Guardian

Edwin Stevenson is almost alone in a room full of sweaty bodies. Almost I say because she is dancing tonight. She dances every night. Edwin comes here every night. But not for her dances. Not like the other men, fat chins resting on glasses of foul-smelling liquids, pockets spilling cash. I’m here to work. His task finished an hour ago, he should already be walking.

He’s not jealous that they stare at her like that, her gleaming legs gracing the pole, twisting in ways humans were never meant to. Why would I be? I don’t care for her. She makes every man feel as if they are alone in the room with her. He tries not to imagine what else they imagine. I should go. The deep pull was awakening in the pit of his stomach.

The man beside him is talking. A voice like granite being dragged across the floor. To him? His hand grasps Edwin’s wrist, touches the skin between his coat and glove and for a moment his sight fades—A hand is tightening around his neck, cutting off any chance to cry for help, his pudgy fingers scratch uselessly at the attacker’s face. Then air. He gulps it down before he realises it is rushing past him. Hard ice. Pain. Cold, so cold—Edwin gasps, vision returning.

The man’s face matches his voice, chins peppered in a week’s worth of stubble, and at this moment, surprised. He takes a swig from a large bottle. Edwin’s sure that it isn’t supposed to be drunk unmixed.

“What’s got your tongue, boy? Never seen a pair of legs?”

Edwin blinks. Legs? “Yes,” he finds himself saying, “Beautiful, aren’t they? So…” He fails to come up with a word but the man just snorts and rests a hand on his shoulder.

“When you’re my age, you’ll appreciate it all the more.”

Edwin nods, eyes already wandering to the others at the bar. Some out, some way to avoid the man.

“I hope you’ve got your balls on you, son,” the man says suddenly looking up, “Looks like she’s come for a bite.”

Edwin resists the urge to look up, instead, he scans for somewhere to go. I don’t want to speak to her, not now. But the crowd is already shifting in front of him. The man moves away but Edwin just waits. He should have known better, should have stayed away.

Then she’s there. All long legs and flowing curves, barely hidden beneath tight clothing. He looks up to meet her grey eyes, dreading the way it makes his heart skip. They are lamps in a sun-darkened face.

“Dressing down, I see,” she says, running a finger down the parting of his coat, lips curving upwards.

“I dress this way every day.”

She studies him, smile fading. Then she is slumping on the next stool, elbows on the bar. In that moment, she seems to turn from goddess to human. The others around turn back to their drinks or back to the pole where another dancer is taking her place.

“For someone that likes to go unseen, I can never understand why you dress like… well, that!”

“At least I am dressing,” Edwin mutters swinging around to face the bar. If she’s here, he can’t exactly ignore her.

She snorts, reaching out to touch his cheek but he gently closes a gloved hand over her fingers before she manages.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she says, withdrawing her arm, only to pluck a glass of dark liquor from a passing barmaid, ignoring the squeal of protest. She takes it in one then plucks Edwin’s, sniffing it before setting it back on the bar. “You’re always working!”

Edwin looks away and nods. He can’t lie to her face.

“I’m half convinced you’re not real, the way you appear here every night and yet nobody can tell me anything about you.”

“You’ve been asking?”

It was her turn to look uncomfortable. She taps a finger on the bar, “It started when I kissed you that one time,” she says, nodding, “I’ve never seen you so terrified.”

Edwin loosens his jacket. She was sharper than one might expect.

She seems to realise she’s close to the truth and leans in closer. Edwin forces himself to remain still. He tries to look at anything but her eyes but they’re so close…

“I will see you tomorrow.” He can feel the sweat running down the back of his neck now. What if she finds out? He was being stupid, he would go to a different club tomorrow, one where she wouldn’t find him.

“You sound just like them,” she says, her breath brushing his cheek, “But you’re not. And you’re going to tell me what it is that makes you different.”

Before he can reply, she’s closed the distance and for a moment he can feel her soft lips against his. Then his vision darkens—Misty rain wets her face. Hazy lights make the passing cars seem like boats in the fog. They grow brighter. Something grabs her arm. Someone. A feathered face, a horrified expression crouching over her as pain—Edwin stumbles backwards. Concern covers Yvon’s face. Concern and surprise.

He stares at her, shaking his head. Does she know?

For the first time, she seems off balance. She touches her lips with her finger and then studies him intently.

