Janus Muse

for H.W.

The echo on all sides of me is like millions of marbles falling on a slow release above the hollow awning, I love the way the small flicks of water grace my body and face.

I gaze over my surroundings, the balconies across the street from mine are dripping from every angle. With the dampened, sparkling white stone of the buildings in the light of the moon, and the glow of the street lamps; it’s all pretty intoxicating. The patterns in the water remind me of fireworks with the way the lights reflect, sparkle, and spread away from each other as the drops cascade endlessly from the sky, plummeting down to start the pattern again. The warm evening air rushes against every inch of me, I grab the thin silk of my nightgown to remind myself that I’m not in a complete state of undress. I would’ve never had the audacity to stand outside in the open this way on any other night. But with the cover of the storm, and the lateness of the hour, I find myself scantily-clad on my damp balcony; gazing onto an empty street. I normally light a candle when I arrive home, but tonight the heaviness of the air feels comforting, I’ll leave it that way. There has always been a strange comfort in being alone and in the dark to me, a calm to be had in the absence of light and expectations.

That nagging feeling is ringing in my mind, I should be in bed preparing for my long day ahead tomorrow but it feels almost like I am protesting, taking in the damp night air instead. My surroundings are never this empty, I can’t help but want to enjoy them a while longer. Usually by this hour there would be at least an essence of a crowd in front of the hall adjacent to my apartment, accompanied by a small band’s music echoing out into the street- Even my neighbor across the alley has brought his short backless chair inside from his balcony. Any other night I would catch him on his perch, playing along with whatever music was drifting through the air.

The idea of living above a shop like this always had such appeal when I was small, the bustling city life, the smell of fresh cooking, the idea of being in the middle of it all… I have wanted to live somewhere with a balcony since I first read a story about one as a child. The classically imagined Romeo and Juliet scene appealed to many girls of my age I’m sure.

My first night here was hard though, I suppose the idea of being alone in a new place is always hard. I had felt deeply overwhelmed at the helm of all the new things I was going to have to become acclimated to, and with those feelings came a reasonable amount of doubt, keeping me awake for most of that first night. But, upon seeing the light of the sunrise come down over-top of the city and dance onto the walls around me, it was like the sun was painting a beautiful symphony of colors especially for me as it spilled in through the glass onto the walls. I slowly began to feel like I was going to be okay, and I was finally able to sleep-

However, I wish I have made my past self think of the actual day to day of living somewhere above a shop like this; front entrance being attached to the shop, access to the shop through a shared indoor staircase, no ownership of the keys to the store as a tenant above, forced to resort to the fire escape in the back alley for daily access to the outside world… At least I have made friends with my alley mates in the past year, The elderly owner of the pastry shop, ‘Miss Doris’ as she likes to be called, makes sure to strike up a conversation with me any time she sees me. And, her oven makes the alley smell like heaven every morning. Also, the Billings family, whose matriarch brags to anyone that has ears about her new radio and phone her husband bought her for their butcher shop’s storefront, can be very generous and personable as soon as you compliment her in any way. I have to admit, the back alley entrance is not a completely awful predicament to deal with when I have kind neighbors that drop off a pound cake, pie, or raw meat of some sort at the bottom of the stairway every once in a while.

The far left side of my awning is ripped, the cool rainwater is cascading through and splashing against my bare feet while flooding onto the white stone of the balcony. Droplets float down softly onto my face as well as my cigarette, gently wetting the end of it, but not enough to put it out. My thoughts drift to my prior evening, to the city as a whole. There are so many things I feel like I don’t have time for, so many things I still haven’t done, it feels like I drift on the edge of what I want to become, as a person, maybe as an adult; I don’t know what i want exactly, but it feels like it’s out there, whatever it is. I want to see beautiful things, feel beautiful feelings. I want my being alone in the world to mean something. I want to feel like I am untied inside for a good reason.

— I should have been embarrassed when Martin dropped me off tonight though, being denied the ability to have a kiss goodnight at my door like a proper woman, not that I wanted a kiss tonight. But, having to wave goodbye and walk through an alley to the back of the building is almost indignant. Martin hates it too, he’s never actually said it, but I can tell. When we first arrived at the front, he looked at the ‘1911’ pendant carved into the stone of the stoop with such distaste, like I was some Great Fool for moving into a building that was made 14 years ago. He made it seem like the entire world had become so different since this was built, so much more advanced; like the world since the war has completely flipped over or something. With him it is almost like if something isn’t brand new, it isn’t good enough, which made me feel wasteful, like too I wasn’t good enough. I was beyond nervous to show him the steep iron stairs leading to the entrance, and from the first time I saw him take the climb to my level, I could tell he would never come up again. He didn’t even put down his coat, he just draped it over his arm and held on tightly as he looked the place up and down like he was going to catch the plague if he was to touch anything. He almost made me feel as though I had made my brother waste our family money investing in the building for me. And though he barely said a word, his face said it all as he gave a parade of those same passive smirks his mother always graced me with as he looked over every inch of my 1,300 square feet. It had felt like I had a hot pit in my stomach throughout the entire visit.

