by CJ Brightley
For a history department, her professors were remarkably uninterested in exploring the past. She scowled at her coffee as it got colder. What was the point of history, if you couldn’t learn from it? The people in history weren’t perfect, any more than people now were. But surely, as scholars, they should be able to admit that imperfect people and imperfect decisions could yield lessons and wisdom.
It wasn’t as if it was ancient history either. The Revolution had begun less than fifteen years ago. One would think information would be available. Memories should be clear.
But they weren’t.
The man entered Dandra’s near dusk. He wore no jacket against the winter cold, only a threadbare short-sleeved black shirt. His trousers were dark and equally worn, the cuffs skimming bare ankles. His feet were bare too, and that caught her attention.
He spoke in a low voice, but she was curious, so she listened hard and heard most of what he said. “I need the maps, Dandra.”
“You know I don’t have those.”
“I’ll pay.”
“I don’t have them.” Dandra took a step back as he leaned forward with his hands resting on the desk. “I told you before, I can’t get them. I still can’t.”
“I was told you could on good authority.” His voice stayed very quiet, but even Aria could hear the cold anger. “Should I tell Petro he was wrong about you?”
“Are you threatening me?” Dandra’s eyes widened, but Aria couldn’t tell if it was in fear or in anger.
“I’m asking if Petro was wrong.”
“Whatever you were promised was wrong. I couldn’t get them.” Dandra clasped her hands together and drew back, her shoulders against the wall, and Aria realized she was terrified. Of the man in the black shirt, or of Petro, or possibly both.
Aria glanced around as she rose and stepped to the counter. Everyone else seemed to be pretending that absolutely nothing was going on. It was up to her to help. “Excuse me? Can I help you find something?” She smiled brightly at him.
He glanced back and she had the momentary impression he was startled at the interruption. He stared at her for a split second with cold blue eyes, then looked back at Dandra. Without another word, he brushed past Aria and out the door, and disappeared into the darkness.
Dandra looked at her with wide eyes. “That wasn’t wise, but thank you.”
“Who is he?”
Dandra shook her head. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to. Go home, child. It’s late.”
“Are you in trouble?”
Dandra shook her head wordlessly and glanced at a note she held crumpled in her hand. Was she holding that earlier? I don’t think so. The contents seemed to disturb her even more and she announced in a slightly unsteady voice that the store would be closing early for the evening.
Aria pulled on her gloves and shoved her notebook back in her pack. Dandra shooed out the few remaining customers and locked the door with a sigh of relief.
Aria looked around, but the man in the black shirt was long gone.
“You want a ride home?” Dandra asked.
“No, thanks. I’ll walk. It’s not far.” She hesitated. “Are you okay, Dandra?”
Dandra’s smile and nod were so forced it was obvious even in the reflected lamplight. “Goodnight.”
Aria wandered down the block and around the corner, holding her now-cold cup of coffee. If she went home, she’d have to work on her thesis. If she stayed out, she could tell herself she was planning. She followed the sidewalk and the lighted windows toward the river. She’d walk to the bridge and turn around; she couldn’t justify more procrastination.
The cozy shops didn’t hold her attention, though the light and bustle kept the walk from feeling too morose. She took a last swig of coffee and tossed the cup in a trashcan, then stuffed her hands in her pockets. The wind whipped around the corners of the concrete buildings, and she pulled her hat tighter over her brown curls. The lighted shops behind her, she headed into the edge of the shipping district. Her friend Amara would tell her to be more cautious, but Aria had never been afraid of lonely walks. Just stay alert, she told herself.
One of the ubiquitous posters flapped in the wind, then detached from the light pole and fluttered down the street, finally stopping when it hit a puddle of icy water. She didn’t need to read it to know what it said. See it, say it! Report suspicious activity to the Imperial Police Force. And underneath that admonition: Enemies hide in plain sight.
She’d never seen any enemies of the state. The warnings were everywhere, but even the Revolution itself had been seamless, with barely a whimper of protest from the old government. Everyone knew things were better now.
She approached the bridge at an angle, almost ready to turn around. The water was a black void between the lights behind her and the distant streetlights of the bustling harbor on the other side, which caught the tops of small waves whipped up by the wind. Now and again a faint reflection would wink at her, a bright spot in the sea of darkness.
A movement caught her eye.
Later, when she thought about it, she was surprised she’d seen him at all. He sat on one of the steel girders underneath the bridge, some forty feet above the water. He was doing something with his hands, perhaps writing, but she couldn’t see clearly. One leg swung beneath him, relaxed. He was still in shirtsleeves and barefoot.
It was cold enough for snow, and she stared at him, wondering if he was crazy. Contemplating suicide? Trying to catch pneumonia? She shivered in her sweater, with a thick coat over it against the icy wind.
Perhaps he needed to see a mental therapist. As she finished the thought, he swung his leg back onto the girder. He rose with easy grace and ran along the slick metal to leap fifteen feet to the ground. He jogged up the slope toward her but turned while he was still some distance away, and jogged another two blocks before entering into a dark building, perhaps an abandoned apartment or condominium tower.