Feathered face. For the second time. Edwin starts for the door before she can do it again. If she finds out… No, he couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t see her again. Not another Nelson.

“See you tomorrow!”

He is swallowed by the crowd and doesn’t turn back. As men and the occasional women push in the door, he slips out, alone onto the street. Why did she have to do that? It was almost like the pull, this new ache. Nelson. His stomach churns.

~

Heavy raindrops soak through Edwin’s coat as he hurries along the pavement. Tinted taxis speed past, quickly swallowed by the rain. For a moment his heart stops. She died in the rain. Will die in the rain. But it’s heavier, the raindrops larger. She is safe for now. Forget about her. But he can’t. Not now. Just like Nelson, she will forever be stuck in his mind.

Despite it being a Saturday night, he only passes a few people as he makes his way to mid-town. Like his, their faces are hidden in the shadow of hoods. He glances over his shoulder and for a moment his heart stops. Someone is following him. He stops but after a few moments whoever it is crosses the street and disappears from view.

Focus. He is closing in on one of the busiest intersections in the city and many of the cars don’t even stop as people cross. He has to be close now for his face prickles as if bugs were trying to escape his skin. He still can’t keep rid himself of the ache. Keep them out, you know what happened last time. Nelson. Nelson died because of him. Because he ignored what he was. Yvon wasn’t going to die. And yet… the feathered face, the rain. He glanced over his shoulder again but he was alone on the pavement save for an old man, hobbling along with a stick and a woman in a dark suit pulled up to protect her from the rain.

Finally, the light turns green but he doesn’t move, just watches as the others cross, booted and heeled feet carefully trodding through the puddles. Wipers move back and forth wildly and sirens ring in the distance. It will be easy tonight, accidents happen quickly on nights like these. Feathered face. He checks his hood as his skin prickles further. The cars begin to move again and he takes a step forward, the pull now almost fully controlling his body.

“Stop, you idiot!” A hand grasps his arm.

Before he can stop himself he turns and yanks his arm free. For a moment he meets gazes with the woman. Her jacket falls away but it’s not Yvon, she’s too old. Her face goes white and she stumbles back a few steps. She points and looks around wildly but the old man isn’t looking. “You’re a Guardian, I haven’t…”

The rest of his words are lost in the sounds of traffic as he steps onto the road, the pull so strong that resisting it would be almost impossible. Don’t resist it. He couldn’t, not if he cared for… I don’t care for her.

Three times she’s managed to get him to read her and three times he sees the feathered face of a Guardian. Well, she wouldn’t manage again.

The pull drowns out the horns and squealing tires. He is running now but it is as if he’s taken the back seat. Then he loses his balence and slips in a puddle. His face itches as full feathers sprout from his cheeks, his chin just as he hits the ground. His vision grows sharper, twists. He can see purplish light.

Pain erupts along his leg as something large, something fast collides with him. There is the hiss of water hitting hot breaks and horns blaring. It seems as if he’s barely hearing them. A high-pitched scream cuts off suddenly. His own yell of pain as he yanks his leg back is barely audible.

Edwin’s senses rush back in full force and he screams as the pain makes his vision flicker. The pull is gone, the feathers are gone, he is human again. Doors slam. Hands reach down towards him.

“I’m fine!” He shouts, pushing himself backwards further into the now-stopped traffic. They back off, disappearing into the growing confusion. He pauses, one of those faces… it seemed familiar.

As the rain intensifies and ambulance sirens approach, Edwin peers in the direction of the scream. He can’t see but there are people there, crowding around, some crying, some shouting. He turns away and, uses the bonnet of the closest car to shuffle off the street.

Twenty minutes it takes him to reach the alleyway and there, standing unprotected against the rain is the man he spoke to earlier, wracking his hands through black, soaked hair. He still wears the same white shirt, plastered to his skin, his jacket forgotten somewhere along the way. He silently shouts at the sky until he catches sight of Edwin, bedraggled and hurt. He rushes up to him and shakes his shoulders not seeming to see his pain. And yet, why should he?

“Where is she? You saved her? What happened?”

Edwin only nods and, pushing the man away, opens his hands. The man’s face contorts in worry and dashes away, leaving a wad of cash in them before dashing off into the rain.

Edwin wonders what faith the man was, for he didn’t baulk when he showed his feathered face. He knew what to do to save his wife. What it would cost. To him, Edwin would be a hero, a saviour. To another, he was an assassin. Always a balance.