I briefly rejoin reality as I shift my gaze around the scene below. Although the shop adjoined beneath my apartment was closed down for bootlegging a few months ago, the stoop in front still has caught its fair share of children playing ball, or young men standing around gawking at the females walking by. Not tonight though, if I didn’t have better sense, I might think I was the only woman in the city, maybe even the world. It almost seems a little unnerving, the stark difference of it all. The tops of the buildings seem almost huddled together, hanging over the light of the lamps below. I feel like I can stand here as long as I please, as though I am completely alone. And though the night seems absent of company, there is no shortage of sound as the water ripples against the buildings and boardwalk below. The tiny pattering sounds caress my ears and surround me with a warm feeling of comfort.

I take another small puff from my cigarette, flashes of the night I had just endured in the city keep trying to leap into my mind and ruin the moment. I see the dimly lit French style cafe, the crowd of eyes that followed us to our table, the pale blue suits just like Martin’s adorning the tables around us, Martin made sure he always picked the most popular restaurant in the area. I was excited at the picturesque way it all looked inside, with the pale pink tablecloths complimenting the arrangements of stargazer lilies adorning the small circular tables. I can still smell the garlic in the air, and the croissant… So fresh and perfectly buttered, I can still feel it flaking apart in my hands. I try my best to sweep my mind of the unpleasant parts of the evening: the look of disapproval in Martin’s eyes, the delicious dinner that I couldn’t eat my fill of, and of course the crimson wine I pretended to accidentally spill on my dress so I would have a reason for our outing to conclude early. It started to rain as we left, I tried to brighten my mood. I wanted to walk home together, he insisted we take a car. He then informed me I “would be ready with the sunrise tomorrow for the drive to his parents’ country estate.” There is a pit in my stomach again, very heavy. Lately it feels like it won’t go away. I know there was a time that I thought I loved him, but with each passing day Martin is becoming the same as his parents; spoiled, opinionated, and far too concerned with what others think. I saw the expression on his face when I went to reach for a second croissant from the steaming basket, it was saying “people are looking at us, it’s not suitable for a woman to have her stomach poking out .”

“Oh! God forbid a woman be well fed!” I say aloud, I should have eaten the whole basket out of spite. The air feels thick and warm as I take another puff of my cigarette, replaying my version of what I should have said. I briefly shake my head to try to clear away the frustration. Martin is not a bad person, he is just not the same man anymore. It feels like he only wanted my company for the way I look standing next to him, not my true personality. It feels like that part of me is something he thought he would shape into what he wanted it to be over time. Like I was water, waiting to be frozen and molded into some beautifully fragile swan sculpture to add as a centerpiece for his table. And now, it feels like our time has passed and I have only melted into a shape of contempt for his attitudes. Maybe I’ll tell him I am unwell in the morning when he comes calling early to drive us upstate. I don’t care if my stomach pokes out, I wanted the second croissant…

Why are we all in such a rush? Why do we take ourselves inside, instead of embracing the storm? I’ll never understand why everyone avoids the rain. All around I see drawn windows, closed curtains, and still not a soul on the street below. I guess no one has time to be wet. We are all busy, wrapped up in our busy little lives, too busy to take the time to be foolish and get wet, or to have any fun at all it seems, myself included.

Suddenly, my monsoon of self pitying and pensive thoughts take a halt when I turn to see a figure appears to be moving at the far end of my street. As they come closer I can see that they’re wearing a wide brimmed hat pulled down over their brow as well as a long dark colored overcoat with the lapels pushed up to conceal their neck and face. It seems so obvious, or it must be my imagination, but…. there they are walking closely to the buildings almost trying to avoid the light of the lamps.

✨✨✨A Witness✨✨✨

I step backwards into my apartment so as not to be seen, I immediately feel worried about being noticed, I don’t know why. I mean obviously I am a woman alone, but they could just be concealing their face from the rain, nothing to take concern of, just a person stealing about the shadows in a storm… I can’t help myself but to be cautious though, I begin to crouch down low and grip onto the side of my door frame to remain out of sight. My apprehension then begins to grow into terror as the figure moves to cross the road toward the storefront under my apartment.

I reassure myself: My doors are locked, I have nothing to worry about, they haven’t even looked up from the rain, they haven’t noticed me; I didn’t even light a candle, there is no reason to glance in my direction. I try to take another inconspicuous puff of my cigarette but my inattention has let it go out. I try to look for a match in the sitting room behind me and briefly take my eyes away from the figure, now nearly upon the stoop below. My fingers fumble to light my match.

crack

Abruptly I halt releasing the contents of my hands onto the floor, as a loud noise strikes my ears cutting sharply through the patter of the weather. Another quick succession of scraping and shuffling sounds follow, they are coming from the shop below. I begin to crawl carefully backwards into my sitting area near the balcony. My large silk pillows offer a place to nest upon in my distress as the sounds continue. If I’m completely still, there will be nothing to fear, they won’t hear me, they will see that the shop has nothing of value, and they will leave…. If not, I have a gun under my coffee table. If they try to come in here, it won’t happen without a fight. The sound is a little less steady, but I am not taking any chances. I press my back against the wall, inching my body toward the middle of my sitting area. I begin sliding my hand under the small coffee table in front of me, I can suddenly I feel the cold, foreign steel of the weapon in my hand. I can still picture the way my Grandmother was so displeased when I informed her I had my brother purchase it of me,

“When will you ever need that?” she had said.

“Hopefully, I won’t” was my reply.

