued, “He came to us in less-than-perfect shape and with a bit of a rebellious streak, but we were able to mould him into a good soldier and comrade. He will be missed.” With that, he stepped down and there was some shuffling and uncomfortable coughing coming from somewhere near the camera.

Finally, James’ mother got up and stood staring right at the camera. Her eyes and nose were red, and she looked years older. “James should not have died. It wasn’t his doing. You know who you are,” she stated. That was it. She got down and the camera panned to James’ photo before everything cut out.

“What happened?” I asked. No one told me. I hadn’t asked before. It was too hard.

Nate sat down on the hard couch beside me and sighed. “He was walking to the corner store to pick up some eggs. Someone shot him,” he murmured.

I didn’t have to ask. “Murdered by our own cause,” I whispered. There was that flash of anger again. It was threatening to take me over; permanently turn my blood to fire, rip my heart into tiny pieces, push me until I did something irreparable. But then it subsided. I was just hollow inside.

Nate was gone. The door was open. James was looking up at me from the laptop. I was alone and hollow.

When I woke up, there was period of a few minutes where my heart hurt. I couldn’t remember if you were okay or not. I missed you and thought you were gone. It took a while to be okay with being awake; I finally knew you were okay.

Jessica

“If you think Jessica is telling you the truth, you really need to reconsider your career choices,” snapped the ageing ex-reporter as the last of the line of could-have-been interns fled the building with their tails between their legs. As the editor cleared her throat and took a long swig of what anyone could easily have assumed was regular, black coffee, she rolled her shoulders back and pressed the button on the wholly unnecessary intercom to my desk. With the shrillness smoothed out, she barked, “Mim, I need you.” Really, it was hardly more than a normal conversation with her.

Straightening the suit jacket I’d only just finished fixing the hem of on my lunch break, I took two deep breaths and stepped just inside the office. “How can I help you, Chloe?” I asked diligently, very aware that the woman was pawing through the drawers in her desk like a rabid wolverine. I resisted the very strong urge to look away as she got down on her knees and crawled right under the desk; I didn’t want to appear as terrified as I was on the inside.

“I can’t find my fucking cigarettes, Mim,” she screamed from beneath the desk, presumably speaking louder to ensure I could hear her. After a moment of frantic scratching on the antiqued wooden panelling, Chloe re-emerged looked dishevelled and practically frothing at the mouth. Blinking at me furiously, she added, “Go out and get me some fucking cigarettes from that place on the corner!”

Honestly, I wasn’t even sure if my contract included odd requests like buying cigarettes, but I wasn’t about to deny the woman a puff when she so clearly needed it for life. Nodding, I scampered down the hall and jammed my thumb into the elevator call button. When it didn’t move an inch, I glanced back towards the editor’s office, heard a noise similar to a cat in heat, and headed for the stairs; she might come out to fire me or something worse, and that would have been the worst first week on the job story ever.

Running flat out down the steps, I walked out onto the crowded sidewalk, barely missing knocking into one of the potential interns standing like a cement statue placed in the most inopportune spot. I cleared my throat and tapped him on the shoulder lightly.

When he turned around, a completely defeated man, I smiled politely. “I’m sorry you didn’t get the job,” I offered; it wasn’t much, but it was better than Chloe did.

“Thanks,” he murmured. Without another syllable, he took two adept steps backward into the flow of pedestrians and was gone like a fish thrown back into a roaring creek.

I blinked the surprise off of my face and headed quickly toward the corner store, thinking about how my boss had just utterly decimated so many people today and was still in such an unbearably foul mood. The store, a smelly little place with mirrors and cameras every few feet, was deserted other than the clerk and a single patron standing in front of the energy drinks with a vacant look on his face. Though he was standing in a dive of a store, he wore a tailored suit and a slightly wrinkled dress shirt. Smiling at the man behind the counter, I pulled out my own wallet and asked for a box of nicotine patches and a pack of Chloe’s brand of cigarettes; when I was hired via email the only information she specified was what she liked to smoke.

Before I left, I turned to the man by the drinks and asked, “Hey, you applied for the internship at the paper across the street, right?” Despite the obvious nervousness the clerk exhibited as I, after already making my purchase, went further into the store, I tapped the man on the shoulder.

“Yeah,” he murmured back, unable to focus his eyes.

With two men in such a state having just left my boss’s relatively public office, I was thoroughly intrigued by the circumstances. “What did Chloe ask you to look into for your test? Who is this Jessica?” I asked, interest bubbling up like macaroni in a pot. Maybe I hadn’t gotten the job because I wanted to be a journalist one day, as everyone seemed to think, but that didn’t mean I could resist a mystery.

Swallowing, the man handed me a crumpled-up wad of paper before pushing past me and out into the street. Ignoring the glare I got from the attendant as I followed the man, I flew out after him. Just as I was frantically looking around for the man’s perfectly tailored suit, I spotted him and let out a premature scream before the bus had even hit him. After that, there was an eerie silence as traffic around halted and pedestrians rushed forward to aid the dead man or made chaotic phone calls.

---

By the time I finally got back into the peaceful lobby of the building, my heart had gone through so many tempos I was surprised it continued to beat. Taking a moment to myself, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the paper I’d taken from the man. I smoothed it out on my knee and read the shorthand aloud to myself, “’Jessica Lane, fifteen-ninety-two Morland Way.’”

The address was just around the corner, on a street whose main floor tenants were on Morland, but the second and up were off Elmens because of the Morland Tunnels running behind the first floor. No one knew why they’d created the cavernous and useless space; the homeless population used it as a campsite year-round, though there was one summer that a farmer’s market took up residence until the rats found them.

I looked down at the pack of cigarettes with the slightly boxed corners and sighed. If I was smart, I’d go back up to Choe’s office with the two items and beg for her forgiveness at being so late. Instead, I slipped them both into the dense fern by the elevator to retrieve later and made my way back out into the throngs of people rushing past. As I was shoved by the small congregation of emergency vehicles, their sirens silent and lights reflecting off all the windows nearby, I tried to see the man’s body under a tarp but could see only glimpses between legs and arms.

When I managed to get back over to the edge of the sidewalk and break out into the side street, I was almost alone. Darkness enveloped me as I walked the block to Morland and turned up the near-pitch laneway. According to lore, this used to be a main-ish street, but as the city grew, it became the backside of a major artery. The forth business, a psychiatrist’s office, was labelled fifteen-ninety-two beneath a glowing neon sign for a porn website in the apartment above.

Inside, it was as though I’d walked from midnight in the city into a mid-summer afternoon in the country. Flowery incense was burning in multiple holders, there was some kind of light-giving curtain on the window that made it literally light inside, and photos around the room showed flowers in full, colourful bloom. I shut the door behind me and breathed in the comforting feel of a warm, sunny day in a peaceful meadow. Somewhere nearby, there was a speaker playing light piano music that just rounded out the place.

“Please take a seat and I’ll be right with you,” called a voice from beyond the only door. I did as I was instructed.