~

Soaked to the skin, Edwin finally hobbles up to the door to his attic apartment. Morning light streams in through the skylight as he fumbles for his keys. The pain in his leg is less now but he still cannot walk properly.

“How much did he pay you?”

Edwin spins. Her voice. No. How did she find this place?

Yvon steps out from behind the curve in the stairs and ascends to the landing. She wears a black coat and clutches a wooden stick out in front of her as if to hit him if he approaches.

For a long moment, Edwin just stares at her, his stomach sinking ever lower. “You’d better come in,” he said quietly, sliding the key into the lock and pushing open the door.

He hopes she will just leave, deem him too dangerous but she drops the end of the stick and follows him inside.

Stooping to avoid the low ceilings, he hangs his sodden coat over the bathroom door. Yvon slips past him, pulling the door closed and stepping into the living room.

He wishes he could run, could somehow get away from her but with his leg like this, he is lucky to even get back here before someone called an ambulance. Nelson died in an ambulance. He’d not gone to his funeral, could not face his family, not that they knew.

“These are beautiful,” Yvon says as he steps into the only other room in the apartment. A kitchenette in one corner, a bed in another and the rest strewn with chairs and clutter.

Yet she points to the ceilings. Hundreds of faces stare down at them, some painted in colour and others with a single continuous line.

“Am I on here?” She asks suddenly, all fear suddenly forgotten.

Edwin nods stepping past her and gestures to a full-colour portrait above the only window, looking out over the rooftops, now shining in the sun.

She studies it for a long time before her face grows serious again. “You’re going to have to explain what you did, who you are. Money? I can accept that you’re an angel, but—”

“Guardian,” Edwin corrects, slumping onto a wooden chair, “I’m a Guardian.”

She slips her coat off, hanging it over another chair before perching on the edge of it. She gestures to his bad leg, “You got hit by a car and yet you walked all the way back here. You won’t let me touch you and I saw the feathers, you don’t need to lie to me anymore.”

It was too late now, he couldn’t push her away anymore. He couldn’t lie to her again. “Fine, no lies. You’re right about what happened.”

When he didn’t elaborate, she continued, “But the money? I thought you just made a mistake but then you collected that money. A woman died tonight and then you collected money from a man. Are you an assassin?”

He glances out of the window. “You cannot save a life without taking a life. I am neither an angel nor an assassin. At first, I did it without getting paid, but people will pay anything to save a loved one. I don’t take much, not in the scheme of things.”

“But why?” She clutches the stick tighter, “Why kill at all, why can you not save someone?”

“I can,” he says, meeting her gaze once more, “But someone must die and it can’t be me.”

“Then who.”

“The closest person to me would die.”

She looks away. “But you have no friends except…”

“For you.” There he said it. He couldn’t hide from it any longer.

“And if you don’t do anything?”

“What I said before wasn’t quite true, they don’t just pay with money, but in days of their life.”

She nods as if she expects it. Then, setting the stick aside she stands.

He wanted to be glad she was going to leave. That she would no longer be a part of his life. But instead of making for the door, she approaches him slowly.

“Can you show me?” She says softly.

He stares at her, “Show you?”

She nods, “I want to see what you do. I knew you were not an assassin.”

“I don’t know if I can,” he says gruffly, shaking his head. What is wrong with her? She should be shouting at him, running, getting as far from him as possible. He is not an angel but an indirect assassin. A creature of the devil if anything.

“You can.”

She tries to help him change, but he retreats to the bathroom with fresh clothes and gloves. When he returns she is perched on the edge of the bed, dressed in his clothes as well. For the first time, all of her skin save her face is covered.

“Come,” she says, smiling up at him, “Let’s get some rest.”

She curls up beside him, head on his chest, pulling the blanket over them both.

Edwin stares at the ceiling, at all the paintings. Never once did he expect, or want someone to see them. To be here. And yet, for the first in a long time, he feels complete. And yet, it will end. When she witnesses what he does. He prays it isn’t a bloody death, for her sake.

~

Edwin hobbles into the club after Yvon. Dressed in flared trousers and a black coat, she occasions no looks from the passers-by, not like before. The rhythmic thrum reaches him even before he steps through the second set of doors to be greeted with a familiar sight.

