I never thought this was how I would spend Christmas.

The thought forced its way into my mind as I tried to find my precarious footing on the snow-covered roof. Tenantively, I settled more and more of my weight onto the slanted surface, the snow crunching softly beneath my boots. It was a quiet sound, but it put me on edge. I glanced around, eyes straining against the dark, trying desperately to tell if anyone had been alerted to our presence.

Fuck. What was I doing?

A sudden wave of nausea washed over me. I began to swoon and lose my balance, and would have tumbled to the icy pavement three stories below had it not been for Dylan. Though he was still clinging with his entire being to the tree branch that I had just dropped from, one hand darted out reflexively and clasped by wrist, steadying me.

“Jesus, Charlie!” he hissed, his voice quivering from a mix of cold and terror. “Focus!”

The ground swam in my vision. I swallowed a scream, and the nausea disappeared just as quickly as it had come. I looked up and locked eyes with him. I couldn’t see his expression behind his mask and the hat pulled low over his forehead, but I could still make out the unmistakable glint of fear in his gaze.

“Come on down, scaredy cat,” I teased, trying to ease the tension. “Wasn’t this whole thing your idea?”

“Yes, but -” Dylan began, but quickly realized that this was not the time for an arguement, and hesitantly climbed out of the massive tree to join me on top of the townhouse.

I crept hesitantly towards the edge of the roof, reluctant to carry on with the next phase of the operation. Right now, we were just a couple of idiot 20-somethings who had climbed onto a roof on a dare. We could still get out of this. In a few minutes, we’d be breaking and entering.

I paused for a second, torn, almost resolved to climb back down the tree and leave the job undone. But I remembered the desperation on Dylan’s face when we had come to me, begging for my help, one last job to settle his debt.

One last job.

Dylan braced himself against the gutter and clasped his hand around my wrist, slowly lowering me towards the window we had chosen as our entrance point. I balanced myself on the narrow overhang, easily unlatching the lock with my well-worn pocket knife. Perhaps a little slower than I would have done it a year ago, but not bad for being out of practice.

I swung myself into the room with a practiced grace, taking note of any cameras or security measures that might still remained on despite Dylan disabling the alarm and cutting power to the property. My footsteps rang throughout the lavish room, seeming impossibly loud on the dark hardwood floor, as I ensured that we would be unobserved. Satisfied, I signalled to Dylan that it was safe for him to enter.

He swung into the room with far less ease than I had. His talents lay more in the way of gathering intel and working behind the scenes, but I had insisted on him accompanying me, and him alone. I had never liked working with people I couldn’t trust.

“That never gets any easier, does it?” Dylan whispered, letting out the breath he had been holding and pulling the mask off of his face. His eyes danced with a greedy anticipation. I didn’t like that look.

“What the hell are you doing?” I hissed, attempting to conceal his face once again. “Put that back on! Are you trying to get caught?”

Dylan batted my hands away with an unconcerned chuckle. “Always a professional, huh, Charlie? Relax, alright? I’m the one who disabled the security, remember?”

Unsatified, but unwilling to argue with his ego, I stopped trying to fix his mask and moved deeper into the house.

The building contained an impressive collection of art and sculptures, gems and baubles - things that we would have gladly stuffed into our bags and made off with a couple of short years ago. Tonight, however, was different. Tonight, we had been contracted to steal something specific.

We carried on with our search, my heart in my throat, each shadow on the wall a potential unexpected occupant, each creak of the stairs the sound of the police arriving. I couldn’t afford to get caught here.

“Dylan, listen,” I said quietly. “After this, I’m done, okay?”

He scoffed in obvious disbelief. “Yeah, just like last time. And the time before that. Sure.”

I stopped in front of him, blocking his path, staring him directly in the eye.

“I’m serious. After this, I’m officially retired. I’m gonna live a normal, boring life as soon as we get out of this place. Got a job lined up and everything.”