My mind begins leapfrogging around the room. My hands are soft with sweat, I don’t want to use this, I can barely hold it. No, it will be okay, I will keep myself against the wall, everything will be fine. The sounds below are quiet now, some light ruffling though items can be faintly heard coming up through the floor. I am trying to remain completely still now as I..

scrape splash

My eye line snaps around to the balcony beside me as another, slightly more distant set of sounds echo from the street below. I lean over to try to look down past the edge. I don’t really see anything, I’m struggling to keep the revolver in my hands, but I still inch closer. I peak out slightly into the night and immediately my heart sinks into my stomach as I make out three more figures on the street below. They are slightly farther up the block, it appears that one of them has fallen into a puddle as the other two are helping him stand and wiping him clean. As they all straighten out, one places a look in each direction and they continue down the boardwalk together, peering in each window as they pass. I’m now crouching down on my hands and knees peeking out over the white stone edge watching intently. They are all dressed similar to the first man, long coats with large lapels pulled up to meet their wide brimmed hats, in different variations of the same slate gray color. And with the way they’re walking, they seem like they’re looking for something. Stopping at each entrance and alleyway to have a look before returning on their mission, they are getting closer now, I imagine they’re looking for the one downstairs?

crack

As my thoughts are racing into terrifying scenarios, another, louder sound emerges from the shop below. It sounded almost like a shelf being knocked over or something, I see the figures on the street all turn their heads in unison toward the storefront. I was obviously not the only one to hear that through the downpour, as the three figures are now descending upon the stoop below. —I feel like I’m going to faint, my hands are clammy and cold. I feel the gun weighing me down. I stay on my hands and knees, trying slowly to crawl backwards again into my sitting room. My heart is racing, I push my curls back out of my face while trying to wipe away my tears of horror with the back of my weapon hand. What am I going to do? What are they going to do? What do they want? What if they find me, did they see me watching them? I try to take a deep breath, I’m almost sure that they are unaware I am up here at all; I need to calm down.

A symphony of scraping and ripping ascends from below as I listen to the assailants tear away boards to gain entrance, sounding much like the first person did, only much more aggressive. A few knocking noises continue as they make their way inside. I turn around slowly and lean up against the sitting room wall near the balcony again with my knees against my chest. I can hear what sounds like male voices arguing now, one of them is a deep, loud, succession of yelling. I am trembling as I take my thumb to ready my weapon. Suddenly, a single voice echoes through, loud and desperate as if pleading for something…

Pop Pop Pop

Three gunshots; the first two in succession, and then a third pierce through the sounds of the rain showering the boardwalk. My weapon is still completely cold in my hand, my legs have such fear coursing through them, it’s like they’re on fire. I peer over my shoulder off of the edge of the balcony. Then, after a moment of downpour laden silence, a series of less pronounced scuffling noises emerge again from below. The same three figures emerge onto the stoop again and just as before, one looks pensively in each direction before they begin down the street, continuing in their original direction. I watch in complete stillness & horror until they have vanished into the far mist of the night. I am still hesitant to make a sound, is the other one still down there? What if they’re dead? What if a dead body is in the building and is not found until morning? What a terrible way to die, all alone like that? Oh my goodness, what if they’re not dead? What if they need help? What type of help might I offer aside from calling upon more help? My fear begins to mold slightly into obligation as I suddenly feel compelled to do something, to help somehow. After a few moments of existential dread I resolve to myself, I need to go down there; I have my weapon, I will be fine. I will run straight out the back to Mrs. Billing’s house across the alley and use her phone to call for help if anything goes awry. I grab my teal house robe, the memory of receiving it as a teenager when my Father returned from his business dealings in Japan is a slight comfort as the silk and lace slide over my cold shoulders. I tuck my revolver into the pocket and fasten my waist belt tight. My slippers feel slightly damp against my clammy feet, my limbs feel another surge of worry running through them.

My hands are trembling as I thumb back the small brass lock to the door. Wild thoughts begin to swirl into dark places as I peer into the dusty hall leading down to the shop. At the bottom the door is ajar, beyond it a small slice of streetlight is beaming through. It’s still and stagnant against the continuously faint pattering I hear echoing in from my balcony as I begin to close my door behind me and make my first step. I try to move but I feel completely brand new and unsteady, I can barely hold myself up. I feel the fear rising in my chest, cheeks, and hands. It’s that lighting storm type of feeling, like you’re a child who’s been called to come face your punishment, you can feel it in your face and your mind is racing to replay every bad thing you’ve ever done to prepare yourself for whatever unpleasantness is to come. I shake my head slightly as to prepare myself and shake away the the terror then taking a deep breath I begin my descent.

✨✨✨A Meeting✨✨✨✨✨✨

The stairway isn’t too large, the smell is stale as I descend; the path is filled with old cobwebs and musty air. I’m upon the threshold of the shop now, I lean in slightly and there is only the sound of the storm drifting inward through the opening left by the assailants. Trying to hesitate no further, I reach forward and gently pull on the door so as to peek into the totality of the shop. I can now see the large opening left by the intruders with pieces of broken glass and wood splinters littered around it. Not much else out of place so far though, just empty shelves and a few brown paper bags littering the floor. I lean a little further, the door creaks as I pull it open, the long slow sound of the hinge cuts through the damp night air. With my hand in my pocket firmly clasped around my weapon, I take a dramatic step into the dimly illuminated room.