There are more women tonight and more younger folk. Still, it will work. It has to, he can’t risk her life, not now. You’re an idiot, falling for her like this. Still, when she loops her arm into his and smiles, he can’t help but return it.

“Let’s dance first,” she says.

He tries to swallow, but his throat is dry. He could use the excuse that his leg is not yet healed but he promised no lies. She will see who I truly am soon enough. I can enjoy one evening. So, when she pulls him onto the floor, supporting half of his weight, he doesn’t resist. Not that he could.

She loops her arm around his waist and neck, now that she is also wearing gloves and moves them to a beat far slower than the music. One that he can feel in her chest, in his own. For a blissful few moments, it’s just the two of them, swaying from side to side, good leg to bad leg. He ignores the pain, that’s something he’s good at doing, inside and out.

The others come into focus. He’s not here to dance. He glances at his watch. He seldom leaves it this late, it can get messy, hurried. For her sake.

He pulls her over to the bar again, where they sat the night before. Yet as he settles her down on a stool, he presses his gloves into her hands and rolls up his sleeves.

“You really want to see this?”

A slight nod and a reassuring smile. He goes to leave but then turns back to her. He makes note of her grey eyes in her tanned skin. He’s never asked where she’s from, but it surely isn’t such a rainy city. The crowd swallows him.

Edwin looks around but nobody stands out. And so he dances, not caring how he looks. Years he has done this, a decade even and so the moves come easily to him. He is not fluid like Yvon, not graceful, but the crowd moves with him.

He only catches sight of a young man’s face with ginger hair before his vision fades—the speedometer is ticking up bit by bit, excitement growing in his chest. Loud music blares in the speakers. He glances over. She sits there, grinning with a giddy smile written across her face, clutching the seatbelt. “See,” he’s saying, “You’re…”

The smile is replaced with horror, “George, watch out!”

He turns just in time to see a lorry’s front grill meets the windscreen. Crunch. Pain—Edwin stumbles back, and the man, barely an adult, moves away, unaware of what just happened. Unaware of his approaching death.

He takes a few deep breaths, but the quicker he finds someone, the better.

Cancer, dementia, he feels it all as he moves through the crowd. How little they know of him and how much he knows of them. Sleep is the most disorientating and heart attacks are usually the least horrifying. Occasionally he doesn’t quite reach the moment of death and sometimes he feels the emptiness beyond. The calm beyond. Sometimes he yearns for it, that which he will have to wait decades for.

Then he finds her, pale hair and pale skin with tattoos snaking up her arms—misty rain wets her face as she hurries across the road. There are no streetlights here but the passing cars provide enough light to give the sense that there are. Still, in the rain, everything seems isolated. She could be all alone. Her foot catches on something. She yelps as she slams into the tarmac.

“What—”

Somebody grabs her shoulder roughly and yanks her over. She’s staring up at a face shadowed by a wide hood. There is a knife in his hand. It’s against her throat. She tries to scream but the pressure increases.

“Wallet.” The voice is cold and rough. Young.

She fumbles with her coat. Her finger closes over something thin and sharp. A pen! She moves fast as she was taught, left hand grabbing him—  Pain erupts from her neck and her eyes widen as her breath catches. She coughs blood—Edwin shivers as he continues to dance, though the rhythm seems far away from him now.

She is maybe twenty-five years old, with dyed blond hair and lips that cannot be real, still, she is with another woman whom she hands her phone to. A friend?

She whispers in her ear, glaring at Edwin and then they are moving away, towards the bathrooms. It would have to do, he was running out of time.

He returns to the stools where Yvon stands, ignoring the man who is trying to get her attention. “You saw?”

She nods. She’s not smiling but there is still no look of horror or disappointment. He leads her towards the bathrooms, down a set of draughty stairs.

“You looked more disturbed every time,” she says suddenly, “I’m really sorry I kissed you those times, I didn’t know it was like that for you… Did you…?”

“Yes,” he says quietly, “I did see it, but I will not say.”

She nods slowly, swallowing. “I don’t want to know anyway.”

“You distract the blond one,” he says as they reach the bottom of the stairs. “I need to talk to the other one alone.” A young man passing gives them an odd look but doesn’t comment.

It is much colder down here and the smell is less than desirable but at least there are few people. The women appear together out of the women’s bathroom and he nods to Yvon but she’s already moving.