“The world’s greatest cat burglar, Charlotte ‘Phantom’ O’Driscoll, working in an office for the rest of her life? Yeah, I don’t buy it.”

“Shut up, Dylan.”

He pushed past me and continued searching. I paused for a moment, assailed by my own doubts that he had put a voice to. I tried desperately to force the memories from my mind - the past year I had spent, unbeknownst to him, persuing a college diploma and bouncing around various part time jobs, waking up each morning and missing this. Despite having paid off my debt, despite not having to do this anymore, there was nothing quite like the rush of sneaking into a place I had no business being, taking what I pleased, leaving the owners none the wiser. It was a part of me, and I hated myself for it.

A quiet intake of breath from Dylan jolted me back to the present. I moved silently to stand by his side. He had found it.

Nestled inside of a glass display case was an exquisite gemstone, about the size of my palm. It had a peculiar gleam about it, making its deep red colour evident even in the near total darkness.

Without a word passing between us, I began to work at the lock, listening intently for the sounds of the mechanism coming undone. Dylan reached for the stone as soon as the case swung open.

“This’ll definitely get me in Richards’ good books,” I heard him mutter.

My blood ran cold as I realized the truth. While I had initially found it odd that Dylan still owed Richards, the leader of the group I had been a part of since childhood, I had shrugged it off. Dylan had never been responsible with his money, so I didn’t doubt that he had blown enough to require another loan. But actively seeking Richards’ approval? It could only mean one thing.

Filled with rage, I smacked his hand away from the display case.

“What the hell, Charlie?” he hissed, barely able to stop himself from yelling.

After struggling for a few more seconds, Dylan lost his temper, striking me and sending me stumbling away from the case. Dylan closed his greedy fist around the gem in triumph.

He never saw the small light inside the case. As he pulled the gem out, an alarm began to blare. Realization flashed across his face as his ego faltered enough for him to adopt some common sense - the case had a security system linked to a second power source, something he had not thought to consider.

I steadied myself, rushing towards him, barely able to hear the sound of the shreiking alarm through my anger.

“You lied to me!” I screamed, no longer concerned about staying quiet. Our cover had already been blown. “You’re working with them!”

“Can we do this later?” Dylan shouted back, swatting away my rage-fueled blows. “We have to get out of here!”

Calming myself down enough to take in the truth of his words, I turned my back on him and raced towards the window we had entered through. I pulled myself onto the roof once more, sped along by my rush of adrenaline. Dylan climbed up after me with much difficulty, seeing as, in the rush to escape, he had not thought to put the gemstone in a pocket. With only one useful hand, he lost his grip on the roof and fell.

Purely out of reflex, I found myself handing over the edge of the roof, my hand gripping his wrist as he tried to find purchase on the icy windowsill below. I saw the relief in his eyes as I steadied him. We were still friends, after. Surely, no matter how angry I was, no matter how much suffering I had been forced to endure at the hands of the group that he was no apart of, I would always be there for him.

Right?

I pried the gem from his grasp and began to loosen my grip on his arm. His other hand came up, clawing at my wrist, desperate.

“Charlie?” he said, so softly that I couldn’t hear it over the sound of approaching sirens, a fearful look in his eye.

“Go to hell,” I spat.

He lost his footing and tumbled to the ground. I didn’t give him a second glance. He didn’t deserve it. I climbed hurriedly down the tree, landing just outside the tall fence surrounding the property, tears and cold stinging my eyes. I darted into a nearby alleyway, taking a serpentine path through the streets to avoid the police, devastated by the betrayal of my oldest friend.

your words twist past events

they make me wonder if

maybe

I overreacted

you didn’t do those things

you convince me

even though I’ve seen them with my own eyes

I want nothing more than to believe you.

but I’ve changed -

I am no longer a child

all the years of being

gaslit, manipulated, belittled

it adds up

you’ve made me cold

I won’t suffer your mistreatment

in silence

I can’t anymore

“what do you want from me?”