“Make yourself known or you will regret it!” I call out into the darkness– complete stillness hangs in the stale air, followed by the patter continuing to echo in from outside. I look around, there’s a low stream of streetlight dancing through the hole in the front entrance. Dust is gathered heavily on top of everything in sight, the smell is slightly more stale than the stairs were. It looks so different at night, that afternoon last spring that I did my first walk through seems so far away now. The shop looked so sun soaked and inviting that day, with the amber afternoon light pouring in through the fishbowl of windows, so warm and wholesome. Now it looks abandoned, forgotten, and cold; with a hint of vandalism. I try not to turn my back to any corner of the room for long, as I make my way to look around. The few rows of shelves seem to be in place aside from the one near the front corner by the entrance lying face down. I make my way effortlessly through the rear of the store by the alley I can see the iron of the alley staircase though the back windows.

After I’ve checked every other inch including the closets in the store room, I try to push down my fear and now walk toward the front corner where the shelf is out of place. I see the wood splinters from the front door now leading in the same direction, my eyes scan the floor. Some boards, glass shards, some loose brown paper shopping bags, and then I stop short and almost shriek but I manage to cover my mouth. In the front corner, closer to the window is what looks like the body of the first person that came in.

They are laying on their side with their back toward facing me. Their arm is draped over their front, I think they’re clutching at their stomach? A hat lies on the floor a few feet behind them, a few paces in front of me. My fear dissolves from within my chest a little now that I can see they’re injured. They probably won’t attack me, but I still feel anxious so I try to make my words sound as steady as I can,

“A’ are you alright?” I stutter as I take a step forward… they just lie there. I can see shoulders moving slightly, so they’re still breathing, maybe just unconscious. I don’t know why, but something inside me is telling me this person isn’t going to hurt me; something is telling me to help them. Maybe it’s my naive nature but still, this doesn’t really feel like a threatening situation anymore. I try again a little softer this time, “Hey,” I pause slightly “Are you hurt? Can you move at all?” I take another step past the hat and now I’m almost standing over them. I wait for a moment, the sound of the rain from outside continues as I look them over, listening to their labored breathing… This is odd, I feel like I should do something. I need to go get help, standing here like this is just wasting time. Before I turn on my heel to leave, I lean over and softly whisper “I don’t know if you can hear me, but just hold tight and wait here, I’m going to go call for a doctor, I’ll be right back.” I turn around briskly to make my way to the door. In the most cliche fashion I am only a few steps away from grabbing the knob, when a strained male voice calls out behind me,

“Wait.” I turn to see the figure on the floor has rolled over in the darkness and now they have their upper body propped up with one forearm/elbow on the floor while another arm is still tightly draped over their stomach. I can see the hand on their stomach is covered with what looks like very darkly colored blood, the lower front of their shirt is wet with it too. It looks like a serious injury, but I keep my hand on my weapon carefully concealed in my pocket just in case, and slowly start to approach again.

“Are you okay?” Is all I can think to say, what a pointless question for me to ask. As I approach again, I begin to see now that his clothes look like no material I’ve ever seen, like little hexagons all woven tightly together. And his shoes are strange looking too, now that I take a second look, they have no ridges at all; the shape of dress shoes, but completely smooth looking and black, like they are one continuous shape. He is very tall as well, taller than he appeared on the street before. He slowly leans forward as I come closer to him, allowing the streetlight coming in through the windows to beam across his face. His skin tone is a smooth, deep, olive color, he looks almost how I have imagined ancient Greeks would look, otherworldly handsome, but still inviting. His hair is a very pale lilac color, I have to keep blinking to make sure the light of the evening isn’t playing tricks on me. And his eyes! I can see that his eyes are the same pale lilac as well! Like the sweet smelling flowers that adorned the overgrown bushes around my mother’s estate when I was a girl. The look in his eyes shows pain too, but they seem kind; like a painting that moves you so deeply, you want to buy it and hang it in your bedroom so you never have to be too far away from it. His cheekbones are very angular in shape, not too pronounced, but just enough to showcase the sparkling allure of his gaze when you meet it. All these features culminate into a face that was very striking. Embarrassingly, I let out a small sound of shock upon meeting his gaze and I feel my cheeks flush red.

“Tonight is not my night” he says in a low voice looking down at his abdomen. He has some kind of accent, like southern United States meets the Balkans, it’s strange I can’t place it. He was wearing an odd looking collared shirt, the buttons (if you want to call them buttons) had come loose by the neck slightly exposing his chest. He lifts his hand from his stomach to take a look before quickly replacing it back with a pained look on his face.

“You know, I can see that.” I replied with a little bit of a sarcastic tone. ” You look like you need a doctor.”

He looks up and half smiles. “A doctor?”

“Yes? To look at your stomach? You’re bleeding quite a bit, those men really did a number on you. Who were they?” I immediately feel foolish for asking something so invasive and personal of a stranger, let alone a man, but then again he did break into my building.