Just as they approach the bottom of the stairs, she whispers in the blond woman’s ear and pulls her back towards the bathroom, gesturing towards Edwin. He hopes she isn’t saying anything too bad about him.

The other one, with black curly hair and a similar complexion to Yvon, watches him warily. They’re alone.

He sits on the steps and she pauses, glancing back, “What do you want?”

“Have you ever heard of a Guardian?”

She doesn’t seem to be paying attention.

“A feathered angel? A demigod?”

“Please,” she says, finally focusing her attention on him alone, “If you want money, sit on the street and hold a cup out, you’re not going to fool me with your saving lives crap.”

She takes a more steady step towards him, making a beeline for the other side of the stairs, he shuffles into the middle. Why nobody believed him until he did the trick was always surprising, surely people were more superstitious than this.

Feathers sprout from his face, his hands. The slight traces of fatigue washed away. He could see… He let it fade as he heard footsteps behind him but it had done the trick, her eyes were wide.

“You’re… One of them?” She hissed, looking around, “Did you see that?” She said over Edwin’s shoulder.

“See what?” a man’s voice said, “Hey, you,” a hand touched Edwin’s shoulder, “You’re bothering our guests, I will have to remove you.”

Edwin sighs and stands up, keeping eye contact with the black-haired woman. “If you care about her…” he turned and let himself be led away, through the club and out of the doors. He doesn’t hear the words of the bouncer as he is pushed onto the street. A breeze blows misty rain into his face as he crosses the quiet street.

He only had to wait outside a few minutes before the woman exits the club in a long dark coat, not unlike his own, glancing each way before settling her eyes on Edwin across the street. He stands up as she approaches.

The only others around were five or six smokers, shading their cigarettes from the wind and rain.

“So,” she says, “Who is it? What do I have to do?”

“Your friend,” he said carefully, “will die soon. I can’t tell you exactly but in the next few hours. The weather is just right.

She swallowed, “How? I can warn her.”

He shook his head, “That’s not how it works. But you have to be willing to give for it.”

“What’s the price?”

“A day, and three hundred in cash.”

“A day of my life?”

“You catch on quick.”

She stares at him for a long time before nodding, “That’s a good deal.”

Edwin shrugs, “That’s for you to decide.”

She pulls out a wallet and looked inside, her face grows worried, “Can you wait? I need to…”

Edwin waves it away, Yvon has just exited the club. “Consider it a deal, this time I do it for free. He pulls off his glove again and she goes to shake it but he stops her before she can.

“Once you shake on this,” he says, “The deal is done, you cannot stop me or you risk her life.”

She grasps his hand. There is a brief moment where he’s sure his vision is going to fade but instead, he feels invigorated. Even as she draws away he feels less tired, more alive. His stomach gnaws less.

Tears slip from her eyes.

“Wait here,” he says, “I will return when it is done.”

She nods her thanks and takes up his place sitting on the doorstep.

Edwin doesn’t look either way as he steps out onto the street towards Yvon.

~

It’s still raining and the wind has picked up again. The feeling that there will be a storm soon permeates the air. Yvon hurries along beside him, hand clutched to his elbow as he strides along in the dim lamp-light.

She steers them around large puddles, guiding them across the street. For a blissful half hour, he feels normal. Just a couple going for a nighttime walk. There is a park on the west side of town. What it would be like to forget his life for a moment, for once not be always searching for his next candidate.

He tests his bad leg and the mood is ruined. Better already. That just means it’s close. He can even feel the beginnings of the pull. If only he just did it for money. Everyone else doesn’t know how lucky they are not to have to buy their life every few days.

“Do you always look so frightened?” She says suddenly when they step onto the pedestrian-only street that leads to the Westside park. From here it is just one step in front of another. Don’t get her killed like Nelson. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Even if she chose to stay, which she wouldn’t, he would continue as he had since Nelson’s death. Keeping her at arm’s length until she gets bored or frustrated and leaves. And yet, some part of him yearns for her to stay.

He shrugs, “There is much in this world to be frightened of.”

“But you can’t die, not like we can.”

He glances at her, meeting her expectant gaze. “That is made up, we really cannot live. Not properly.”

She nods, turning away to watch those passing the other way, suits and jeans on their way to work. “I think I get what you mean.”

“Why do you dance?” he asks suddenly, “You seem to always find yourself at the centre of attention.”