you’ve asked that many times

shouldn’t it be obvious by now?

all I want is accountability

for you to see what you’ve done wrong

and understand

and not blame anyone but yourself

I want you to try to be better

instead of spouting empty words

useless words

yet again

I want you to respect that I can have my own thoughts

and that just because you don’t agree with them

doesn’t mean that she put them there

I want you to stop invalidating my emotions

trying to win me back with nostalgia

yeah, I bet you would like to go back

to the days when you could control me

I want to be able to trust you again

I want to be able to love you again

I want to be able to spend time around you without wanting to die again

there isn’t a script that you can read out to me

and fix this, like magic

as if your mistakes never mattered in the first place

I want you to be sincere

to actually care about how someone who isn’t yourself feels

an apology shouldn’t be this difficult.

I just wish

you could say sorry

and mean it.

I can hear it

Faintly

Just above the pounding surf

Music

Your song

It shifts with each second

Resembling instruments

Sometimes piano or flute

Once or twice a violin

Memories flood back

Reminding me of home

It engulfs me

That unbelievable sound

Beautiful

Monstrous

Comforting

Terrifying

All at once

Encompassing everything that I want

Everything that I fear

The moon peeks out from the clouds

And I see you

Knee deep in the waves

Waiting for me

I begin to run

The necklace I’m wearing

Weighs me down

Constricting my throat

Strangling me

I cast it off

It tumbles to the ground behind me

Crystals catching the pale light

Already half buried in the sand

I don’t need it anymore

You extend your arm to me

And I clasp your hand

Desperate

Cherishing the touch

My lifeline

Please save me from

Drowning

My name is Brandon Lake, and I am a normal person. I work a 9-to-5, just like so many other people are forced to. It’s not glamorous or interesting, but hey, money is money. I own a small apartment on the third floor of some building in the city - again, nothing fancy, but I’m happy enough just to have a roof over my head and food on my table. I’m just handsome enough to be a mostly successful flirt, but average enough that I don’t stand out in a crowd, which is how I like it. Yeah, that’s me. Average. Everything about me is no different than anyone else.

On this particular day, I feel a little more tired than usual. Nothing major - it happens from time to time, days when my desk chair feels a bit tougher, my paperwork feels a bit more unbearable. Nothing that couldn’t be fixed by treating myself to a few drinks at some bar down the road.

Sighing, I switch off my computer for the day and heave myself out of my chair. I automatically return the distracted waves of my few remaining coworkers as I pass by their cubicles on my way out.

Exiting the building, I am swept up in a wave of people on the sidewalk during rush hour, desperate to escape from the prisons where they’ve spent the past eight hours or more. Across the street, a neon bar sign catches my eye, barely visible in the slowly darkening evening. Why not? I think to myself. Maybe I can have a little fun.

The first hour is a blur. A few coworkers show up, and I talk with them for a while out of courtesy. The popular, beaty music pounds in my head. Then I see her.

She’s pretty. Young, blonde, alone. Perfect. I manage to catch her eye from the other side of the bar. I buy her a daiquiri - my favourite. We talk. She tells me that she’s an English major, graduating next year, and that she’s originally from a small town about two hours away. We exchange a few witty remarks, and I start to enjoy myself. She’s interesting.

She seems uncomfortable with the idea of coming back to my place, or of me going back with her, so I suggest taking a walk in a nearby park instead. She seems relieved, glad to know that I haven’t been talking to her just so I can use her once or twice, then abandon her.

We talk for what seems like hours, sitting near a small, artificial pond, gazing up at what we can see of the stars. I smile, a genuine one for perhaps the first time all day. I’m starting to like her.

I’m not really sure what I do to freak her out - maybe I laugh at something I shouldn’t, or maybe I don’t when I should. Maybe I let something slip by my carefully planned responses for these situations, or go too far with a joke.