“They used to be some friends of mine…” He pauses, taking a sharp breath, “You know I never really did like doctors, maybe you could jus help me try to stand up.” He pushes away from the ground to a sitting position with his feet out in front of him, leaning his back against the overturned shelf behind him and winces again slightly, still not removing his grip from his stomach. A large black looking stain can be seen now pooled on the floor where he was lying. Seeing how much blood he has lost makes a thought strike me–He’s in no position to defend himself, what if they come back? They’ll kill him for sure, and me too just for being a witness! I take a backward step toward the front of the store and peer out between the boards on one of the windows; and as if nothing happened, the rain is still steady outside not a light on, not a soul in sight.

“You should just rest, I will go across the alley and phone for some help. I don’t know if your friends are coming back,” I keep my eyes on the street outside, “but I would like to go back upstairs regardless.” Silence and the pattering from the rain hang between us for a moment.

“How about you help me upstairs, give me something warm to drink, and then we can assess our situation, sugar.” I spin around quickly and meet his gaze.

“You want me to take you, a stranger, up to my home, alone, in the middle of the night? I know you’re hurt but I don’t know you…. How do I know I can trust you?”

“Because I didn’t know you were here.” He pauses slightly, “and if they do come back, both of us would rather be upstairs.” I can see that he is badly injured, and he does look much stronger than me, but I still have the gun so I feel like that makes us equal. Maybe I should just take him upstairs, then go out the back to wake up Mrs. Billings, and have her call for a doctor to come retrieve him. Maybe this will all be done soon. I feel now that if he was doing all of this to attack me, he was doing a poor job. And really what other choice do I have? I kneel down next to him,

“What can I do to help you stand up?”

The Choice

After what felt like an eternity of awkward slow limping up the musty stairway, I help him down to rest in my sitting area against the wall, to keep him closer to the fresh air coming in from the balcony and quickly fetch him a towel for the blood pooling from his stomach. I then sit down across from him, trying to gather my thoughts. He has such beautiful eyes, I feel like my face flushes every time I even glance at him, I am so embarrassed, what is wrong with me? He has purple eyes! And light purple hair to match! I should be more alarmed, but instead I am enamored!

My home feels so unprepared for company, I feel like my body is rushing with embarrassment and excitement at the same time. And in all my embarrassing thoughts, I notice I have leaned myself over the pile of pillows across from him, I can feel my robe slowly being weighed down to one side by the weapon in my pocket- I suddenly remember what I’m wearing, I’m sure he has a terrible impression of me allowing myself to be seen in my night dress like this. I subtly try to cover myself and close my robe tighter around my waist noticing the journey up the stairs has now collected some of his blood onto my dress as well. I glance back in his direction with relief to see he isn’t even looking at me, instead his head is tilted back against the wall near the glass door to the balcony and his eyes are gradually drifting about the room. They look like they’re scanning the entirety of my small darkened apartment with extreme delicacy, like he will learn something important by looking around so slowly and thoroughly.

“I’ll bet this place is beautiful with the sunset lightin’ it up, yeah? You live here all alone?” He says, turning over his shoulder to look beyond the opening of the balcony.

“It’s facing east so it’s only when it rises, but when the weather permits, it is actually quite stunning.” I feel my cheeks flush red, I can’t believe he noticed that; I guess anyone who enjoys those things would though. He keeps his gaze out into the night, I wonder if he is waiting to see if his friends return? “And yes, my brother bought it last year before he passed, with money my parents had willed to us.” I’m not sure why I am telling him such information but it is just flowing out of me. His stomach is still bleeding pretty badly, I don’t understand why he doesn’t seem more worried, or at least in a hurry to receive any type of aid. “Are you sure I can’t just run out to call for a doctor? It wouldn’t take me long at all.”

“No ma’am, I’m not tryin to be a bother. You’ve already done too much, puttin me up like this. If it’s not too much trouble I’d just take a warm drink and a minute to rest, then I’ll be out of your hair.” I hesitate for a moment. This is all extremely odd, but he does seem to be behaving like he has things under control. Maybe I just make him some tea and send him on his way. He will get help on his own and I will be in bed by the end of the hour…

“How do you take your tea?”

“Tea?”

“Yes hot tea, how much sugar? Do you take cream?”

“I’ll have anything you are willin to give me, darlin.” I wanted to be upset with his word choice. Usually little pet names like that annoy me but his tone wasn’t condescending, it seemed genuine. I calm my nerves enough to stand and make my way over to the kitchen.

“Is there anything else I can give you that will help make you more comfortable?” I say a little louder as I place my kettle and light the stove.

“Your pillows here are comfortable enough ma’am, I’m just tryin not to bleed all over them.”

“Thank you?” I reply awkwardly while organizing my tea tray, waiting for the kettle. “Do you prefer Jasmine or Oolong?” My tray looks so bare, I take out a few pieces of the pineapple upside down cake ‘Miss Doris’ left me on Monday to fill things out a little more. I don’t know why I am bothering with presentation at a time like this.

“Whatever you prefer ma’am, I’m sure you know what’s best.”

I can hear him moving around as I make my way back into the sitting room. Rounding the corner I see his coat is now on the floor folded next to him, and he is currently in the process of removing his shirt as well. I try to avert my eyes but I steal a glance and aside from the blood coming from his lower abdomen, his body is incredibly well kept. I’m almost shaking with nerves as I’m setting the tea tray onto the table in front of him. Every man I have ever known seems small and pigeon chested now in comparison. I see him move slowly, like he is retrieving something from the pocket of his coat next to him.