She slipped into the building a few moments after he did, her heart pounding. The doors were well-oiled and silent. The hall seemed black as coal after the streetlights outside, and she blinked, hoping her eyes would adjust. After a moment, she could make out the faint rectangles of light from windows in adjacent rooms, but the spaces between remained dark and empty. She crept another step forward, wondering where the man had gone. No light from a distant doorway hinted at a destination, and she hesitated again.
He twisted her arm up behind her back and clamped a hand over her mouth, so her shriek of fear and surprise was caught in her throat. “Why are you following me? How are you following me?”
His face was close to hers, his breath nearly in her hair. He lifted his icy hand from her mouth just a little, so she managed to gasp, “I was just curious. No reason.”
“You are not welcome here.” He opened the door and shoved her outside into the cold.
And that was that.
Or it should have been, anyway. She was too curious for her own good, and she knew it.
Something about him drew her, though she could not say why. The next day, while eating lunch at the campus cafe with Amara, she almost mentioned him, but stifled the impulse. He was a baffling secret, not meant to be discussed over toasted hummus sandwiches.
Aria went back to his apartment three days later, after she’d gathered up her courage again. She circled the building and found an outer door unlocked. Perhaps he never locked it. She closed her eyes for several minutes outside to let her eyes adjust to the darkness before she slipped inside. While she waited, she listened for him, but heard only the traffic of electric cars on the road to her left, the whoosh of wind through the buildings, and the rustle of a bit of paper caught in the grating over a drain near her feet. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears.
The building felt deserted, long disused. Why didn’t I bring a flashlight? Faint streetlight made it through the windows in the rooms along one side to light the hallway. Long rectangles of light crossed the floor. A stairwell
at the end made her pause again, and she crept downward, heart in her throat. The darkness grew deeper, and she remembered her phone. She pulled it out and let the screen shed pale light down the stairs. Another hallway, with a closed door a short distance ahead on her left.
She put her ear to the door and listened. Silence. She waited, her heart in her throat, for some sound that would tell her he was there. Why am I doing this? Absolute silence, both in the room and in the hallway.
She glanced around and tried the door tentatively. If he was there, it was dangerous. Even if he wasn’t, it was still dangerous.
There was no sound from inside, and she took a deep breath before pulling a plastic card from her pocket. The building was old, and the lock looked simple and loose. Perhaps this would work.
She needed both hands, so she put the phone back in her pocket, wishing she still had its faint light. It seemed to take too long, her heart in her throat while she jiggled the card, twisting and pushing and hoping.
There was a barely audible click, and she breathed a quick sigh of relief as she turned the doorknob.
Too soon.
He spun her about and slammed her against the wall, one hand on her throat and the other pulling the card from her hand.
“Why are you here?” His voice growled into her ear, cold breath brushing against her cheek.
She thrashed, trying to kick him, but he evaded her efforts easily, barely acknowledging her effort. He loosened his hand, just a bit, and she gasped before he tightened it again. Sparkles swam before her eyes, dazzling in the darkness of the hallway. This had been a very bad idea indeed. How did he sneak up on me? I didn’t hear him at all.
“Why are you here?” He repeated his question, and she shook her head obstinately. She wouldn’t answer his question, not while he was choking her. She opened her mouth, trying to curse him, beg him, something, and no sound came out. The sparkles began to fade.
She could see nothing, but his breath moved gently against her face. He was staring at her, as if the darkness meant nothing to him. I’m going to die. He’s going to kill me, and no one will even know. Suddenly he let go and pushed past her through the open door.
She fell to one knee and rubbed her neck, blinking back angry tears at the pain. It was her own fault. His hand had been as cold and hard as steel, and her breath burned in her throat.
She pulled the phone from her pocket and pointed the light at him through the doorway.
She hadn’t had a good look before, and even now, in her fear, the curiosity rose up. It’s going to get me killed someday. He wore well-worn dark trousers and a threadbare short-sleeved black shirt, perhaps the same one, so thin his pale skin showed through across the shoulders. His hair was black, or close to it; she couldn’t tell in the dim light. He moved with taut grace, an athlete or a soldier, perhaps. Of average height, with a slim, muscular build. Thirty? Perhaps younger? There was the slightest touch of grey in the hair near his temples but his face was unlined. Sharp features, because he had no fat to soften them, but they were attractive, she had to admit that. An ancient oil lantern sat unlit on a wooden desk. He tossed a rucksack beside it and packed with swift economy. Three more shirts. A pair of pants. She craned her neck to see more.
“Leave me alone,” he said without looking up.
She hesitated. “I only meant to see if anyone lived here.”
He grunted. It was an unfriendly sound. And why should he be friendly? She’d been trying to break into his apartment. But he could have killed her, and he didn’t.
She pressed her luck. “Well, I thought you might need something. Since the power is off.” She rubbed her throat again.
He didn’t answer. He picked up all six books from the desk and stacked them in the rucksack, then jerked the worn blanket off the cot, folded it, and tucked it in on top. He turned away for a moment and buckled something around his waist, and she frowned.