It doesn’t matter now. The mood has been killed.

She inspects me closely, suddenly uncertain about talking with a stranger in a park in the middle of the night. I can feel her growing distant.

What’s the matter, I ask her. She doesn’t respond, and pulls herself to her feet. I ask again.

She turns to leave, telling me over her shoulder that she feels creeped out all of a sudden, and gives some half-assed excuse about having to work tomorrow. I can tell she’s lying.

I ask if I’m the reason she’s leaving. She hesitates. I know what that means.

She thinks I’m a freak.

My hand closes around the nearest object, a heavy grey rock lying on the ground near me. I stand in one fluid, practiced motion, clearing the short distance between us by the time she spins around to face me again. I can see the whites of her eyes, open wide in fear, as I raise the rock clenched in my fist above her head.

She doesn’t have time to scream. The only sound she can make is a small exclamation of shock and pain that is quickly drowned out by the sickening thud of the rock crashing into her skull. She falls limply to the ground, and I continue to bash her head, over and over, until she’s no longer recognizable, until I get sick of the nauseating squelching noises that accompany each blow. Finally, I straighten up again, surveying my work for a second, the rock, now slick and red, still in my hand.

I stand next to her bleeding, broken body for a few minutes, looking up at the stars, barely visible behind the glow of city lights. I sigh heavily.

Great. So much for my relaxing evening.

I drag what’s left of her into the pond, dropping the stone in after her, and scrub the blood and brains from my hands. My movements are practiced, robotic, as if I’ve done this a hundred times before.

How many times have I done this, anyway?

I leave the park swiftly, walk a few blocks away, then call a cab. Luckily, I’m able to use my coat to hide the remaining bloodstains on my sleeves and chest.

I return to my apartment and change clothes. I go into a nearby alleyway and gingerly place my ruined garments in an old, metal trash can that the homeless in the area often use for warmth and set it alight. I head back home and settle into bed.

As usual, morning comes far too early. I unwillingly trudge my way back to work yet again. When I open the door, my office is silent. My coworkers are all standing, transfixed, watching the news on the television. A reporter in a royal blue suit is talking about the body found in the park earlier that morning, her eyes full of sorrow and concern. She says that the victim has been identified, and a recent picture of the girl I had spent the night before with flashes up on the screen. I stared back at her.

A shame. She really was quite pretty.

My name is Brandon Lake, and I am a normal person. I’m an office worker, enjoy a good daiquiri after a hard day, and don’t really get the appeal of loud, repetitive dance music. Like anyone else, I have certain likes and dislikes. I’m perfectly normal. And I fucking hate it when people say that I’m not.

“Dude. It’s 3 in the morning.”

Ren’s voice was laced with unconcealed annoyance. They rubbed the sleep from their eyes, groggily surveying their best friend, Eli, standing anxiously on their doorstep. 

“Can I... come inside?” Eli asked, his voice breaking. 

Ren sighed, stepping aside and allowing him to enter, closing and locking the door behind them. They switched on the lamp in the living room, turning around to find Eli peering between the thick white curtains into the darkness of the street outside. 

“So... what’s going on?”

Ren’s words seemed to startle Eli. He pried himself away from the window and sat uneasily on the edge of the couch, as if poised to bolt at a moment’s notice. In the weak light provided by the small lamp, Ren studied their friend in more detail. 

His eyes were wild, constantly darting around the room as though he was expecting something to materialize from the shadows. His face held an unnatural pallor under a sheen of sweat. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His clothes were tousled, as if he’d pulled them on in a hurry, and he kept tugging the sleeves of his hoodie down to conceal his wrists. Everything about him was so far removed from the Eli that they knew that Ren hardly recognized him. Eli was supposed to be put together, confident, not... this. 