“I chose Oolong. Do you want cream and sugar?” I ask a little apprehensively, as I sit myself down across the table.

“This is fine Miss, thank you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you takin pity on me and helping me out tonight. ” As I pour, he tries to slide back into a slightly more upright position against the wall. I hand him the steaming teacup and he removes his blood soaked hand from clutching against his stomach to retrieve it, then heavily sets it down onto the narrow coffee table between us, replacing his hand to his abdomen. As I am pouring my own I look up and let out a little gasp as his other hand finally emerges from his coat pocket to reveal a small glowing glass bottle. It’s the strangest thing I have ever seen. The bottle looks like it has a liquid lightning storm inside of it, it’s swirling, sparking, and glowing in a pale but iridescent, aqua tone. And moving independently too, like an electrical current is being contained inside it. I can’t help but to just blurt out abruptly,

“What the hell is that?” His jaw tightens slightly into a coy smile as he takes off the cap,

“Somethin that only works when mixed with heat” he replies in an almost playful tone, looking down and pouring the entirety of the small bottle into the porcelain teacup. He keeps his eyes focused on his potion, but reaches out for a spoon and begins to stir slightly. The brown color of the tea begins to become overtaken with the beautiful sparkling teal color from the small bottle. The steam from the tea gently rises and begins to glow with the same teal tone as well. And now it’s moving too! Not just from him stirring it either! Just as it looked in the bottle before, a little cloudier now but the tea is swirling on its own and flashing in little bursts that look almost like a storm. The entirety of the cup is now glistening with the teal/seafoam green type of color, lightly illuminating the room around us.

“What is it for?” I ask as my eyes float about the room admiring the soft green glow’s ambiance.

“It’s gonna help me, in the same way a doctor would.” he states, clasping the cup and blowing on it gently before taking a large drink from the glowing potion. He pauses for a moment, I can’t help but to just watch him as he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and raises the cup again to inhale the rest of the steaming liquid. Glowing streams run down his chin, like he can’t seem to drink it fast enough, dripping down his neck to his exposed chest. I feel my cheeks becoming red again, I turn my eyes quickly toward the balcony in embarrassment. This is the strangest experience I have ever had, and yet I can’t help but stare at him like he is some great Greek statue on display. He takes a deep breath in and sets the teacup back on the tray between us, instinctually I hand him a napkin then try to look away as he dabs off his neck and chest. Though I do steal another brief glance of him over my shoulder.

“So what happens now?” I say a little shyly with my hand placed to avert my eyes. What was that? Where did he get that? Is that really going to help him, and honestly, I wonder what it tasted like? Am I awake? Is any of this real?

“Now, we wait. It should only be a moment or two.” His reply sounds more relaxed than he did before, I turn back as he rests his head against the wall behind him and gently closes his eyes. The cacophony of droplets from outside echo between us for a few moments, I keep my gaze to the side feeling as if I move, I’ll just go back to staring at him “May I ask your name?” His sincere tone turns me back from my spiral of internal questions.

“That seems like the least forward request made of me this evening,” I almost chuckle a little, “my name is Luna, and I have to say this is all very confusing.”

“Confusing how?” he replies, sitting up slightly leaning in to meet my gaze, his eyes seem so genuinely concerned, making me feel like I’m being looked at for the first time. “Luna‘s a beautiful name, what does it mean?”

“It means moon in Latin, my Father loved to study other cultures.”

“It’s good to care about worlds beyond your own, your Father sounds like a smart man.”

“He was,” I say in a more melancholic tone than I intended, I try to shake it off and push on, “but the polite thing to do now is to tell me your name. I feel like you have the upper hand in the conversation and I would like to feel equal again.” He raises his brow in surprise and gives an approving nod,

“Orion, my apologies ma’am my name is Orion, could you tell me what this is on the tray between us ” he motions down.

“Oh,” I almost laugh, “they’re pineapple upside down cakes, my neighbor delivers treats from time to time.”

“Is that the same neighbor you would’ve gone to, to call for help?”

“No, no it seems I have a few alley mates who take pity on a young woman alone in the world, please have one.” I place a piece in front of each of us– It feels silly to have prepared all this in the middle of the night, but for some reason I still want to make a good impression. “You have lost a lot of blood, I will feel better about sending you on your way if you’ve eaten something, please.” He nods and has a few bites and I do as well before continuing, “I don’t mean to pry but I am still confused about a number of things; what was that you drank? Where do you get it? And honestly what led to you to be hiding and injured in my home at this hour?”

“Well first things first little lady, nobody’s hiding, if anyone comes around I will make myself known before I ever let em know you’re here; and second, as I said before, those were some former friends of mine. We had a disagreement.”

“A disagreement that led to them trying to bump you off.”

“Yes ma’am, you see I have something they want and I wasn’t gonna to give it to ‘em. I thought I would hide to keep it safe, but they found me, and then… Well, you did too.”

“So did they get what they came for?” I say through swallowing a mouthful of pineapple. I can feel myself eating my cake faster than I intended to but I can also feel my stomach thanking me for replenishing it during this anxiety inducing venture.

“No actually, and I wouldn’t tell them where to find it, so the next rational step was to kill me. And I suppose, they assume they did.”