“What are you doing?”
“Leaving.” His voice was cold.
“Because of me?”
He grunted again. He turned back to the cot and threw the rucksack over his shoulder. Her eyes widened. He was wearing a sword, a long straight blade with a worn, leather-wrapped scabbard. Another, shorter sword hung from his right hip. What kind of lunatic carries swords, as if we lived back in ye olden days? If he wanted to defend himself, a gun would be better, but if he wants to look intimidating, I guess this works.
He finally met her eyes, and she flinched at the icy blue stare. She took a step backward, and he walked past her into the hallway.
He dropped the key at her feet without looking back. “It’s yours now.”
Aria stared at his back. He disappeared at the end of the hallway, and she hesitated. She was almost crazy enough to go after him.
No, she would look in the room. She picked up the key and stepped inside his apartment.
He’d left the lamp, and she lit it with a match from the box sitting beside it. It was impossible to tell how long he’d been there. He’d packed little yet left nothing behind. The ancient wooden bureau was empty, the drawers loud as she tried them. There was a desk with a single drawer, also empty. Nothing in the trashcan. Nothing in the old wardrobe. There was a tiny refrigerator, but it was off. She opened the door, half-expecting some horrible rot to assault her nose, but there was nothing inside. It had been empty and cleaned before the power was turned off. He’d probably never used it then. She tried the light switch. Nothing. No hum of electric power or devices charging. It might have been a bank vault for how silent the room was.
She turned in a circle in the middle of the room. The cot was pushed against the wall, and she eyed it. A cheap camping cot, well-used, devoid of padding and comfort. He didn’t have a pillow. Odd. The room was a concrete box with nothing to see and nothing to recommend it.
Aria took the lantern with her when she left. She walked slowly down the hallway, thinking so hard she forgot the pain in her throat as she climbed the stairs toward the exit. The adventure had yielded little, and she felt the whole thing had been foolish. More than foolish. Idiotic. Some men would have done worse, you know. You’re not exactly imposing, and he did have reason to be angry with you. What did you expect?
She sniffed. There was an odd smell, musky and rank, and she caught her breath suddenly. It smelled dangerous. Big and dangerous. She pressed herself against the wall, her heart racing.
It was inside the building. She heard it, a rumbling growl, perhaps from the next hall. She swallowed hard. It was coming closer. Another growl, low and echoing in the concrete hallways.
Why did I decide this was a good idea? Aria tried to figure out where the sound was coming from. Was it between her and the exterior door? Could she make it outside without being seen? What good would that do, if it caught her scent? She found an open doorway and slid inside the darkened room, trembling, her back pressed against the concrete block wall. She turned the lantern down as far as it would go without going out completely. She pushed the door closed, wincing at a soft squeak. She turned the doorknob, her fingers trembling, trying to get the latch to catch without another sound.
Maybe it won’t hear me.
Maybe it can smell me. It sounds big enough to break down the door.
It growled again, closer. A roar brought her heart to her throat. Terrible snarls echoed in the hallway. An inhuman shriek. Thumps and crashes, with deafening snarling over it all. She sank down against the wall and tried to breathe silently. Be brave, Aria! Don’t lose it, girl.
Sudden silence. She caught her breath. Was it coming closer? Had it killed someone? What was it?
There was a faint thump, very different than the sounds before. Perhaps someone was alive and needed help. There were no cries of pain or shouts for help, but perhaps they couldn’t cry out. She waited.
Is it dead? Is it gone yet? What if someone needs help? She took a deep breath and rose from her hiding place. She unlatched the door and pulled it open to peek around the doorframe.
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br /> The flickering lamplight showed nothing, and she turned it up. She crept carefully down the hall, grateful for her soft, quiet shoes. The hall was short, and at the corner she caught her breath. The walls and floor were covered in blood, great streaks and smears of gore. There was no body. The blood led to the left, and she held her breath as she followed the trail.
The lamp flooded a room with yellow light and her mouth dropped open in horror. It might have been a classroom at some point; there was a blackboard on one wall and a large desk to one side, though there were no small desks for children. A great hulk lay in the middle, the face turned away from her. Blood smeared the floor, the ceiling, and three of the four walls. Paw prints showed how the beast had fought, how it had leaped from the floor to a wall and back into the center of the room.
Her eyes rested on the creature, and she stayed well away from it, holding the lamp higher as she edged around to examine its head. A wolf of sorts, though not exactly. It was easily three hundred pounds, perhaps more, lean and muscular. Long-legged. Its muzzle was shorter than a wolf’s should be, and the teeth were larger and more uneven. Its mouth gaped open, a slime of blood and saliva pooling beneath the tongue. Is it dead? It’s not moving.
“I told you to leave me alone.” The growl came from the other side of the beast’s body.
Aria started so badly she almost dropped the lamp.
“Are you hurt?” she managed. She could barely hear her voice over her own thudding heartbeat.
He must have been holding his breath, for he let it out in a rush. “It is none of your concern.”