“I...” Eli hesitated for a second, then realization flashed in his eyes. He stood abruptly, heading towards the door. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Ren’s hand shot out, clasping around Eli’s wrist. He whipped around at them, his face a mask of pleading terror, his eyes seeming to glow electric blue for an instant. 

“Please, Eli,” they begged, brushing aside their initial shock. 

Eli stared at his friend for what seemed like an eternity, his eyes now back to their normal muted hazel. 

“Okay,” he said, his voice a trembling whisper. “But only for a minute.”

A moment later, Ren stood in the kitchen, watching Eli expectantly as he desperately gulped down a glass of water. 

“... I need some money,” Eli said, setting the glass down, not meeting his friend’s eyes. 

Anger flared up inside Ren. “I don’t hear from you for weeks, and then you show up at my door in the middle of the night asking me for money? I don’t believe you,” they scoffed. 

“Ren, please,” Eli whispered, signalling them to stay quiet. “It’s not like that. I need to get away. Just enough for a bus fare, or-”

A terrible thought occurred to Ren. Their world listed sideways, and suddenly the small section of counter separating them from Eli seemed painfully insufficient. 

“Oh god, what did you do?” Ren asked, panicking. “Did you hurt someone, or k-”

“No, Ren! Please, just relax. It’s nothing illegal. I promise. I just... they’re looking for me, Ren. I can’t let them catch me.”

“Who? Who’s chasing you? What do they want?” 

Eli just shook his head. An uncomfortable silence spread throughout the room as Ren took in this development. 

“How long have you been running?” they asked finally. 

“I don’t know,” Eli admitted. “Three days, maybe?”

“Why me? Why not someone back home? I’m two states away.”

“I didn’t... When I got out, I was in the middle of nowhere. I didn’t care where I went, just as long as it was far away from there. I had nothing. I walked, hitchhiked, whatever I could. By the time I realized where I was, I was already in town, and found you.” 

“Wait, you walked here?” Ren interrupted.

“Please, Ren. I need to leave. Now. Before you get mixed up in all this too.”

Ren stared into Eli’s eyes, taking in the barely controlled terror hiding below the surface, the tension in his clenched jaw. They sighed, picking up their wallet and plucking out about $150. 

“There. That’s all the cash I have on me.”

As Eli reached out to take the money, his sleeve slid away from his wrist, exposing a mass of bruises and scars. Ren only saw it for a second, but it looked almost like he had been restrained, maybe for a long time... and were those needle marks?

“Jesus, Eli, what the hell happened to you?”

Eli snatched his hand away, hiding his wrist in a pocket with the money. He looked at the ground. 

“Honestly? I don’t even know.”

The two of them stood in the kitchen in silence for another minute or so, the realization that this would likely be the last time they ever saw each other slowly sinking in. 

“Eli?” Ren said finally. 

“Yeah?” His voice was hoarse. 

“Take care of yourself, all right?”

Eli offered a thin smile. “All right.”

As Eli turned to leave, the window above the sink exploded, a metal object tumbling onto the floor, spewing gas into the room. Ren took a breath in surprise, and instantly black spots began to dance across their vision. 

“Shit!” Eli exclaimed, pulling his hoodie up over his mouth and nose. “Ren, come on! We have to leave!”

Ren tried to take a step towards him, but stumbled to the ground. Eli hesitated, unwilling to leave them behind. In that instant, figures clad in black began pouring into the house, swarming around Eli. He tried to get away from them, fighting like a cornered animal, but he was being overwhelmed. His eyes shone, the same strange electric blue as before. 

A pair of hands grabbed Ren by the shoulders and dragged them roughly away from the scuffle. They tried to escape, but their strength was already gone. 

Ren let out a stifled scream as one of the figures struck Eli in the temple with a blunted weapon. He crumpled to the floor, blood from his head flying across the cheap tile and painted cabinets. He didn’t move. 

As Ren’s vision faded, they heard a deep, distorted voice speak to their left. 

“Take this one too. They might be useful.”

Then everything was gone.