“So where did that bottle come from?” He pauses for a moment, placing his fork down as if he is deep in thought and then shrugs as if he has resigned himself to telling me; while picking up the small, now emptied bottle from the table. He then holds it up to his eye to at me look through the glass,

“I actually got it at a store, they have things like this everywhere back home.”

“And where is home?” I reply a little sarcastically, pausing eating as well, as we both gaze through the glass bottle between his finger and thumb. He removes it from his eye and holds it out in his palm between us.

“Would you believe me if I told you I was from somewhere else? Somewhere beyond the world you know?” I almost laugh,

“Is this a joke? Beyond my world as in what, you are from the moon? Or you’re some sort of spirit sent here to torment me?” He smiles and lowers his hand placing the small bottle back on the table between us before resuming to take another bite of his cake,

“No darlin, I mean another world, another place in the same time, not just the moon, but an entirely different world, in another part of the universe.”

“Well then how do you look so normal?” I blurt out as I resume picking at my cake, the question feels judgmental and rude as soon as it leaves my lips, but I am shocked at the claims he is making so I don’t feel that bad about being so forward.

“Well, Miss Luna,” he lets out a small chuckle, “I’d say normal is a relative term, I have never met anyone with black hair before, but here you are.”

I am momentarily taken aback, but I take another bite of cake to think the concept over. “I haven’t seen anyone with purple hair either I suppose, but still… If you are from another world, how did you get here? ”

“The veil between my world and yours is very thin during the rain, it makes arrival less noticeable, especially this time of year; something about the way our orbits align across the cosmos. I thought this would be a good place to hide, I didn’t expect to be found this quickly.”

“So does it have to be the same conditions for you to return?”

“It certainly could help, but actually it’s best to return with the sunrise. It’s something about how the rays of light help carry us across faster.” I try to listen intently but I have a tenuous grasp on what he’s talking about. Though I do see him glancing on and off at the pile of cakes so I add another piece to his plate as he continues, “I tried to pay attention when learning about the process as a young man, but back in those days it was hard to keep my attention.”

We sit in silence as he eats his second piece and I gaze out the window, trying to imagine how all this can possibly be true. I feel like asking him for proof of his claims, but what was in that bottle and the way he looks already seem pretty otherworldly to me. I should be feeling as though I am sick or perhaps in shock. And I am, but I am brought back to reality and reminded I haven’t had enough to eat as my stomach growls audibly. I can’t help but flush with embarrassment. He clearly heard it through the patter of the rain between us. How improper that my stomach is still making noise after I’ve already had a piece, I must seem like such a brute. Upon hearing the sound, he has now turned to me with the same look of concern as before,

“You should eat more, you’ve had a long night, why don’t you have another slice?” He states in a slightly firm, but caring tone as he takes the serving spoon, placing a second piece onto my empty plate. He sounds so polite but I am still a little in shock, so I just blurt out-

“You don’t mind a woman having a second portion?” His eyes become a little wider and he almost laughs,

“Why in any world would I care how much you eat? Where I live, we believe in listening to the needs of your body and trying everything, sometimes three times if the mood strikes. Isn’t that the point of being alive?” I pause and let his sentiments land in my mind for a moment. What a wonderful thought, never having to worry about judgment for enjoying things, just enjoying life.

“I suppose so” I reply a little shyly as I begin to enjoy my second piece of cake. “How is your stomach doing?” I ask, trying to divert attention back onto him. He looks down briefly before returning to meet my gaze.

“See for yourself, darlin.” He states, standing and removing his blood-soaked hand from his abdomen, revealing the full view of his upper body. I let out a small gasp that quickly dissipates as I expect to see some horrible gaping wound, and there’s nothing at all; just a few bloodstains across the skin, but no source for the bleeding at all. It’s as if the wound hasn’t healed but rather had never been there to begin with, like it has completely vanished. It’s as if I hadn’t seen him bleeding, I might think this is someone else’s blood all over him. He rubs his abdomen with his hand a few times, showing just how perfectly intact his skin is now. “You see,” he finally speaks again, “Good as new.” I feel like I am in shock while I sit there gaping at him as the moonlight illuminates the scene between us. He looks like a bloodied version of the statue of Perseus by Antonio Canova; I remember seeing it in the Metropolitan Museum of Art with my brother on our final trip to New York a few months before the start of the war.

“There’s quite a lot of blood, I’d say that I would hate for you to ruin your clothes, and ask if you want to clean yourself before you make your journey,” I try to direct my eyes to his bloody shirt folded on the pillow beside him, “but it appears the damage is already done.” He makes a nod in agreement and begins to unplie and adorn his clothes again. Leaning forward to place his shirt around his shoulders, he slips his first arm in then pauses looking down at the bloodied mess and lets out a small laugh before turning upward to meet my gaze,

“My mother will not be happy I ruined this shirt, I’ll have to address this as soon as i return. Does your mother fuss over small things like this too?”

“She used to,” I say, down casting my gaze from the intensity of his eyes meeting mine. “I remember she would spend so long making sure the ribbons in our hair were perfect before we could go anywhere; she insisted upon them, even when she…” I trail off unintentionally as my mind always does when I think of my mother, I look back to see the playfulness leave his eyes and be replaced with what appears to be a pensive type of longing.

“ May I ask you something, Luna?”

“Well, I suppose so,” I reply a little shyly.

“What is keeping you here?”