She doesn’t answer for a long time, only when they wait to cross over to the park does she speak. “Everything is out of my control until I have people’s attention,” her voice grows soft, “As if I can really mean something to…” she stops and sniffs, “Something like that, I guess.”

Edwin nods, he understands but his mind is already slipping away from the conversation. He just wants this over with.

They step onto the gravel path that disappears into the darkness, snaking its way between grass and flower beds, bedraggled shrubs glinting under the old-style lanterns that light the way.

It was his favourite place in the city, in the summer at least. Now, a bunch of flowers leans against a gnarled tree that he knows all too well.

“Are you really going to kill someone tonight?” She asks, “Do you know how you will do it.”

The way she says it so casually unsettles him. She talks like a Guardian. He shakes his head and squeezes her hand tighter beneath the fabric of his glove. She definitely won’t trust him after she sees what happens.

They exit the park into a residential area that seems all too familiar. A sort of low mist has rolled in that makes headlights look like the lights of distant ships. All too familiar.

Despite the lack of streetlights, there are still many cars. It must be a through road as there are at least four lanes and heavy traffic even at this time of night.

The pull is much stronger now, so much so that he has to almost resist it to carry on at Yvon’s pace.

“There!” She hisses, pointing in front of them.

Sure enough, a slight figure hurries along in the darkness, head down against the wind and rain, grey coat dripping wet. The slight glare from a phone lights her pale face as she glances back.

The pull is almost too strong now but he stops. This is his last chance. He turns to Yvon who watches him warily as if he were about to sprout feathers. She wouldn’t be wrong.

“I really enjoyed it while it lasted,” he says quietly, “While you still liked me. You really are a great person.”

She shakes her head, “I am ready to see. I want to, even.”

He shakes his head sadly, “No you don’t. Others have said that right up until the moment. Witnessing death does things to a person.”

She doesn’t say anything and so he bends down and kisses her. His vision fades— The sounds of cars are almost washed away by the rain. A man with a dark hood brushes past—he blinks his eyes open.

That’s never happened before. The pull is so strong now but he can feel her touch. Maybe that is what happened. He soaks it in, his fingers tracing the lines in her face. Then it’s too much and he breaks away.

“Promise me you won’t push me away any longer, that you won’t close off yourself again,” she says breathlessly.

He stares at her for a long moment, the pull almost forgotten then nods. When she doesn’t drop her gaze, he nods, “I promise.”

“We have to hurry,” he says, pulling from her grasp and breaking into a run.

The blond woman’s face is still illuminated by her phone for a few moments as she waits by a set of lights. The cars slow. Amber. Red.

She begins to cross. Why is it always around cars?

It takes all his effort to glance over his shoulder, “Whatever you do,” he shouts back, “Don’t cross the road.”

With that he is completely in a trance, his legs and body moving alone. A man, so far as he can tell, wearing a dark hood brushes past him just as he steps onto the crossing.

This is going to be worse than usual.

His feet stop. Again he is waiting, chest heaving as the man catches up with the woman. She falls to the floor on the other side of the crossing though it is difficult to see.

He can’t move his head to look for Yvon. The traffic begins to move, faster. It picks up speed. His legs begin to move again.

He hears a cry from behind but it is all he can do to let his legs dash him between the moving traffic, expertly avoiding the speeding cars among the horns and screech of brakes.

He is almost at the other side when a louder horn sounds. A lorry. Oh no, this one won’t be pretty. He feels his legs tense. His face sprouts feathers. He moves forward, the lorry swerves in the other direction. Something touches his shoulder.

Somehow the other lanes are empty and the lorry doesn’t hit anything.

Edwin’s confused. He turns back to the woman. The man, hood now down stares in shock at him. Then turns to run. I failed. The woman pushes herself to her feet, then screams, backing away.

Edwin shakes his head, it is always a balance… He turns slowly, dreading what he will see.

He turns and there on the road beside him is the struggling form of Yvon, her hand still outstretched towards him. Edwin drops to the ground and lifts her up into his arms. For a moment he can see through both his and her eyes. His feathers fade as she fades.

Tears leak from his eyes as cars stop around them, doors slamming. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I should have known.” He looks up at the sky, into the rain, “I will never let anyone—”

“No.”

He glances down.

She struggles with her words, “Don’t keep them out,” she finally manages, “You promised.” The double vision fades and he is once again alone, clutching her to him. Not again.