What an odd question, “How do you mean, in this apartment? In this city?”

“I mean what do you have to stay here for?” He hesitates slightly, “I mean, if you would be so inclined, I want you come with me. I want to show you every beautiful thing I have ever seen, and then I want us to find new ones together.” I almost lose my ability to breathe, what on earth is he saying?

“Forgive me for speaking so plainly, that all does sound lovely; but why would I go with you, I don’t know you?” He continues to keep his eyes held in mine, I couldn’t look away now if I tried,

“I don’t mean to speak so plainly either ma’am, but you are a work of art. Since you appeared at my side, I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of you. I have never had an understanding of what it was like to look at the face of a bright star until this night. I would like to gaze at this face for the remainder of my life. If you choose a life with me, you’ll see new things, feel new feelings, experience days you could not have possibly dreamed of. I want to show you sunrises composed of unheard colors, we could even name them together. Wouldn’t you rather look back and wish you hadn’t, then wish you had?” The light patter of the rain hangs between us for a moment as all his words soak deeply into my mind.

“But…what will I do? What about my things?” I briefly look around at all four pieces of my turn of the century furniture, “What do I need to bring? Is it cold there, will I ever return here?” Again I am embarrassed at the rate questions are flowing out of my mouth, but he simply smiles,

“You do not have to pack anything if you do not wish to. All the same, I would bring the entire house if that is your wish. However, my estate can provide everything you need. And well, we will only be cold if that is what you desire. As for the rest, does it really matter?”

“Why are you doing this?” I try to ask in the most sincere tone, “ Why would you want me to come with you? You don’t know anything about me. Are there not other women where you come from?” He continues to meet my gaze, not looking away even for a second,

“Of course there are, but I know that you were kind to me when you had nothing to gain, I have never met anyone like you. And honestly, what have you got to lose?” I look down at the tea between us and ponder the thought for a moment… What do I have to lose? I place my hand in my pocket suddenly feeling the cold of the weapon still weighing down my robe. I take it out and lay it across my hands to hold it out between us over the table.

“Will I be needing this?” I ask in a slightly embarrassed tone. His eyes and smile grow larger as he sort of laughs-

“Probably not sugar, but if’n it makes you feel better, you go ahead and bring it.” He laughs, “You had that this whole time?”

“You should never reveal your hand right away, my brother taught me that.” He nods,

“Fair enough little lady, now how about we finish our slices, and I give you some time to get yourself together.”

✨✨✨A Clear Sky✨✨✨

Since this whole night started my mind is feeling like it has been running a million different directions, I turn on my heel as I continue back and forth collecting treasures for my musty leather suitcase to hold. How can I decide what is worthy to accompany me to another world? Aside from family photos, heirlooms, some ribbons, two dresses and a copy of ‘Plutarch’s Lives’ given to me by my parents, I realize now all the rest of these things mean very little to me. I could leave most, if not all of this behind, and I doubt I would think twice about it. I gaze briefly out of my bedroom window, the clouds are parting and the morning sun is barely trying to paint its way into the sky now. I close my case and take a long look in the mirror before stepping out of the room for what feels like the final time.

As I enter my sitting room Orion is kneeling with his back towards me, facing the balcony. I place my case on the ground and walk to the side of him. As I come around I see as he is pulling his hand out of his coat pocket to reveal a moderate sized, clear cluster of various sized crystals which he places on the floor, about a foot in front of the balcony opening. “It appears as though the rain is finally clearing” I say aloud, trying not to seem too surprised by whatever he has placed on the floor,

“Just in time for us to go home too.“ he says sweetly, now rising, he takes my case while giving a long look around my apartment as the sun begins to rise slowly over the city in front of us. He raises the case slowly, bending his arm before placing it back down, as if he is weighing it slightly. The light reaches the balcony, then the crystal, bouncing the light in a spectacular white rainbow all around the room. The light doesn’t stay in place though, it begins to travel, to hover toward the balcony. Slowly, what looks like a doorway of light begins to form just above the crystals. But suddenly, something bulky moving beyond the balcony catches my eye just past the beautiful crystalline light. I peek around and my stomach is filled with marbles to see it is Martin that has arrived on the street below. I cannot believe it, with all the excitement I had completely forgotten he was coming so early. I had completely forgotten about him at all; my face flashes red. “Is this really all you want to bring?” The question snaps me back to the moment at hand-

“I honestly have no idea” I say looking deeply into Orion’s lilac eyes, I turn my back briefly to see Martin already looks impatient and annoyed as I see him exiting his ‘tin lizzie’ to smoke his morning cigarette as he waits for me to come down for our drive. I look back at Orion as he takes a step forward, entering the light. He turns back towards me, reaching out for my hand, “But it doesn’t have to matter anymore.” I say with a near sigh of relief. I take one last look at the life I once knew before placing my hand in his as I begin stepping into the light together. He holds pulls me tightly as I feel my physical world begin to fade away under us, he whispers,

“You can close your eyes if you want, it used to be too much for me when I was a child.”

“Thank you.” I reply in a soft and resigned tone, the light begins to take over all around us and I turn to see Martin’s face on the street below for the very last time before he disappears into the sea of light. I don’t think I will miss this place. I lay my head against Orion’s chest and close my eyes, wherever we are going I imagine it will be beautiful.